Editing Angry Marines (section)

== Induction V2.0 ==

Original version of the story was a mess and can be found [[Talk:Angry_Marines#original_Induction|here]]

Alternate opinion: editing someone else's fiction into a barely literate parody of its former self is, well, fucking stupid. Read the original and make up your own mind.
 
The dimly lit troop section of the drop pod was filled with noises that could pass for grunts under the sustained G of the drop pod's separation engine. Nine Space Marines endured the invisible hand of inertia with outward 'patience' and 'calm' born as much of familiarity as of training, genetic engineering, surgery and simmering RAGE. Nine squad'mates', and one other: even more calm, even if that was less attributable to experience.

The squad sergeant unsubtly looked his new charge over with a practiced and twitching eye, assessing everything from bearing to attentiveness. Battle-Brother Ten was of course under significant pressure from acceleration, made worse by the necessity for the Primaris Marine to slump deeply in his crash couch to accommodate his elongated torso. His legs, too, were splayed out awkwardly on either side of the sergeant's knees, a sight which filled the sergeant with no end of angry amusement.

"ARE YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER TRYING TO HIT ON ME LIKE A SLANEESHY FAGGOT?!?" said the sergeant with what could pass as a grin among sharks and other species known for biting people's faces off. Shouts that could be laughter echoed around the drop pod as the G eased off, the squad adjusting their positions for re-entry.

"Your customs and sense of humour are strange to me, sergeant." replied the Primaris. "I cannot imagine that Primarch Guilliman would approve of your lack of focus ahead of such an important operation; nor of the..." he stopped suddenly, weighing whether his statement would be received as insubordinate. "... condition of your wargear."

Ten had, perhaps, a point. While his own Mark X power armour was gleaming, freshly painted in the livery of his new Chapter and hand-polished to a shine, the rest of the squad looked as if they'd been dragged feet-first through a chainswords foundry. Pieces of half a dozen different armour marks adorned the squad, and while the detritus of previous warzones had been hosed off as part of ship's quarantine, battle damage was still evident on all.

The sergeant in particular was a trainwreck. As Ten's eyes moved down from the sergeant's dented "beaky" helmet to the acid-scarred torso, to the axe-gouged thigh piece, he was perplexed to notice the sergeant's right hand resting with the thumb and forefinger joined to make a circle. As his head exploded with pain, swiftly dampened by his suit's autoapothecary, Ten felt anger rising at the stunning blow from the sergeant's other hand, its brutal strength belying the smaller marine's stature.

The rest of the squad squirmed in their acceleration harnesses to watch the show, while the hull started to whine against the increasingly dense atmosphere.

"LISTEN WELL TO THE RULES OF THE FUCKING GAME, YOU CUMGOBBLER AMATEUR!!" said the sergeant almost pleasantly, resuming his casual stance of barely contained anger and resting one foot on a large reinforced sack full of something that gave a metallic clink under the weight; like gold bars in a concrete mixer.

"My name is Primaris Augustus."

"YOUR NAME DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER!!!" retorted the sergeant, ejecting a round from his battered boltgun, "NOW LOOK AT THIS PIECE OF SHIT!!!" Ten glanced at it, noticing again that the sergeant had pinched it between thumb and forefinger to form a circle. Before Ten could react, the sergeant slammed him in the crotch with an armoured boot.

"IF YOU ARE NOT AS BIG A FAGGOT AS YOU ACT LIKE, YOU'LL GET A FUCKING NAME SOMEDAY!!!" barked the sergeant. "YOU ARE NOT ANGRY OR BLOODY MANLY ENOUGH TO BE ONE OF OURS!!!" indicating Ten's immaculately maintained bolt rifle and armor, "YOU ARE JUST A BIGGER PIECE OF SHIT THAN YOUR AVERAGE GIRLYMAN FANBOY!!!"

Ten's temper was rising now. "On Mars, such undisciplined rabble would be liquified and fed to the servitors. I'm surprised that even works" he snarled through gritted teeth and eyes watering from the second blow, pointing furiously at the sergeant's dishevelled weapon. "And the next chaplain I see will hear of your insult to the Primarch."

The sergeant was visibly shaking with rage now, fully visible even in over the shaking of the re-entry fireball that was the drop pod. "IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR FUCKING FAGGOTY COCKSUCKING MOUTH I'LL LET THAT ASSHOLE MOFO HAVE A FIELD DAY WITH YOU!!!" he shouted. "HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES HAVE YOU DROPPED ON SOME FUCKER'S HEAD, YOU AMATEUR?!?" he screamed, almost helmet to helmet.

"Two times including this one!" yelled Ten, no longer caring about maintaining discipline in the face of the open conflict that had been bubbling ever since his recent arrival with the reinforcement fleet.

"THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FAGGOT!!!" retorted the sergeant. "I NEVER FUCKING BOTHERED REMEMBERING THE NUMBER OF CUNTS AND ASSHOLES I'VE KICKED AND PUNCHED SO I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU OR YOUR OPINIONS!!! SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR WAY WHILE WE KICK SOME MOTHERFUCKING ASS!!!" Cocking his chainsword as retro-thrusters slammed into life, the sergeant turned his attention to the exit ramps.

Ten had never felt such rage at being treated so dismissively. As the pod crashed into the planet and the ramps deployed he burst furiously into the light and started laying into the swarm of Tyranid lifeforms swarming around the pod with the butt of his rifle. Shards of carapace and gouts of foul ichor flew in a maelstrom around him as he unleashed his boiling frustration.

It was several moments before he noticed the Hierophant bio-titan standing over him and watching him curiously, like a child examining an ant. The lesser lifeforms stopped their assault and backed away as the great beast lowered its head towards him, before they were trampled by the maddened rush of his brutish squadmates. Transfixed, Ten barely registered the sergeant's voice on his suit comm as the great maw opened to sample a new morsel. What was that psychopath shouting at him?

"''ALWAYS ANGRY!!! ALL THE TIME!!!''"

White hot rage exploded in Ten's brain as he leapt into the Heirophant's jaws, past the rows of monomolecular-edged teeth and deep into the back of its throat. There he hacked brutally at the soft flesh until the swallow reflex clenched bloody blankets of meat around him, forcing him down into the boiling acid in its gut.

Sergeant Dickface and the rest of the squad whooped in joyous ire as they clambered up the legs of the great beast, carving footholds with chainaxes and driving their power wrenches deep into its joints. They hacked and mutilated tendons, flesh and carapace. And when the great beast finally collapsed to its knees they punched it further, revelling in the righteous rage they always felt.

As the bio-titan slumped its distended belly to the battlefield, a gout of blood and meat ejected from what could only be its anus, coating the still fighting hordes of Tyranids and Marines in pitched battle around it. Dickface surveyed the dripping orifice with anger and rage, and maybe... expectation? As Ten emerged from it headfirst, he tossed a loose Carnifex talon at the Primaris' head before running up to the beast's ruined 'face'.

Still raging, his armour half-dissolved by pungent fluids, Ten hacked into the sphincter until it released him and he fell to the earth trailing gibbets of innards. Landing hard he rolled and, noticing a yellow-armoured perimeter around the Titan's head, ran up the length of the Heirophant's destroyed body dragging the talon and opening the torso like a zipper.

Sergeant Dickface was screaming obscenities and battering the Heirophant's head into a bloody mess with its own oversized (but rapidly getting smaller and smaller as it splintered) spine. Ten joined him with boot and fist until the last shudder had faded and the enormous biomachine was finally still.

They regarded each other with blood-shot eyes, helmets discarded onto the filth around them, both bearing a closer resemblance to a half-cooked stew than Space Marines of the Imperium of Man.

"WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING PEASHOOTER YOU FAGGOT?!?" Dickface yelled.

"THE BLOODY PIECE OF SHIT GOT IN MY WAY SO I THREW IT AT THE CUNT'S FACE!!" replied the Primaris. "WAIT... WHAT IS THAT SHIT?!?" He bent down and reached into an unidentifiable mass of bloody muscle. Dickface watched as the marine's arm went in up to the elbow, freshly coating it in slick blood. When it emerged there was no bolt rifle, but a circle made of forefinger and thumb.

The Primaris slammed his forehead into Dickface's face, sending the sergeant flying backwards and sprawling on the ground. Dickface lay there shaking with raging, flipping him the bird and screaming obscenities.

"WELCOME TO THE FUCKING ANGRY MARINES, SHITHEAD!!!"

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Thought for the day: The burden of failure is the most terrible punishment of all.

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