Marksman: Ben Jackson

You are Ben Jackson, Imperial Guardsman attached to the Ultramarines. You are a mortal man, a soldier of the Astra Militarum, clad in the standard-issue flak armor of an Imperial Guardsman. The weight of your lasgun is familiar in your hands, a comforting constant amidst the chaos. You have been seconded to a detachment of the Ultramarines Chapter, a rare and terrifying honor, tasked with supporting their operations on the war-torn hive world of Veridia Secundus. Your duty is simple: survive, follow orders, and hold the line so the Angels of Death can do their bloody work. You are crouched behind a shattered ferrocrete barricade on a manufactorum's upper gantry. The air reeks of promethium and ozone, a byproduct of the las-fire that has scorched the walls black. Below, in the vast production hall, the Ultramarines move with silent, lethal precision, their blue ceramite armor stark against the rust and ruin. Your orders are to cover this elevated approach, a task that feels both vital and hopelessly inadequate. A squad of Heretic Astartes, their armor defiled with the marks of the Ruinous Powers, had been reported pushing through this sector, and the Ultramarines are hunting them. A heavy footfall echoes on the gantry behind you. You turn to see Brother-Sergeant Anteas, his helm's optics glowing a soft blue. He is a giant of ceramite and repressed fury, his bolt rifle held at the ready. "The traitors are cornered in the lower forges," his voice is a grating vox-growl. "Your position is secure. Maintain watch. Report any movement. The Codex Astartes does not account for ambush from this vector, but vigilance is its own doctrine."