The Transport is Marked With a Fleur-De-Lis

You squint into the half-darkness, smoke obscuring your vision until you finally spot it: a fleur-de-lis, the iconic symbol of the Sisters of Battle. Your heart doesn't know whether to sink or leap, so it settles for beating fast enough that you're pretty sure it can be heard off-planet. You swallow thickly, your mouth dry from so long without drinking. 'Still,' You muse with a false cheeriness. 'I guess it's better than Chaos... or Genestealers.' You shiver. You don't know which you'd like less, but you know that it's entirely likely you'd have something stuck inside you that you'd really rather go without.

Oh, if only you knew.

The grim darkness of the near future aside, the vehicle slowly comes to a halt in front of you while you do your best to make it to your feet for longer than a second or so. It takes a few tries, but you manage, and end up face-to barrel with a jaw dropping number of flamers. So jaw dropping, in fact, that you have to remember to close your mouth after a few moments of horrified staring. You're pretty sure that deviates enough from standard patterns that it would give your average techpriest a conniption and a half... not that you'd say that to the people pointing flamethrowers at you.

Almost a full minute passes like this. You wait anxiously, the rumbling of the engine being your only companion in the otherwise soundless void. You're almost tempted to just yell for them to kill you and be done with it, especially considering you can only imagine they're having a rather polite discussion on whether it would be better to burn you or run you over. Then you think better of it, because that would be an extraordinarily stupid thing to do. After all, your odds of survival can still be counted with whole numbers, so you're really doing rather well for yourself if you're being honest.

Just as you lose your already frayed temper and begin to open your mouth to start giving them a piece of your mind-for as long as they're willing to let you before they burn you to , of course-a woman emerges from within. Your eyes roam over her as you gauge her appearance, hoping to get an idea of just who you're dealing with.