The men called him “The Sarge”. There were no officers in their band, not the kind the corporations would recognize. Sarge was in charge because he was first among equals. They once had fought for the merchants as members of their respective militaries. Some together, some alone. One day they each realized that they no longer wanted to fight for some middle management drone’s bottom line so they took off and eventually came together to form their mercenary team; The Immortals. They prided themselves on being as good as any corporate unit, but they swore allegiance to no one but each other. They also were completely untraceable due to their non-corporate status. They still fought, but now on their own terms.
Sarge triangulated his position from the peaks of two nearby mountains and confirmed he was in the location that Major Anderson had informed him their training would take place. They had been dropped off by a chartered helicopter in a clearing miles from the nearest major city and had slogged several hours through the steaming jungle to this clearing where they were to await further instruction from their new employer. The Immortals had been hired on by the major, supposedly to help train corporate units; he had recently garnered a reputation for providing decent, if not top notch training quickly. The major had painstakingly drilled them on times and locations, even providing their weapons and equipment. “We are here and on time. What is next?” the Sarge wondered.
From within the Venusian jungle, something stirred. Suddenly the group found itself surrounded by strange figures. The Sarge knew the Dark Legion when he saw it; he had faced them enough times. Without being told, his men quickly formed a defensive circle; he had three squads of six and they outnumbered their enemy almost two to one although he counted two Dark Golems and a Carnal Harvester within a squad of Necrotyrants in addition to the cultists. Strangely, a man in a flawlessly prim Bauhaus dress uniform stepped forward.
”Greetings,” he said casually. “You have been given a unique opportunity to join us. If you lay down your weapons, you will be given a chance for true immortality.”
The Sarge knew that path led only to damnation. “Open fire!” he screamed as the men around him let loose. Nothing happened. No impacts in the cultists. No flying leaves as the jungle was torn apart. Nothing. Disbelieving, Sarge ripped the magazine out of his rifle and went cold as he realized it held only blanks. He heard Stahler’s mocking laughter. “You have spirit—I’ll give you that.”
Sarge drew his backup weapon—he knew he could trust it—he had loaded it himself and shot Stahler in the chest. Suddenly the man seemed to explode and was replaced by something larger, and far more sinister.
“Have it your way then. Harvest them.”
Sarge screamed as the Azogar ripped into his chest. The last thing he heard was Stahler talking into a radio, “Yes major, they are as promised. They will make fine legionnaires. Once they have been properly indoctrinated that is.”
