Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(32) Rechner Redline===
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The All's Clear Alarm is going off, and the Blade is preparing to re-enter the Materium. Appearing above Rechner space, about a half a day to the world itself, if anyone has last-minute stuff, now would be the time. Cortain finishes the final touches on the "Redline Hype" issue of the Republican Commando Gazette, while Brynjol marches up to Thexus, dressed in his duty robes, unarmed.

"I told Cyril I'd thump you for nicking our armour without permission. Are you going to let me?"
"IF YOU DEEM IT NECESSARY, PRAETOR," Thexus loudly announces, "I AM CONFIDENT MY FRAME CAN WITHSTAND THE DAMAGE."
"Alright, prepare yourself," Brynjol says.
Thexus stands, waiting. His chest-skull stares, without emotion.
Brynjol winds back, throwing his fist forward. Unfortunately for him, the automatic PR20 atomantic shield kicks in, and Brynjol's hand crumples against the thin energy wave.
"HNNNGHHH... that'll do," Brynjol winces a little, marching off to rearrange the bones.
"VERY WELL, PRAETOR."
Thexus moves off to resume his duties.

"So, lads, have ye given any consideration to which vehicle you'll be needin'?" Rockfist asks, "I recommend somethin' fast."
"I have discussed with Cyril to use a Deimos Predator, with some unique improvements his chapter possesses knowledge of," Temur announces.
"It would be a wise choice," Cortain admits, "Either that or a Sicaran."
"We can ready either one," Rockfist nods, "Jus' let us know which, an' what upgrades ye'll be wantin', an' we'll get on it."

The Commandos debate and consider the merits between a Deimos Predator and a Sicaran. While the Deimos Predator is more front-armored (45-32-20), and possesses a wider array of weaponry such as the Magna-Melta and Conversion Beamer, alongside the normal twin sponsons, the Sicaran is more evenly armored (35-30-30) and contains more overall weaponry, with a hull heavy bolter, turret Accelerator Autocannons, and twin sponsons.

The Commandos finally decide on a Deimos Predator (Magna-Melta and Lascannon Sponsons) with Blessed Autosimulacra, Dozer Blade, Flare Shield, Auxiliary Drive, Smoke Launcher, and Armored Ceramite after Cyril luckily generated tons of extra requisition with his Delegatus skills. The Commandos also grab a set of magnoculars and a cartograph for navigational purposes. Unsure of what dangers the race holds, they also request Rose ready herself to act as pit crew and advanced danger sense.

"Right then, lad, we'll ready a Deimos Predator," Rockfist states, "I'm sure Thexus left a Magna-Melta turret somewhere."

The Blade finally reaches stable orbit over the night side of Rechner, the Sector Capital. There is a bit of wreckage floating about. The Commandos can recognize gothic architecture amongst the floating hulks of metal. They can also recognize numerous vessels floating about, most imperial privateers, cold traders and general thugs, but the neon floating world of Studio 69 and its attendant fleet stands out by far. Surprisingly, there's even a Squat vessel holding station. Cortain does a pass, cross-referencing any insignias or heraldry he can see. While most of the racers bear their own insignia, Cortain, can immediately identify the "Illustrious" Kim family, a family of Squats who function independent of the holds, Studio 69, Flagship of the House, and a bunch of other general miscreants and ne'er do wells who are looking to make a name for themselves.

Augurs are picking up incoming vox contact, and Brynjol is immediately on augurs.
"Go ahead, contact," Brynjol states.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6KHHBcgdwU

A Tau appears on the Commandos' screens, in a light dress. She looks rather excited.
"Welcome, Republican Commandos! You are here for the race, we assume?" she asks.
"I have already placed in the RSVP well in advance," Cortain states.
"Hmm..." she says, flipping through a cogitator archive, "Yes, we received the orders to allow you in. Welcome to the event of the half-century! The House is proud to offer the highest quality entertainment feeds to the Sector, and with you, our ratings should skyrocket!"
"Now would you kindly provide us the coordinates for the race with due haste?" Cortain demands, somewhat annoyed.
"Yes, of course!" she says, beginning the data transfer, "Please excuse the mess, this world apparently had a most terrible accident twenty-five years back. One of the defense stations suffered a most catastrophic failure. On the plus side, it provides wonderful terrain for the race!"
Cortain is already anticipating his cut of the proceeds in a secret motion of hand-wringing more fitting of the Tau, as the location where everyone is congregating is transferred.
"We look forward to seeing your performance!" the Tau adjutant bows, "Good luck!"
"As the Allfather wills," Brynjol glares.

A Thunderhawk transporter is prepared for the Deimos, while the Commandos' Fire Raptor is readied as personal transport. Rose embarks upon an Aquila Lander, a small honor guard of Squats accompanying her. As the Commandos board, Thexus marches up.

"PRAETORS, HAVE YOU REQUISITIONED AN EXCESS OF PHOSPHEX RECENTLY?" the Paragon of Metal asks.
"Not recently, Executor," Temur notes, "Why?"
"We prefer not to employ it," Cyril reminds him.
"I HAVE PERFORMED AN INVENTORY TEST OF THE PHOSPHEX RESERVES, WHEN I AND THE HELOTS READIED IT FOR THE CLEANSING OF THE XENOS SPAWNING POOL. I NOTED THAT NUMEROUS PHOSPHEX BOMBS WERE MISSING."
"Oh, bollocks," Brynjol sighs, facepalming, "I'm telling you gentlemen right now: if this is that Allfather-cursed Tau trying to 'spice things up' for the match, he is getting sanctioned, Inquisitorial contacts or no."
"I seem to recall a certain Dr. Thrax commenting about taking something from our ship," Temur considers, "I have been trying to find out what."
Somehow this concerns the Commandos far more than if Korst'la had them.
"REGARDLESS OF THEIR CURRENT LOCATION, PRAETORS, I SHALL NOT DELAY YOU FURTHER. BRING HONOR THE GREAT CRUSADE."
'We shall," Cyril declares.
"Wish us luck, Thexus!" Rose says excitedly. Thexus's chest skull merely stares in response.

The fuel lines are disconnected, and the Fire Raptor, Thunderhawk, and Aquila are prepared for launch. The protective fields separating the hangar from the void disengage, and the numerous transports are launched, towards the Capitalis World of Rechner. The entire world is a massive ecumenopolis, with occasional mountains and scarred plains breaking the monotony of endless hives. The location granted to the Commandos is at the heights of one of these mountains. Brynjol flexes his fingers as the transport swoops down towards the mountain top. 

Coming in for a landing, the Commandos can see a sprawling outpost of hastily-erected prefab buildings. Most are Imperial in origin, though there are a few Tau fortifications and ramparts around. Already there is a fairly large crowd, pretty much the racers, all standing around. They see the Fire Raptor swoop in, and all eyes are on the Commandos as they find a good landing spot. Brynjol selects a prefab to land directly on, causing the building to strain under the weight, but it's holding. For now.

"Alright, Rose, we need you to act as Pit Crew, random Squat Bodyguards, you go cheer/protect the Pit Crew," Cortain commands.
"Of course!" She salutes, before rearranging into the sign of the Aquila, "I'll keep you informed of anything coming at you."
"Good girl," Cortain nods, producing a drink-hat with a microbead, tuned to the Commandos' private beads, "And Temur, I would like to see just how effective that...weapon is. There should be a hatch on the Predator for that."
Temur deploys the Parthinian Serpent, "From the short practice I have managed to obtain, it is very effective at hitting moving and small targets. The former should be most useful here."
"I wonder why Thexus waited so long to mention the Phosphex..." Cyril wonders.
"We do not use Phosphex, only he does," Temur notes, "Our previous mission was most likely the first chance he had to check."

Brynjol nicks a straw, and takes an experimental swig of Rose's beer-hat-tube. Unfortunately for him, it's non-alcoholic, and he spits it out all over the ground.
"Eugh! This isn't mjod! Take it away," Brynjol waves dismissively.
"That is why this is not Astartes size," Cortain notes.
"Mjod would most likely kill Rose, Brynjol," Cyril points out.

Most of the Racers have their eyes on you guys. It appears to be mostly humans with modified auto-carriages for now. A number look quite concerned, but there's no shortage of those who consider the fame they can get if they can outrun an Astartes. To the Commandos' surprise, there's also a small gaggle of Squats. They are keeping to themselves, however. Temur looks over the crowd, examining each vehicle in detail, trying to size up the strengths and weaknesses of each. While Cortain and Cyril see endless fields of Autocarriages, Temur notes a rather tricked out Squat Gyrocopter off to the side, and a number of House Personnel working on an armored Eldar skimmer of some kind. Before he can consider things further, a Tau Fire Warrior runs up, his face obscured behind the red lenses of his helmet.

"Republican Commandos, as entrants under the flag of the Inquisition, please register your vehicle in the main command kiosk," the Tau says.

Brynjol heads on over to the food stalls to try out the cheap fried cuisine and other selections. A helmeted Dark Eldar pours out a great mug of mjod for him. It is evident he was expected. Brynjol, however, does not find the food and drink to his exacting tastes, and ensures everyone in a radius measured in kilometers understands his displeasure.

Cyril and Cortain pop by the Command Kiosk. People are going in and out. The lights within are dim, and it seems music and great commotions are coming out of it.
"Registering, Deathwatch, Party of 4 in a Deimos Predator," Cortain states, not even looking down at the desk.
"All right," Shas'o Korst'la VII says as he enters the data into a recording drone, "You should be all set. We're quite glad you could make it, you know."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diyIyVzaFGQ

"You were that damned insistent we show," Cortain hisses.
"Unlike last time, I couldn't delay the schedule," he shrugs, "Besides, would I be wrong in the belief that you all would choose NOT to come, unless the Inquisitors prompted you? This was on them, not me."
"Cort, ask him if he nicked our phosphex," Brynjol murmurs over the vox, "And if he says yes, cut his head off."
"And if you needed to ask," Cortain segues, "There are better ways than having several pounds of Phosphex going missing."
"Phosphex? What about phosphex now?" he asks, eyebrow raised.
Cortain stares closely, trying to see any subtle tells. He can't seem to read the Tau's facial expressions, however. "Matters little."
"Well, regardless of any further topics you may wish to bring up and then drop," Korst'la hums, as the lights flash about, "Your position in the race has been logged. You'll be starting from position two."
"Would you care to list the rules of the race?" Temur asks over vox, "I'm sure they are short"

"Of course. The way the race works, is there will be four starting positions," Korst'la begins, "The four routes will meet up halfway through. Your skill as a pilot will be thoroughly tested, as some of the best racers in the Sector have been assembled."
Korst'la has a holo-drone bring up a rough path of the race. It goes over plains, through a large ruin, and finally through the hives itself, ending near a canyon.
"Khodexus has entered under the banner of the House, one of my finest Detachments piloting, as well a representative of the Squats, a member of their illustrious Kim family," Korst'la continues, "I extended an invitation to the Kill Team of legend, your predecessors, but regrettably I received no response."
The holo-drone disengages.
"Not only will you have to deal with the other racers," Korst'la says, "But the Lady-Sector in charge of everything does not seem too happy about us holding our little event here. You may need to shoo her PDF away. Any questions?"
"Are there any rules governing conduct between race entrants?" Temur asks, "Or should we expect attempts to sabotage or disable us from some of the lesser rabble?"
"We're all here to race, but if there are casualties between entrants, well, I can't quite stop that," Korst'la shrugs.
"Noted," Temur says, knowing full well what to expect now, "Expect foul play as we enter the course"
Korst'la shuffles some paper stacks about, "If that is all, then I'll just-"

Cortain is oblivious as bolts of lightning begin landing in front of him as the Commandos begin to leave. Luckily, Brynjol is quick on the uptake, twisting in his seat, gunning the turbines on his jump pack as he goes, turning the refreshment table into cinders and cannoning into Cortain, barely bashing him out of the way. The ground is smoking, as two figures stand tall, above the numerous entrants. Brynjol coughs, rolling over and picking himself up and staring at the new presences. He flicks his hands out, claws sliding out with a menacing 'snikt.'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d13DV0gMDXE

Phaeron Ramsestron begins to advance.
"MY HO~NORED FRIENDS! UNDER SUN AND SKY, I GREET YOU!"
"You nearly bloody killed Cortain!" Brynjol sputters. Everyone, Racer and House, pulls out armaments, quite concerned.
Cyril jumppacks in and signs the Aquila, "Under moon and star, we embrace you, Phaeron."
"M~Y APOLOGIES, I WAS IN QUI~TE A RUSH TO ARRIVE," Ramsestron yells.
Thutmosis2000 steps out from the cloud.
"Triumphant, my Phaeron wishes to announce that he will enter the race, to bring glory and honor to Dynasty and Dominion."
"Registrations are over," Korst'la says icily, standing up, "The time to finalize entrants was weeks a-"
Ramsestron extends his staff, as a bolt hits the ground. A Canoptek chest, full of precious metals, materializes.
"I WILL PA~Y THE FEE UP FRONT!"
Korst'la stares at the chest, and sits back down.
"...Welcome to the Rechner Redline," Korst'la sighs, "We'll take care of your entrance paperwork..."
"Wait, there was a fee?" Brynjol asks, "Tell me we didn't give this parasite any money."
"The Inquisitors entered us," Cyril states.
"The Race begins in three hours," Korst'la announces, "Feel free to make use of the facilities until then."

Overall, there's the Motor Pit, where everyone is maintaining their vehicles, there are the food stands, which Brynjol has become acquainted with, the Command Kiosk, numerous guard posts, and even a prefab center for sector broadcasting over the pirate noosphere. Everyone about seems hype. Brynjol returns to the food stalls offering foods fried and sugared, fresh and aged. Though they hold no nutritional value for an Astartes whatsoever, it is hard to meet Brynjol's demanding standards of taste. Cyril manages to find a memorabilia stand, where he notes a rather ominous "Republican Commando Action Figures SEASON 2 coming soon..."

Temur and Cortain go to review their most likely opponents. They observe the House preparing an armored Reaper for Khodexus's use, and the Illustrious Clan of Kim maintaining a heavy Warhawk Gyrocopter. Ramsestron has teleported in a bizarre vehicle, reminiscent of a Tesseract Ark, but augmented with his own Sigma Harmonics.

"Perhaps Khodexus wants in on the proceeds..." Cortain muses.
"I wonder when we're going to start dictating proceedings for once," Brynjol ponders over the squad vox, "We seem to be spending an awful lot of time pandering to this xenos."
"Unfortunately, he has political ties that are problematic," Temur states, "Let us get this done and be off to more important events."
"Remember the deal," Cortain explains, "We can kill him last."
"COMMANDOS!" a deep voice yells from behind, "CO *huff* MMANDOS!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xD1FAOJI84

Brynjol closes his eyes, hoping it's not who he thinks it is. He spins and reflexively throws a scything punch, pulling his claws at the last instant.
"Commandos...I..." Jamal says, catching his breath, "I have something foARGLFPHT"
Jamal gets knocked on his ass, not expecting your punch.
"Oh. Sorry, Jamal," Brynjol drones, not sorry in the slightest, "You really shouldn't sneak up on me like that, you know."
Cortain shakes his head. "HOW did the Fabricator-General sanction you of all people...?"
"Ow..." Jamal sits up, rubbing his head, "Huh? He said he was very proud of my progress and I was a master at my craft and...wait, never mind all that, there's something important I need to give you!"

Jamal holds out a small box.
"Everybody gets one..." he says, getting up, "Just drop it in your fuel intake if you need to, and enjoy the supercharge! We tested them out during the Yellow Line 50 years back, and everyone seemed to like them!"
Cortain is hype as he stores the additive for safe-keeping.
"But think carefully, they don't last very long, only about 5 seconds or so" Jamal coughs, "So save it for an emergency!"
The Commandos nod amongst each other.
"Good luck!" Jamal says, standing up and running away, "The race will begin soon!"

Cortain proceeds back to the Predator, beginning the Hymns of Sanctification as the Commandos board. Korst'la boards a Phantomfish, getting ready to observe, commentate, and announce. He will not be participating. All the racers are approaching the start line. Ramsestron, The Illustrious Kim, and Khodexus all head to different start areas. Cyril spares a moment to wave at the pit crew before climbing into the Predator. Rose gives a wavE BACK.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO THE RECHNER REDLINE!" Korst'la yells over vox, "ONLY THE BEST AND THE FASTEST WILL SURVIVE AND PROSPER! ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT FIRST PLACE TROPHY! GOOD LUCK!""

A female tau holding a flag walks by.

3...
2...
1...

The flag is waved, and the Go is given! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNrjtYd_BsM

The Commandos immediately note that their immediate problem is the other racers in autocarriages. They determine, as the speed along the open plains, that they must be dealt with first.

"Commandos," Rose voxes, "I'm only sensing other racers for now. I'll update you if I feel anything different."

The Commandos first consider not firing at the other autocarriages, and focus on driving forward. Brynjol makes some respectable progress, but the Autocarriages are not far behind, firing lascannons and multi-meltas. Narrowly dodging, the Commandos know now that they must return fire. Temur keeps an eye on the surrounding contestants, and the road ahead with the magnoculars, using the vantage point to try and see obstacles before they become an issue. While Cyril fires the Magna-Melta, severely damaging a pair of auto-carriages, Cortain finishes one off with a sponson lascannon and Temur aims the Parthinian Serpent to destroy a second in its axle. 

"Commandos...I sense you should hurry," Rose says, "You lost some progress, and it's hurting you bad."
"Treat the machine spirit with respect, care, and love, Brynjol, and it will serve well!" Cyril taunts, remembering the experience on Cataclysm, but Brynjol is getting turbomad. Zuvassin the dice roller is taking inordinate pleasure in giving him no roll below a 94. The Commandos are stalled about, barely making progress as they dodge lascannon fire and turn magna-melta and lascannon sponsons to the remaining autocarriages they can see. The Commandos, even with their race zone clear, struggle to make progress as Brynjol keeps rolling poorly, their progress stalling as their opponents make heavy progress. 

"Commandos...be ready," Rose says, "I sense incoming air support..."

Struggling along, the Commandos look to be about halfway to a large patch of ruins, when they get a wide-spread vox.  A rather tired looking woman shows up on hololiths.
"Attention! This is Lady-Sector Astra Krauss, Governor of the Tiji Sector. All nonsanctioned racers will be removed by the might of the Rechner PDF! Repent, for the Emperor will judge thee!" The Commandos can observe a wing of three Lightnings approaching fast in the distance, just as Rose forewarned..
"Honestly...I am surprised Tiji actually has a governor," Cortain shrugs, "I had thought it was really the Inquisitors' personal playground or something."
Cyril mutters, "Knew I should've called in some Xiphons..."

Brynjol, in the meantime, connects directly to the Governor through the Blade's interception augurs.
"Governor Krauss. This is Brynjol, of the Deathwatch kill-team known as the Republican Commandos. I hope you aren't intending to target us?" Brynjol speaks with a slight threat to his voice, passing his intimidate at least.
"Republican Comma..." the woman falters, "No, impossible. The Commandos wouldn't participate in such an illegal race!"
"I advise you cease targeting," Cortain adds, "For your sakes, fleshlings."
"I...I can't believe it..." Lady-Sector Krauss sighs.
Cortain cuts the vox, before sitting back in the sponson seat, "This is illegal?"

"This is Eagle 1, we have target on a racer, aiming weapons," the lightnings vox to each other, but Cyril moves to contect them instead.
"Rechner PDF pilots, this is Praetor Cyril of the Republican Commandos!" Cyril yells, passing his Diplomacy, "By order of the Deathwatch and the Inquisition, target a xenos craft!"
"Uh...Lady Krauss...um...Acknowledged, Deathwatch Republican Commandos," the flight lead Eagle 1 says, deciding that they must be there to stop the race, "Targeting xenos craft."

Even with the Lightning wings reinforced and spending their lives to delay the other opponents, Brynjol just can't seem to make progress. Without accruing degrees of success on the drive test, the Commandos are more or less stalled. 
"That is enough," Cyril finally sighs, "Temur, take the helm."
Brynjol moves to quietly reminisce on how he failed the Allfather, while Temur pops into the driver's seat.

20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tP3APeaHKY8

High above the race, aboard a stealthed Phantomfish, a transmission is dispatched out.

"This is your host, Shas'o Korst'la VII! And what a race we have today! My grandfather and family would be proud to see such a successful race!" Korst'la begins.
"Indeed! So many contestants all having fun, and acquiring fame and glory!" Jamal yells.
"Right you are, Jamal. Third-way status indicates Khodexus has broken the first checkpoint, followed by The Illustrious Kim, and the new Entrant, Phaeron Ramsestron!"
"But where are the Commandos? I'm really rooting for them!" Jamal replies.
"Looks like they're having a lot of issue," Korst'la points out, bringing up a map.
"Can they possibly recover?" Jamal asks.
"Only if they get their business together and put the pedal to the medal!" Korst'la says, "In fact, let's bring in a surprise guest! Miss Rose LaKhora, the Republican Commando's pit crew!"

Rose appears on screen.

"Miss Rose, welcome," Korst'la nods, "Tell us, what's going through the Commandos' minds now?"
"They're having some trouble, yeah," Rose says, "But I believe in them! They'll win no problem!"
"Really? Their lag looks insurmountable!" Jamal observes.
"They'll find a way, I know it!" Rose says, "There's no force that can stand in their way!"
"Well there you have it! The Imperium's hopes are on the Commandos' backs! Good luck to them!"
20:50, 1 October 2016 (UTC)

With Temur, a White Scar, now behind the wheel, the Commandos instantly are back in action. Rapidly reaching the first checkpoint, endless plains give way to what seems to be gothic ruins. It almost reminds them of...a space station.
"Commandos! Watch your flanks! Autoturrets are everywhere!" Rose yells into vox.
"This must be the remains of that orbital station," Cyril nods, "Watch out for remaining defenses."

The Commandos dodge and weave through Lascannon fire from the malfunctioning defense turrets, as Cortain and Brynjol try to take some down with the sponsons. Cyril, in the meantime, turns the magna-melta to the walls, burning through the walls to try and forge a better path. To the Commandos' excitement, Temur rolls near maximum DoS, and they decide to pop the additive to salvage the situation. Bursting through the ruins into a wide urban sprawl, the Commandos finally catch up to Khodexus, even passing him. Kim and Ramsestron are dueling in the ruins, while the Commandos and Khodexus are neck and neck. The Commandos can clearly see Khodexus. He's already making ready to fire.

"Commandos!" Rose yells, "Khodexus is straight ahead!"
"Cortain, take the turret," Cryil says, determined, "I am going to fire on Khodexus."
"Emperor Speed," Cortain nods. Cortain engages his Djinn Skein, boosting Cyril. Cyril fires everything he has at Khodexus, but the crew piloting the Reaper work to dodge Cortain's Magna-Melta blast and Cyril's Photon Thruster. The few shots that hit Khodexus are easily blocked by the Archon's flickerfield. Khodexus in retaliation fires a pair of Blasters at the Commandos, which are dodged effortlessly, but Khodexus smiles - the Commandos have fallen into his trap. The Reaper's Storm Vortex Projector fires, hitting the Predator in its undefended rear. While the Commandos take a fairly substantial hit, they are convinced they can keep on trucking...until the Predator comes to a rolling halt.

The Storm Vortex Projector is a Haywire weapon.

The Commandos look on helplessly, trapped in a haywire dead zone, as Khodexus jets forward. He uses his own engine booster, and surges so far ahead, the win for him is guaranteed. As the haywire field dissipates, the Commandos floor the Predator's pedals. Advancing rapidly across the gothic architecture, dust of ages kicked behind, the Commandos soon find the Illustrious Kim and Ramsestron catching up. While Ramsestron and Kim are focused more on each other, a blast of sonic energy still goes for the Commandos, causing them to dodge. Counterfiring with Magna-melta and Lascannon, Ramsestron's Harmonic Ark is delayed a bit behind the Illustrious Kim's Gyrocopter. The Commandos surge forward, and the Deimos Predator clears the finish line, riding forward through the city, around the edge of a cliff, and onto the surface a waiting Castellan Heavy Escort.

Everyone's cheering.
"Commandos!" Rose says, "You cleared second!"
"I suppose it will do," Cyril grumbles. "I would be happier if anyone else had taken first place."
"That damned Archon and Wolf Priest..." Cortain mutters.
Soon after, Illustrious Kim of the Squats clears third, leaving Ramsestron at fourth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlWzsZIXaTA

"Welcome! Welcome all!" Korst'la announces as the escort voidship floats above the city sprawl of Rechner.
A Phantomfish comes down close.
"We had a great event today, and though not everyone survived, the best sped forth and prospered!" Korst'la says, dropping down from a Phantomfish.
"In first place, Khodexus, representing his Kabal!" Korst'la says, as the House Detachments and audience cheers.
"In second place, the Republican Commandos, the stalwart defenders of the sector!" Korst'la announces, as the cheers are beyond riveting.
"In third, the Illustrious Dynasty of Kim, clinching third!" Korst'la says, as the squats roar their praises.
"And last, the Tonal Architect Ramsestron! Better luck next time!" Korst'la says, as Ramsestron still waves happily to nobody's applause. Cyril applauds the Phaeron, alone he finds.

Cortain grumbles something in the static about how nobody respects the poor Predator.
"We shall give it a thorough anointing later, brother," Cyril sighs.
"Well, Commandos," Korst'la says as he walks up, "It was a great event, and I do want to thank you for taking part in it. It's a pity, but sometimes things happen."
"Anti-technological weapons, disrespect to machine spirits, and /bloody Khodexus/ do count as things that can happen, I suppose," Cyril mutters.

"I am still curious how in the Emperor's realm this event is both illegal," Cortain states, "And able to take place for over the last century and a half. Is the sector's governance that incompetent?"
"Well I still think you did fine!" Rose says, disembarking from the Aquila, the Fire Hawk and transports being brought near as well. 
"We usually hold our events in out of the way places," Korst'la shrugs, "But this time, a change of pace would suit everyone. Commandos, I'd invite you to relax, but I already know your answer, so all I can do is bid you farewell and good luck in your further missions."
"Give our regards to the Inquisitors next time you see them," Cyril sighs.
"Of course," Korst'la gives the sign of the Aquila, warped as it is with only four fingers per hand to call on.
Cortain can only give the most evil, hideous, and spiteful glare as the Archon is carted away to victory.

Taking the Fire Raptor up, with Rose boarding her transport, it's a sour note to lose to Khodexus, but second place is still a respectable showing.

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