Editing Disco Marines (section)

==The Disco Marines -- Part Two==

You know what they say about the Mordian Iron Guard. "Not one step back, Victory or Death!" Unflinching discipline will face down any foe! Well, turns out that’s just regular old recruitment bullshit. Last time we spoke, I told you about how we lost the frontline to the Necron interlopers. Hell, we all expected we’d be back in the same trenches within a week, but it really hasn’t gone our way. Four months on and we’re in headlong retreat along cramped dirt roads all chewed up by Baneblade treads. All the bloody rain's turned it into a mudbath, and the going had been painfully slow.

Anyway, we were three weeks into the retreat, exhausted, and that’s how we met the Disco Marines for a second time. We knew the Necrons’d be closing fast, so the colonel sent out a distress call for evac. Well, turns out luck was on our side and we got not one, but two replies from friendly dropship squadrons. The Colonel didn’t bother to stop them both from converging on us, as he knew we’d need all the ships we could get if we were getting everyone out of there.

So yeah, they arrive after about half an hour, and to the horror of us Guardsmen, they’re Ultramarine Thunderhawks. Now, no offense to the Emperor, but these guys are total dicks. Self-righteous pricks, the lot of them. We’d met them before on the campaign, and we knew all they ever did to "help" was stop the retreat and force us all into some "noble" last stand against the robots, hopping in their dropships and fucking off right before they all died, of course, leaving the piled corpses of thousands of Mordians behind them. Sure, they aren’t expendable like regular Guardsmen, but why even get into the last stand in the first place? Fucking glory hogs, all I got was two fingers lopped off.

ANYWAY, we’re all grumbling as they land up in front of us, and the Marines come out. Very official, very professional. Emperor's finest, etc, etc. Their commander, huge guy, scarred face, walks over to the Colonel and says in ringing tones, so the whole regiment can hear:
"''I suppose you want us to carry your men to safety, Colonel? Well, I have some good news. The retreat stops here. With the Emperor’s steel, and the Emperor’s courage, we shall face down the Necron scum! Here, we make our stand! HERE, WE-''"
We’d all been losing interest by this point - heroic speeches become less impressive when you get them once a week - but we all heard it, in the distance; a rhythmic thumping. Soon the Marine Commander could hear it too, and we all strained to hear the words over the blaring tune.
[[Image:Disconought.jpg|thumb|Disco-Stu has come to destroy YOU!]]
“'Do the D.A.N.C.E!
1, 2, 3, 4, fight!
Stick to the B.E.A.T!
Get ready to ignite!''”

I knew who was coming when I heard that. And I’ll admit, I pissed myself a little bit I was so relieved. Maybe we wouldn’t have to join in with the stupid last stand! The Disco Marines were here to help! They had it sorted!

“''Do the DANCE!
The way you move is a mystery!
Do the DANCE!
You’re always there for music and me!''”

And on that note, the Disco 'Hawks landed. God, they were great. I’ve never seen so much sparkly paint on Imperial armor. The bay doors opened, and out they came. It was in the day this time, so I could read their insignias - I didn’t see much in the way of Latin or purity seals, but there were a lot of mottoes. I glimpsed “Black by popular demand”, “Catching all the lights” and “Electroma” as they passed. Then they parted ranks, and out he came. I thought he must’ve died at the frontlines, but there he was, the Disco Commander, silver Tau helmet shining bright in the weak sunlight, wearing a thick purple cloak about his shoulders. He looked my way, and a “;)” slid across his visor.

So yeah, no-one’s spoken in a while now. The Ultramarines are all standing at attention, and across the way the Disco Marines are leant up against their Thunderhawks, unpacking amps and all sorts of tech shit. The Disco Commander walked over to the Ultramarine head, and the guy growls as he approaches.
“''What the hell are you wankers doing here?''”
“''We got a distress call. It sounds like these men are in dire need of some fun times.''” The Disco Commander says. “STAY COOL” flashes on the visor.
“''You can fuck off. These men are under my command, and I say they fight, AND DIE.''” he raised his voice so we could all hear him clearly for that. “''Right here!''”
“''They’re as much under my command as yours, Brother Amulius. You know there’s only one way to settle this.''” Says the commander, and as he finishes, off comes the cloak, revealing the resplendent gold-on purple patterns underneath, the strobe lights flare, and the Disco Commander bellows “''DANCE OFF!''” The Marines behind him immediately take up the cry, and the amps blast a ringing “''LETS! DANCE!''” at the Ultramarines.

Yeah, so that’s when the Ultramarine, Amulius, snaps. He goes fucking apeshit. His jaw twitches, and then he screams, spraying the commander with spittle;
“''Enough! Fucking! DANCE! BULLSHIT!''” And on the “shit”, he bunches his fist and lays one on the commander. We all winced in sympathy, it was one hell of a punch. But the commander, he just takes a couple steps back, shakes his head, and looks up. There was a big ol’ dent in his helmet, and “IT’S SO ON” flashing repeatedly on the visor. He pushes a button on his wrist, and the heat vents on his backpack swivel to face Amulius. Yeah, turns out they’re amps too, and they start pumping a beat straight at him. The commander’s getting into it, letting the beat carry him as it gets louder, louder, louder, until even the furthest Guardsmen had to jam their fingers in their ears. And I still hear it all perfectly, the strobe lights still blazing, the commander framed against Amulius, making his lazy dance steps seemingly without a care in the world. Then the real tune hits us.
“''Put your hands up!''”
We winced again, even the Ultramarines were showing discomfort.
“''Put your hands up!''”
A couple of Guardsmen pass out.
“''PUT YOUR HANDS UP FOR DETROIT!''”
Amulius sinks to his knees, clutching his head.
“''OUR LOVELY CITY!''”
And the commander thrusts sharply forward, slamming his crotch plate into Amulius’ face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling into the mud.

And hell, we couldn’t help but cheer the guy on. Let me tell you, we had one hell of a party right there, crowd heaving as the Disco Marines lead the beat from their 'Hawk-top decks.

Yeah, it was going great until the part where the Ultramarines rushed forward and started bashing our faces in with their bolters.

Self-righteous pricks.