In the Grim Dark Future of the 41st Millenium There Is Only Cringe

"Men, we are the first, last and often only line of defence the Imperium has against what is out there. You and that fine piece of Imperial weaponry you hold in your hands is all that is keeping humanity alive. Most of you will probably not live to see your second year in the Guard and most of you will probably never see your homeworlds again, but I can guarantee you that when you do fall, with a prayer to the most high and mighty God-Emperor on your lips, you will have earned the right to call yourself a man!"
— Staff Sergeant Vermak, 12th Cadian Shock Regiment

"I'm fine without being a man. In fact, I think my mom always wanted another daughter."
— Trooper Perseus Jackson, 3141st Nova Olympus Regiment

----

Percy never wanted to be a Half-Blood, let alone a guardsman in general. He honestly wasn't sure what he wanted to be, but as the Catachan brute dangled him over the latrine pit, he was throne-certain he didn't want to be a Half-Blood.

"Let the rookie have it!" One of the more–senior members, cackled as he thrashed against his captor's iron-grip.

"Put him where he belongs!" Another, Castor, if he remembered right, laughed.

"LET ME GO!" He shouted as he pulled back his free leg and then kicked with all his might. Fighting with his fellow guardsmen of the 3141st Nova Olympus Regiment, or 'Half-Bloods' as they had come to be called, would result in withheld rations, three lashes, or worse, but it would be worth it.

His boot-clad foot arced straight for the Catachan's smirking lips, and despite their almost inhuman strength and durability, there was no way she was not going to be spitting up blood and teeth-

Only for her to snatch his leg by the ankle mid-kick with her free hand...

"That might have ruined my smile," Clarisse said with a grin that made his blood run cold.

Lieutenant Clarisse La Rue hailed from the Imperium world of Catachan, one of the deadliest planets in the entire galaxy. There, people fought tooth-and-nail for survival every single day against the planet-wide jungle and the menagerie of creatures that called them home. The constant fighting meant only the strong survived, and produced some of the biggest and toughest warriors in the Imperium. Clarisse herself was death incarnate in a six-foot tall, two-hundred pounds of all muscle frame underneath a red bandana- which according to the other guardsmen was petite for a Death Worlder.

"Come on, Clarisse, just let the guy go," the guy who started the whole thing, Chris Rodriguez sighed. "He didn't mean it."

He didn't know anything for certain about Chris. All he knew were a few whispered and giggled rumors the troopers shared while performing their mind-numbing duties. Allegedly, Chris was originally from the 4th Demeter regiment and had been deployed on some world on the eastern fringe of the galaxy, when the Xenos race, the Tyranids, attacked. The rumors said that Chris was about to be devoured by the ravenous bugs, but was saved by Clarisse, who slung the guardsman over her shoulder and single-handedly fought her way through the horde. Ever since that day the two had become inseparable- though that might have been entirely by Clarisse's choice.

Clarisse frowned and looked away to her possibly captive, possibly boyfriend. "He pushed you."

"He bumped into me," Chris sheepishly corrected. Looking his way with an expression that said, I'm trying man.

"Yeah!" He managed to spit out. "I was trying to adjust my armor while I was walking, and-"

He was silenced by the Catachan shaking him by the ankle. His canteen, some of his dry rations, grooming kit, and just about everything else in his pockets falling into the fetid pit below.