The door on his cell slams open, with an almighty crash, not unlike thunder. It echoed in the tiny cell, causing the walls and his bed to vibrate. Two grim faced guards stood, lasguns in rest positions, with a Commissar between them. It was time.
"Get up," the Commissar snapped. He looked at the chrono on his cell wall. Ten to six, Terran time. Ten minutes. Then it'll all be over.
The Guards stepped in and grabbed him roughly by the arms, half throwing and half dragging him out of the cell. The Commissar kicked him and he stumbled forward. He regained himself quickly, not wanting another beating. He remembered the flogging he'd gotten already. The bruises on his back were a sickly, bright purple and burned like napalm when he moved. Yet, he marched on. By his count, it was now seven to six.
He thought back to the incident. Him and the others, sitting in their barracks. Adolfa was cleaning her rifle, Eramana was praying and he was talking to Baltasar. He'd commented on how stupid the Colonel was for his tactics. The Colonel happened to be passing. He stormed in and dragged him out. He publicly flogged him, in front of the entire Regiment. He wasn't even given a trail. He was given a half hour of the Officers speaking against him. They accepted no evidence from him. It took a total of half an hour.
Half an hour for a man's life. Hardly seems fair. It was too late now. The Colonel called him a worm, all sorts of names and none of them good. Never had names bothered him. Until then. It was five to six by his count.
He stepped into the courtyard, frost clinging to the grass. The air was crisp and cold and the sun began it's slow ascent to the west. The sky that remained untouched by the sun's bathing rays was still dark, the stars in full shine, yet falling to the sun. Despite himself, he smiled. He thought back to the time he'd decided to join up. The air was crisp and cold, the stars were out and the sun began to rise. 'You'll end where you begin,' as his father used to say. He smiled at the memory. Three minutes to six he guessed.
Three other Guardsmen stood in the courtyard, yet he could only see their backs. The wore the same coloured armour he did, a few days ago. It seemed a lifetime. He was pushed against the wall and tied to a post. He didn't bother to fight back. The Priest came up, with the black hood and went to put it over his head. He shook his head vigorously. If he would die, he'd look his comrades in the eyes as they pulled the triggers. The Priest mumbled and made the sign of the Aquila, moving back as the Guardsmen turned, with the Commissar beside them. He barely resisted the urge to laugh. It was Adolfa, Eramana and Baltasar. The God-Emperor, or at the very least, the Commanders, had a very sadistic sense of humour.
He watched as his old Squadmate's expressions turned from that of stony duty-bound men and women, to that of shock, horror and disgust. Shock, that it would be them pulling the trigger on their friend, Horror, that he would watch them do it. Disgust at the sadistic pleasure their Commanders were no doubt getting from this.
"Attention!" the Commissar roared as the trio of Guard snapped to attention.
'I fear no evil, I fear no death, for the Emperor comes for me,' he thought to himself.
"Present Arms!" The Commissar bellowed and the Guard presented their rifles.
"Mighty Emperor, spread Your divine light to protect me from the darkness," he mumbled.
"Take aim!" The Commissar bellowed again, raising his Bolt Pistol and aiming for his chest. His old friends did the same, poorly contained tears in their eyes.
"Fear is naught, for my faith is strong!" he screamed, turning his head to the heavens.
"Fire!" the Commissar ordered. The Guard followed without question. A thundering crack told the world it was over. He was untied from the post and left, to rot in the sun. He had no name. He did not exist. He was forgotten. By Emperor and Imperium.
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