You step over the fallen form of your best friend. Shells plummet all around you and the smell of blood is thick and powerful in the night air. Your sweaty and tired grip clings to your bolt gun, your only chance of survival. You see the enemy. Raising your weapon you take aim. But then, suddenly you feel the horrible agonizing pain of explosive rounds ripping through your meager form. Falling, gurgling blood, with your last breath you curse them for what they have done to you. Another cry lost on the galactic battlefield of WARHAMMER 40K.