Cosmic Junkyard (40K/Multicross)

Emperor above, your dreams are getting weird.

Another droplet of an indiscernible liquid falls from the pitiful, damp excuse for a ceiling and onto the bedsheet in which you lay. The floor remains as cold and metallic as ever, a constant reminder of how you have been and will always be treated by this uncaring universe.

Getting up on your feet, you take a moment to examine your -

[] [Mutation] Scaly skin
[] [Mutation] Extra pair of neck eyes
[] [Mutation] Gaping stomach maw

- a horrid blight on your otherwise human form. Really, if it weren't for this unnatural abomination you might be able to live someplace other than the wretched Albian underhive.

No use staying here, the roof could collapse any day now. It doesn't take long for you to snatch up your trusty laspistol. Feeling its bumps and rivets with a slow slide of your hand, your mind reaches back to when you first recovered it from a pile of rubble. Ah yes, the day when you first pulled its crusty trigger and watched a bolt of pure energy scorch its way through the flesh of an oversized vermin was still one of the best days of your life.

A sharp creak brings you back from your bout of reminiscence. Practically crawling your way through the gap separating the jammed door and its sibling doorway, you take a look out into the dilapidated corridor beyond. Nothing moving... but you can never be sure.

For what must have been hours, you trudged through the underhive's labyrinthian passageways, searching for something yet nothing at all. Debris-covered hallways give way to raging, long-abandoned forges with furnaces still raging, which fade into forgotten habitats once intended for humans but now home to hordes of tiny pests. The fact that you are all alone in this is not a comforting fact, nor is it of much concern.

Before you know it, you are lost. Far more lost than usual, perhaps: the sheer number of unfamiliar areas you've encountered in this day alone simply cannot compare to any other. No, not in all your years of trudging this Emperor-forsaken hellscape. Perhaps this is the beginning of the end, you ruminate.

Then, you find a light.

Not just any light: an actual sun, shining down on a rust-hued sky. Drawn towards it like a moth who never once saw a lamp, you duck through an opening and enter a whole new world.

Piles and piles of scrap layer the open landscape, surrounding your immediate body on all four sides and stretching out to form great hills towards the horizon. Some are unrecognizable heaps of metal and plastic, while others resemble fully-functioning vehicles half-buried beneath this junkyard jungle. There is no doubt in your mind that you have left Hive Albia, and journeyed into the wider planetary surface of your homeworld, Solomon. Or maybe you've found something more?

Wading waist-deep through the junkyard, it isn't long before you come across a few items which manage to pique your curiosity. It is almost as if they are beckoning to you, calling for you to make a choice among the three of them. Which one will you pick?

[] [First Salvage] A bent plasticine object teeming with buttons and displays. The machine appears to be functioning, albeit barely.

Looking at this damaged device makes you think of strange new worlds. The thought alone causes you to shudder.

[] [First Salvage] A rusty shotgun, sporting a clear pump just below the end of its barrel.

For some reason, this weapon reminds you of the Imperium's constant war against the xenos scourge. You can't help but wonder if this gun played a role in a similar conflict.

[] [First Salvage] A large grey box, with a few buttons positioned off on its side. A series of angular markings have been scrawled onto its top.

It makes you think back to last night's dream. If only you could remember what it was about.

- - -

Last but not least, there is the matter of your name. What is it?

[] [Name] (write-in)

- - -

A/N: One thing about the Junkyard that I'm still debating on is whether or not it will include tech from the Warhammer 40,000 universe itself. Considering that you can theoretically get all the 40K tech you need outside the Junkyard, I figured that it would be more interesting to populate the Cosmic Junkyard with tech and beings from other worlds entirely. I'd like to hear your thoughts on this, if you have any.

Updates will be intermittent, but frequent, at least for the foreseeable future.

You slowly pick up the slab with your hands. It is a thin, slender device, not much bigger than your head. Bringing it close to your face, you notice a quiet hum only audible due to its close proximity.

There are a number of plain buttons decorating its thin side, but one in particular stands out to your examination. A large, grey button, not too different in coloration from the slab itself, is placed near the corner closest to you at the moment. You take little hesitation in pressing it.

A blue, monochromatic hologram of a male human presents itself. It is clear that the human is wearing some kind of uniform, but the quality of the hologram makes determining any further details outright impossible. As soon as he appears the man begins to speak, monotone and benevolent in his diction:

"-repair manual. By the end of this course, you will be able to-*bzzt* -repair manual. By the end of this course, you will be able to-*bzzt* -repair manual. By the end of this course, you will be able to-*bzzt*"

What luck. This tells you absolutely nothing, doesn't it? Despite exhaling in exasperation after turning it off in quick succession, you still take the time to open up your duffel bag and slide the plastic slab in along with what little belongings you have to your name. Here's to hoping that it won't get slathered by the grease from the food you also carry.

Turning your attention away from what you have found, you take a moment to search for the exit leading back to Hive Albia. As much as you would like to remain out here and see what other loot is laying around, there's still no telling what dangers lurk within the depths of this Junkyard's rubble heaps. Fortunately, it isn't long before you find the exact thing you were looking for.

A freestanding archway stands upright in the middle of an especially shallow patch of scrap, with no indication of the gargantuan hive city you call home anywhere in sight. By now, it's clear to you that this isn't the scorched planetary surface of Solomon, but another planet altogether; how you came to this realization is anyone's guess. Nevertheless, it remains important for you to remember its location in the case of any further expeditions - and you are almost certain that these will come to pass.

{After walking through the underhive for another couple hours, Salazar encounters a group of three underhivers resting near an abandoned forge}

Ducking through the passageway and back into the underhive, you once again wander the seemingly unending nooks and crannies which you have made your home for all your life. This time, you are fortunate: after some scurrying you reach the vicinity of a particular industrial furnace that you recognize from previous travels. Thanking the God-Emperor for this fortunate occurrence, you begin lifting the sling to your bag off your back. But your luck does not last for long.

The sound of an autogun's readying click alerts you from just behind your head. Freezing in place, you drop the duffel bag's string before it snaps back onto your chest, pulling you downwards and forcing you to the ground. A commanding voice calls out in consternation.

"What are you doing in our home?"

"I... I didn't know it was your home. Honest!"

"So you say."

By now, sweat drips down your unmutated calf while trembling grips you all the way to your boots. "Please... please don't hurt me. I mean you no harm!"

"Wait a minute." The voice from behind is aged, yet vigorous. "Turn around."

You do as you are instructed. The face of an elderly man, both hair and comb mustache white as mincer spit, greets you in the dim room illuminated by the dying furnace. "You're a mutant, are you not?"

"Y...yes."

"Ah. My apologies." The man - a human, tired and true - walks out to face you in the light. Dirty, torn Flak Armour covers him from head to toe, his skin heavily scarred in the spots where they have been exposed. "My impression was that you were an Arbitrator."

"What? Of course not."

"Yes, none in the Adeptus Terra would dare recruit someone as inhuman and decrepit as you." A second figure walks forward to flank the old man, voluminous robes obscuring his figure. The triad of red pinpricks visible from under his hood do no favors in reassuring you. He would have been intimidating enough without the laspistol.

"My name is Ezakai, and for some time I have been attempting to gain a foothold in Albia's criminal underworld. At the moment we three have been unsuccessful, but employing skilled warriors such as yourself could turn the tides in our favor. After all, it couldn't have been easy getting past the alarm system." You blink in a moment of contemplation. What alarms?

Your response is short yet inquisitive. "Three?"

"Recovering from a scrap-feaster attack," Ezakai responds. You swallow a great deal of bile back down the depths of your throat before the man who just seconds ago threatened your life reiterates his offer.

"So. Make your choice, whatever it may be. We do not have all the time in the world."

[] Join them
[] Leave them
[] Kill them and take their possessions

- - -

A/N: Hopefully this doesn't turn into another bandwagon vote, because I prefer to make quest choices difficult ones. Even if it is, it won't be too big of a deal.

"Very well," Ezakai announces before motioning for his robed friend to back away. "Do not think this will be our final encounter." It isn't long before he himself follows suit.

Bringing the laspistol out of your makeshift holster, you turn around and start walking. Yeah, they're hiding something for sure. It would be best if you avoided them as much as possible, but given their awareness of your existence it might not be possible to do so.

After making your way out of the furnace room, you come across a narrow corridor just wide enough for you to navigate in a somewhat comfortable manner. Several rusty pipes line the ceiling, dripping some kind of repugnant sludge stinging your skin with each and every drop. It twists and turns for what seems like an eternity, rising and falling right along with your hopes of rediscovering the Junkyard's entrance.

Right where you discover that the tunnel opens up into a larger hallway, you can't help but notice a twitching form sprawled out within a small nook. Taking out an old glow-globe caked with dust and holding it to the nook, your eyes widen in astonishment as the light reveals the thing in all its glory.

The fresh corpse of a particularly well-fed hive rat lies limp on the metal, as long as your leg and twice as wide. You can still make out places where the maggots have yet to tear at it in any significance, while in others they have presented themselves in abundance. Drawing yourself closer, you just can't help but let a drop of drool escape your pursed lips.

There are very slim chances of you finding someplace to cook it, however. Digging your nails into a chunk of rat flesh and with a mighty pull severing the tendons linking it to the greater whole, you waste little time in hoisting it towards your mouth. A great chomp breaks the meat into further pieces, only this time with the added benefit of entering your sore-filled mouth. Coarse hair and tough texture may be a detriment, but you can't deny that it's still better than the scraps you've been picking through for days. The God-Emperor has blessed you with a wonderful meal, indeed.

It's taken most of your life for you to get used to eating raw meat, hasn't it? Yes, just now you were still careful in making sure the larva didn't find a way into your digestive tract, but if you had tried to do this back when you were but a child then the diseases those maggots harbored would have likely done you in. Plenty of past experiences have assured you of that.

It's unfortunate, then, that the remaining vermin carrion is far too covered in those squirmy little things to be of any use. You have no choice but to leave it there, unconsumed, and continue on in your quest to find what you're looking for.

To your surprise, it doesn't take very long before the Junkyard entryway is once again within your sight. After going through it once again, a quick survey reveals that not much has changed since your first visit - granted, it's not like there'd be any reason for change. Unlike before, your attention has not been drawn to any particular direction or location, although there are a number of spots which pique your interest.

Assuming the doorway faces north, which way will you go?

[] North

A large pile of rubble obscures the northern horizon. Numerous slight indentations within the hill's silhouette make you wonder if they were the result of any unnatural interaction. A long, rectangular piece of trash sticks out from the top of the hill.

[] South

Low, flat layers of junk make up this direction's foreground, although rolling hills larger than any other you've found appear towards the horizon. The visage of some kind of angular object hovers near where the plains transition into said hills.

[] East

Plains stretch as far as you can see, albeit with some minor terrain variation in the distance. A gravity-defying hunk of either rock or scrap - you aren't sure which - presents itself towards the northeast.

[] West

Blocked by sloped garbage even closer than what's northwards, a dark hole burrowed within dominates much of this direction. You can't tell what could be holding up this tunnel, although the relatively well-preserved outline of a vehicle might make it worth investigating.

- - -

A/N: I tried not to make the options too vague, while not giving too much away at the same time.