Editing Disco Marines (section)

==The Disco Marines -- Part Three==

This will be my last message to you - all I can do is hope an Imperial receiver catches all this and forwards it. The campaign’s gone from disastrous to catastrophic in the last few months, with the seemingly infinite tide of Necrons crawling all over the planet’s surface. In the end we retreated to our remaining strongholds, and that’s when the traitor legion arrived - Slaanesh Marines, thousands of them, hit us like a ton of bricks. We’ve gone over why they decided come again and again, and the only conclusion we’ve reached is that they saw an opportunity for carnage and just jumped to join in.

So yeah, the traitorous bastards hit our fortresses, one after another, and they fall one by one. How were we supposed to stem the Necron advance on the one side and hold off perverted cultists on the other? Anyway, the Ultramarines, now in charge of the campaign, realize that we’re more or less fucked. Scattered Mordian companies and regiments all over the place, millions dead, and no progress. So they uncharacteristically forgo their last stand for once, instead opting to pull out entirely. That’s it. We’re all alone on a planet full of robots and chaos scum. Then what’s left of our regiment, holed up in the mountains, gets a message over the comm link. It was right from the campaign flagship. I guess it must’ve been a planet-wide broadcast. Anyway, it went something like this:

“''Men, you’ve all fought bravely, but the heretics and living metal scum have overrun us. Countless good soldiers have gone to their graves in the defense of the Imperium, and I regret that I must sacrifice many more to put an end to this calamity. The order of Exterminatus has been confirmed on this planet, and is scheduled to commence within the next three hours. There will be no further evacuation of the planet’s surface - our forces are too scattered, and the dropzones too dangerous to allow it. But remember, men, in death you will serve the Imperium, saving countless more from the corruption and the slaughter that follows these affronts to the Emperor’s grace. We may have lost this fight, but it only opens the door to new, fresh, glorious victories! I only regret you brave men will not be there to see them. In His name.''”

That’s it. That’s all we got. So yeah, we sit there all glum, until we hear the distant sound of roaring engines. We all ran up to the parapet of our little outpost, and sure enough a whole bunch of the Slaanesh Marines are racing up the slope towards us, clinging on to the sides of their rhinos, screaming their warcries. Our first reaction was to ready our weapons, but a few, realizing the futility of clinging on to life for another few hours, opted to end it there. Idiots. Help was at hand! A low electronic rhythm, and a great, metallic voice roaring over the tune:

“''Prime time of your life!
Now! Live it! The prime time of your life!
Prime time of your life!''”

Yeah, that’s right. The Disco Marines, back again! This time, they were cruising in landspeeders, and it was one hell of an entrance. We hear them coming up behind us, and turn around to see the first one hit the parapet. The driver jumped the ridge at an angle, so the speeder did a couple of barrel rolls as it jumped, confetti blasting out behind it as it went, to land perfectly about five feet away from our guys. Within seconds the air’s full of more speeders, careening over our meager defenses. We all forgot about the Slaanesh Marines and cheered them on as they got out of their seats.

Now usually the Disco Marines have a laid back air about them, but not this time. They get out of their speeders and rush to the parapet overlooking the advancing enemy. Others snap open cases and start assembling their gear. They really looked like they meant business. The Colonel saluted the Disco Commander when he finally appears, striding purposefully out from amongst his men, and began to tell him about the heretic threat. The commander interrupted him.
“''I know, Colonel. Those aren’t ordinary Marines. They’re Noise Marines. We’ll handle this.''” His visor read “SERIOUS”. It was terrifying, frankly. What in the Emperor’s name could make a Disco Marine so somber?

Well, we were about to find out. The Disco Marines lined up in front of the defenses, and the Noise Marines stopped their charge a little way from them. It’s gone deathly quiet - the only things moving are the LED lights on some of the Disco Marine backpacks, spelling out slogans like “INTERSTELLAR”, “Born 4 the beat”, and “REMIXAR”. Looking at them then, the Noise Marines looked a lot like the Disco Marines, actually. Sure, their amps were built into their faces and they looked all fucked up with their soundblasters hanging at their hips, but they each had their own look, like the commander’s lot.

Anyway, the commander steps out into the empty ground between them. His Noise Marine counterpart does the same. They stare at each other for a while. The Noise Marine’s the first to speak.
“''Brother. It’s been a long time.''” He rasps.
“''Not long enough, Lepidus.''” Replied the commander, casually, but his poise betrayed him - tense, stiff. Lepidus, the Noise Marine, laughed.
“''Very well, commander. You will fight for them?''” He smirked, gesturing towards us. The commander nodded. “''Good. Allow me to begin!''”

And with that, he brought his hands down on the soundblaster, letting out a discordant howl - more Noise Marines joined, and suddenly out of the chaos a tune emerged, surprisingly catchy and upbeat. Lepidus led the beat, wailing to the tune. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded something like;

“''Hiiiiigh life!
Myyy life!
HIIIIIGH LIIIIIIIIFE!''”

There was a clear cessation of movement in the air, and the Disco Marines collectively took a step back under the sheer pressure of sound. But the commander took two steps forward. One of the Marines behind him grabs a mic and tosses it to him, and the rest ready their synthesizers and decks. The commander catches the flying microphone, slings it round under his helmet, and the Disco Marines start their own tune. The Noise Marines stopped as the new sounds hit them, starting with a piercing beat and gradually loudening to a pant-shitting crescendo. The commander nods along for a few moments, then starts his riposte.

“''Ahh!
Because we! Are! Your friends!
You’ll! Never be alone again!
Come on! Well come on!
We! Are! Your friends!''”

On that, he turns to us, and starts clapping to the beat. We clap along with him, cheering the commander on - by this time lights of all colors are flaring on both sides, and the first rank of Disco Marines advanced, pumping their fists in the air and doing some fucking great dance moves.

The Noise Marines had suffered this for a while by then, and Lepidus gave the signal for a counterstrike. The first two ranks of Slaanesh Marines marched forward and began blasting out a ferocious tune. The Disco Marines responded in turn, blasting out an equally energetic beat to counter it, with us still cheering them on. You could actually SEE the music, writhing and curling about the rivals, their amps hissing smoke and their instruments, in some cases, actually aflame. Soon they were completely wreathed in smoke, and all we could hear was a violent, chaotic musical frenzy emanating from within. Occasional flashes of purple or red darted through the smoke.

We watched that for several minutes, then the Colonel stands up.
“''The Marines are fighting for us in there, men! It’s time to stand shoulder to shoulder with them!''” He bellows, raising his sword. As one, we jumped the parapet and rushed into the smoke, screaming our defiance.

God, that smoke was thick. Couldn’t see a damn thing, but after a few moments stumbling through it, we burst into the eye of the storm. And what a sight we got. I’m not lying here, this is the solid truth. I don’t know where they got the stage from. I don’t know how they’d got their guys to coordinate for these songs. But they’d done it. We got in there to find the Disco Marines and Noise Marines side by side on the stage, banging out a tune. Lepidus and the commander were standing at the front of the platform, back to back, both of them blasting out the beats on their instruments of funk. The commander’s visor reads “PEACE”, and as he sees us arrive, he beckons us over to the front, and shouts;
“''YOU READY FOR THIS SHIT, MORDIANS?''”

They then proceeded to lay down something wonderful.

And that’s where I am now. I’ve left the party to record this message for you, using the regimental comm link to broadcast it as far as I can. The Exterminatus barrage has just begun, I can see the sky burning on the horizon. I imagine we only have about ten minutes before the atmosphere's totally stripped. Still.

We’re gonna celebrate.
Oh yeah.
One more time.
Oh yeah.
Don’t stop the dancing.
One more time.

<br>
[TRANSMISSION ENDS]

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Thought for the day: "The Beat can never die."
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[[File:Discotau.jpg|thumb|350px|center|Xeno funk may be heretical, however]]
[[Category:Warhammer 40,000]][[Category:Stories]]
[[Category:Stories/Warhammer 40,000]]
[[Category:Warhammer Homebrew]]
[[Category:/tg/ 40,000]]