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Detective_Quack

Detective_Quack

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Tempokai

Tempokai

Overworked One
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A bedtime story about W40K:
In the cold, steel-clad chambers of the Imperial Sanctum, nestled within the skull-capped peaks of Mars, slept the ever-diligent Hadrian Volt, the esteemed head of the Heresy Eradication Department. An imposing figure even in sleep, Volt’s rest was as battle-ready as his waking hours, his brow furrowed as if fending off foes in his dreams. And indeed, tonight, his slumber was anything but restful, as a most peculiar nightmare unfurled in the theatre of his mind.

The dream began with the droll ding of an intercom announcing “morning” in the adeptus mechanicus, which was absurd enough because everyone knows the concept of “morning” doesn’t exist in space; time is a flat circle or perhaps a triangle—whatever shape is most inconvenient. In his dream, he strode into the main hall to find his faithful servants, the adeptus mechanicus, now proclaiming themselves proudly as non-binary, an identity change that was perhaps the least of Volt's concerns when they also decided that oil lubricant was now a beverage of choice.

As if that wasn't disorienting enough, there stood Slaanesh, once thought a dark god of chaos and excess, now revealed as a trans icon and, rather shockingly, the ‘good guy’ all along. Slaanesh sashayed through the corridors, distributing pamphlets on self-care and balanced emotional investments.

But the true heresy unfurled when the Emperor, the revered and feared, resurrected not in the form of the grand patriarch of mankind but as a fabulous gay black woman, strutting down the golden halls of the Imperium, remaking everything with a flick of her majestic wrist, leaving trails of glitter and progressive policy reforms in her wake.

Just as Volt was processing this bombastic turn of events, Sanguinius, the winged Primarch thought forever lost, descended from the heavens, fluttering about in a desperate attempt to “save the brand,” whatever that meant in this context. But alas, it was “too late,” according to the tragic, echoey cries of a nearby cherub.

Jolting awake in his bed, Volt sighed a relief-soaked breath—thank the stars! It was all just a vivid terror of the mind. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow and decided a walk through the Sanctum might calm his nerves. As he made his way down the gilded corridor, he felt a pang of residual unease. Maybe it was the echo of his nightmare, or perhaps the unsettling quiet of the Sanctum at this unholy hour.

Turning the corner, he nearly collided with a figure—a custodian, but not just any custodian. She was a woman. A woman custodian in the Sanctum, a sight so unfathomable that Volt's heart skipped several beats. How did she breach the sanctity of the Sanctum? What heresy was this?

Before he could utter a word, Volt woke up. Again. This time, for real, his room shaking violently, the roar of explosions tearing through his once-impenetrable office. Stumbling out of his disintegrating quarters, he found himself staring down the smirking face of a real heretic, one not of dreams but of flesh and blood, who had somehow infiltrated the Sanctum.

“Surprise, surprise, Volt,” the heretic cackled, a detonator in hand, the red button of doom already pressed. “Did you enjoy your sleep?”

Volt, ever the stoic, glared at the intruder, his hands clenched. “You may destroy my office, but you will never destroy my spirit. The Emperor protects!”

The walls crumbled around him, and as the ceiling gave way, Hadrian Volt’s last thoughts were of administrative forms and the urgent need to revise the Sanctum's security protocols—right after he checked the official stance on non-binary oil drinkers and fabulous resurrected emperors, just in case.
 
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