what a fucking joke, space marine power armor short circuiting from some electricity? You clearly know nothing about the lore of 40k, so please educate yourself before writing anymore of this trash.

These Splicers warred between their two factions, that of Atlas and that of Ryan, the usurper and the governor respectively. Tenenbaum, when asked what faction she fought for, had simply responded.

"To Ryan, they are tools. To Atlas, they are monstrosities. To me, they are my Little Ones. I fight for the Little ones."

The grizzled Terminator, victim of a hundred betrayals and thousands more double-deals, had nodded his head, approving of this mindset. He now found purpose. To help the Little Ones, as Tenenbaum had called them. Something about those little girls intrigued the veteran Space Marine. They weren't afraid of him, and he had found that comforting.

Years ago, maybe centuries now... there had been a young girl.

She was a hiver, simple in her service to the Emperor. When the Hive had been invaded by the forces of Chaos, she had managed to survive the madness that was a daemon incursion, and when Virgil and his Brothers had driven them back, only she and a handful others remained alive, curled up in a ball of tense muscle in the blown out cellar of what had been her home.

When the Adeptus Astartes had come to save her, she had been scared out of her mind. The guardian angels of Mankind, the offspring of the Emepror himself, could not inspire the feeling of safety in a human.

He still remembered the blood on his hands as she battered herself to death on his armor.

It was then that he – then a mere scout – learned that the Astartes were not only respected, but feared by those that they protected.

Maybe that was why he found himself wanting to safeguard these Little Sisters.

"Look, Mr. B! More angels!"

—-

Poor mr b lol

No! Gotta save ANNA!

"Mr Bubbles, I found an angel!"

The girl's shrill cry went up with excitement, and Virgil did an about turn to see her prancing joyfully off in a different direction. He moved to follow her, his foosteps not caring what he crushed underneath. She was a curiosity, shaped as a little girl, in the fact that she was completely unafraid of the Terminator wrapped in three tons of armor. Even Imperial Generals and Lord Commissars, who had faced down daemons as junior officers and had planned alongside the Space Marines for decades were unnerved at the sight of their mightiest champions.

But this girl was completely undisturbed by his bulk, even to the point where she seemed soothed by his massive presence, her jerky, panicked flinches turning into playful, cheerful skipping as she came closer. Now she was crouched over a body, a twisted remain of a mutant. She prodded it lightly with the device she carried with her, stabbing the thing's cheeks and neck. Apparently satisfied with something, she stabbed the thing in the neck, and the device hummed to life.

Virgil looked on, frozen in curiosity as the little girl's device filled its canister with red liquid – not blood, it was too brightly colored for that – and watched as she jabbed the body a few more times, slowly filling the canister. He wondered what kind of madness had locked his muscles in place, keeping him from protesting her barbaric actions. The girl was whimsically humming to herself as she went about her grisly work, the work of butchers and sadists, filling the little container mounted on top. Maybe it was the contrast of her age and apparent innocence to the dried blood at her fingertips. The bright red fluid canister filled. She sloshed it around playfully, her giggles unsettling the hardened Marine.

For centuries, he had been fighting the enemies of the Imperium. Heretics who abandoned their very sanity in thirst for power were shredded by his chainsword when he had been a mere apprentice – a Scout of the Tenth Company. Foul xeno, greenskinned Orks, stick-thin Eldar and the closely packed lines of Tau, their bodies crushed under his feet as he marched through them as a Tactical Marine. After his promotion into the ranks of the Terminators, and the bestowing of Tactical Dreadnought Armor to his disposal and the responsibility to take it to the most dangerous of battlefields, a position he had held for more than seventy five years now, had him see horrors of the Warp manifest, the Daemons which screamed reality-rending cries crushed between the fingers of his Power Fist, and his crowning moment of achievement, where his squad followed Chaplain Ventores to bring down a Daemon Prince during the Thirteenth Black Crusade.

Now, a little girl that came no higher than his thigh, with long, lanky limbs holding onto a blunt syringe, was making him take a step back with her giggles. He sat in the shadows, looking at her pop open the seal on the red bottle before her.

"What in the Emperor's name are you?" He asked her, knowing that she would not understand.

"ADAM! You'd think WE couldn't SMELL IT!?" A voice, hoarse and anxious, shouted out. Footsteps approached. The girl gave a small sound universal to humans:

"Uh oh..."

"Please!? We didn't mean to do ANYTHING! WE DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU!" Shots rang out, chipping the statue that stood over the girl. She screamed, and masked figures stepped out into the pool of light coming from the lone overhead lamp.

"Adam, adam, adam, ADAAAAAM!" One sang in a sing-song voice that rose to a screech, stepping around on her tiptoes. Her voice was almost ecstatic at the prospect of 'adam'.

There were two of them, and more in the shadows. One was a thuggish brute, a large section of pipe held tightly to his chest. He was babbling on about something, one word 'Adam' in particular. It sounded like a name. Was it the girl's? The other one was a woman, a small, slender pistol in her hand. It was an archaic revolver, he had seen Guardsmen Snipers use a variant of that mechanism back on Eastwood II – although the barrels were much longer and shrouded, much heavier rounds were fired and overall more effective to use.

"You will not harm this girl."

—-

Awww he protects, and comforts her while she cries, and now can understand little Anna and the doctor.

Lol ‘mr bubbles’ that’s you, mister.

It was a full hour or two before he heard the next scream. It was higher pitched now, less mature. The Terminator pulled around to go down that way, his massive frame slowly building up to a full charge.

In a brightly lit room, there was another mangled humanoid, who was screaming something at a girl. A young girl, with a small device with a red container attached to the top side. He assumed it was some kind of syringe, seeing how sharp the tip was, and the liquid sloshing around inside the red container.

All this was taken in as he was sailing through the air, flimsy support struts and catwalks snapping as he barreled through them. He landed with a heavy crash in the middle of the room. Wooden floorboards splintered, woven fabric flooring tore, a chair that he had landed beside was hurled in front of him as he smashed it out of the way.

The man who had just struck her looked on in horror at the sudden appearance of the bronze-armored Space Marine, and weakly fired his slug thrower. Little lead bullets splashed across his armor, deforming and ricocheting off. Threat identified, Virgil charged forward, his right arm thrusting into the man's abdomen, throwing him back and into a wall, where he cracked the weak wooden construction. He fell down, only to be met by the deactivated power fist, which crushed the man's ribcage. Pulling him aside, Virgil smashed the man into a wall, some unknown instinct telling him that this mutant freak deserved this. The torso and head of the deceased mutant crashed through glass after the third time Terminator Virgil pounded him against the glass.

From the corner of his eye, he saw another man, who was still human-looking. He had bandages from small wounds, but nothing else to worry him. Virgil simply ignored the man as the girl got back up. She would scream, he knew. Most humans acted in fear, but...

"Mr Bubbles?" She babbled on in some unknown language. Virgil wondered what she was saying.

Looking down at her, Virgil was surprised that the girl was already at his feet, looking up at him with strange, yellow eyes. And in those eyes, he saw no fear, not even apprehension. Just... relief. Those eyes seemed to relax now to a cool green as she reached up to hold his bloodied hand. She tugged on it, bidding him to follow her.

"Lets go, Mr. Bubbles, lets find some more angels!"
—-

Fascinating start, I love it so far.

10

Bit understating of the armor potential, but kek.
Terminator Armor literally has parts which even modern tank rounds wouldn't damage. Modern RPGs would be rather moderate annoyances. They'd put little craters in the suit, if HEAT, but...Heavy Machine Guns would sort of just Tak Tak Tak off the armor.

Powerfist canon. LEROY JENKINS

I hope that you will continue this because it's really good

Very good

no the plane was hijacked not hit by something

STOMP CANON! Nothing can stand the might of the Emperor's finest!

This story is awsome, please post more. :)

I NEED MORE

and i also cant wait to see what happens when he finds his storm bolter: daKKa daKKa daKKa :D

This is pretty cool. Please update.

Make with the stomping. A fan deman-er, begs of you!