Editing 97th Conglomerate's Tyrannic War (section)

=== Part 1: Deployment Day Minus 3 ===
Private Samson sat uncomfortably in the velvet covered seat of Colonel Cronus’ office. The Colonel had stepped out, for what, Samson didn’t know. He was here for one reason alone; he had seen combat before. The 97th never took recruits from a vacuum. They only ever plucked men from the forces of the Astra Militarum who had seen a battle before. But this wasn’t where Samson belonged.

''I’m a coward…'' He told himself, trying to think of a way to get out of seeing combat again. They called him ''weak, blasphemous, heretic''. He damn near jumped when the door opened again.

The Colonel was a tall, intimidating man with a chiseled face and sunken eyes. His officer’s cane was tucked tightly under his arm alongside a thin file folder. As he made towards his desk, he possessed an authoritarian presence and a regimental gait. He sharply pulled his chair, Samson clearly seeing the extensive bionic reconstruction that had replaced his whole left arm, and sat down across from Samson, who simply sank in his chair, cowering in the face of raw Imperial authority.

“Private Alexandre Samson…” Cronus began, flipping open the folder in his hands as he crossed his legs, sitting at an angle. “Age: 22; Height: 6 foot even; Weight: a little on the lighter side; Years of Service: longer than most.” He put his own slightly cynical spin on how to address Samson’s qualities. He started sizing up Samson skeptically. “How in the Emperor’s bloody name have you served as long as you have and still managed to get put through our screening?” He asked dubiously. Samson inhaled and went to answer, but was realized it was a rhetorical question when the Colonel simply continued. “Have you ever fired an autogun?”

“I’m sorry, sir?” Samson responded, trying to make sure he heard the Colonel correctly. 

“An autogun…” Cronus said again, slapping shut the file with the hand he held it in. 

“Um, I’m not sure I’m following sir.” Samson replied once more. Cronus gave a brief chuckle – well, more of an amused huff – at the Private’s response.

“Not important.” The Colonel continued. “Report to the quartermaster in the Guardsmen common areas tomorrow, where you’ll be issued your gear and assigned to your squad.” He tucked the Private’s file away into a drawer of his desk. “You’re dismissed.”