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(This is my first story on the site, and one of my first forays into the field of NSFW writing. Suggestions, requests, and feedback are welcomed.)
I wouldn't recommend you go in looking for a very serious tone, though. As the synopsis suggests, this is intended to be a mix of lewd and humorous, and I can definitely see how that could put off some people.
Also, I assume this goes without saying, but I'll probably end up fucking canon about as hard as our protagonist is going to be by the time this is over.)
It is generally agreed upon that life as a Guardsman is hard. Combat against the horrors that the galaxy has to offer is the single most psychologically and physically taxing thing that a man can be made to do. On the plus side, the benefits are great, and you're only expected to have to serve in combat for 15 hours! Granted, 15 hours also happens to be the average life expectancy for a guardsman, but you're not paid to think about such things. In fact, you're not paid at all.
Of course, those thoughts haven't run through your head for the past several hours now, as you happened to have been knocked unconscious due to having suffered from the the unfortunate condition known as 'taking a large chunk of rubble to the head'. There has been much debate as to whether or not the name should be changed to something that sounds a mite more scientific, but they died down after one too many Inquisitors tired of it and let his finger 'slip'.
Needless to say, the fighting you were partaking in has long since either resolved or moved to another front, something you quickly realize as you wake up and find yourselves confronted with the sight of rubble, more rubble, and- Hey, is that a person? No, wait. It's more rubble. You sigh and palm your pounding head, patting down your body to make sure you're still in one piece.
Limbs, check. Organs, check. Memories... spotty. In fact, you can hardly remember what you were fighting, much less how you ended up in this particular spot. You don't have time to think about this, though, as the sound of a vehicle fills the air. From this distance, and with your eyes yet to adjust to the whole 'not being unconscious' fad that your body had recently taken up, you can't quite tell what it is that approaches.
What you _can _tell is that it's rather large, and likely full of rather dangerous individuals. Being alone on a battlefield like this could easily be considered cowardice by your rather fanatical commissar-then again, you can't recall ever meeting one that wasn't-and would likely end up with you on a one-way ticket to blamtown. Of course, now that you think of it, the woman had always been rather hard on you in particular... but you can't be worrying about that now. Pushing aside your headache for the moment, you consider your options. As things stand, only three options come to mind:
Hide and hope you aren't spotted, then leave as quickly as possible, hoping that you'll come into contact with someone that won't kill you immediately- or at least that this world has some resources you can use to survive.
Hail the mysterious vehicle and hope that whatever's in there won't kill you immediately... or worse.
Hm. Both options risk immediate death. How encouraging.