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// STDs are Killing Koalas 
// Story: I Blame You, Too 
// by Whitestrake 
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$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I find there is a certain difficulty in penetrating the mind of another psychic. Mental barriers natural erect themselves as your power grows or you age, and Dahl was easily eighty, so my work was both made more difficult, and much easier. Fundamentally, the mind is a bit like a chain connecting three stones to one another; each labeled past, present, and future. The older you are, the longer your chin between past and present becomes, and if I break the chain, your mind is like wet clay to be moulded by my hand. Long chains break easily, especially those that have gathered as much rust as Dahl's.

His experience was his downfall in a way. He knew enough to keep me out of his current thoughts, and those from the last decade, so direct control would take me days, perhaps months or years to attain. But, as much as the present determines how you fell at that time, the past is what makes you, well, you. What good was all the training he received as an orphaned child if I removed those memories? What good was his conditioning? His loyalty? All that and more I could have altered or removed. But, instead I chose to merely ride the train of his memories into the present, or at least to the mental wall he erected against me.

Eighty-eight years, six months, three week, five days, eight hours, fifteen minutes, thirty-eight seconds. That was precisely how old Reglan Dahl was, and he was far from middle aged. Odd how I once considered his current age to be a lifetime, but I suppose things change as time marches ever onwards. I saw everything through his eyes, felt everything, heard, smelled, tasted everything. A life's worth of information that could easily destroy a smaller mind was handled, sorted, filed, scanned for useful information, and then removed from my thoughts once their usefulness was at an end.

Up and up the chain I went, enduring the painful training and indoctrination he received at the scholam when he was a mere progena. Every punishment and privation, delivered by the skillful hand of Drill Abbess Tenpenny, was but a flicker of distant pain to me. Dahl's respect and hatred for her bubbled within me, but I shrugged it off as I pressed on, through his early years, and into his days as an acolyte of the Ordo Hereticus. He studied side by side with another, though his face remained obscured. The memory brought mixed feelings, and felt perilously important.

Further along the line, I saw Dahl accept his promotion, becoming a full inquisitor at the relatively young age of fifty. Fervently, I saw him work against the enemies of the Imperium. Corrupt governors, rogue psykers, Chaos cults, dozens were captured and burned for their crimes, all thanks to Reglan Dahl and his friend, the acolyte who trained beside him. The two inquisitors were inseparable, and gained a certain infamy within their sector. Then, twelve years into their partnership, something changed.

The anonymous inquisitor, a man who Dahl trusted without hesitation, was caught in a conspiracy against the Imperium. Charges were filed, hearings were held against he civilians, and the inquisitor in question was severely punished. For four weeks, day and night, he was flogged in front of the sector capital's planetary governor's mansion, for denizens of the city to see. Penance paid, he returned to work as dutifully as before. This lasted for a year, Dahl and his brother in arms growing farther and farther apart as time dragged on. Finally, twelve months and three weeks later, the inquisitor was gone, vanished from his home. There was no evidence of a struggle, or that he was escaping something; every bit of furniture and clothing, save enough for a week's vacation, was where it was meant to be.

A week passed, then another, then a month, then a year. Dahl, worried, visited his friend's home once more. There was dust over every surface, if only because he never hired maids, and Reglan thought it wold be rude to go against his personal preferences. He searched everything, hoping to find something the arbiters missed. The Emperor must have been smiling upon him that day, for he came across an envelope addressed to none other than himself.



My brother, Reglan,

It deeply pains me to write this, because I know you cannot understand my motives. As I pen this, I am awaiting a shuttle to take me to a waiting vessel in orbit. Do not bother checking official records to track me down; they are not registered and remain as of yet undetected by the PDF. I must thank you for your support during the Durmo Incident, pleading for me to live remain an inquisitor. Doing so has left me eternally in your debt, and that is the only reason I have bothered writing this, for only you shall every read it. It is, as much as you will doubtlessly hate me for, is my confession to heresy and treason, the very crimes in which you proved my innocence.

It was on Tajic, four years ago. I'm sure you remember well, Reglan. We got separated in the undercity, chasing a pair of rival cults devoted to Slaanesh and Khorne, the ones whose conflicts alerted us to their presence. You burn both of them out before you found me, but you were ignorant of the truth of the matter. Yes, cultist slaughtered each other in the streets, but they were not working separately. You and I stumbled upon a cult to Chaos Undivided, a seed of heresy planted a decade before. They captured me, took me into their inner sanctum, and forced me to listen for those hours you and I lost contact.

I felt nothing unusual during that black sermon, nothing strange, but there was doubt within me after I was released. Reglan, I know you are as loyal as they come, and I admire you for it, and yet, I feel pity for your blind faith as well. You can go on, live your life as you always have, and forget about me eventually. I hope you do; it's really for the best if your memory of me ceases to be. I wonder what our master would say if he could see us now? You, doubtlessly, would be his favorite, as it was in the old days. Do you recall the nights you and I would confide to one another, share or fears and excitement at leaving the scholam for the Inquisition?

Our Imperium, which orphaned you and I with its endless wars, is dying a slow death of stagnation, a gangrenous infection rotting it from within. In ancient days, war brought innovation. Innovation brought better lives for all, and freedom from restrictive governments. As a psyker, do you not know personally the prison the Imperium has made itself? Are you truly so ignorant as to believe you are seen as anything but a slave to used until you are no longer able to function, then tossed aside like garbage? I'll fight this Imperium, not for selfish reasons, but for you and all like you to be treated as an equal. Abhuman, psyker, mutant, or purestrain human, it does not matter. We fight, we die, and we give our lives to the God-Emperor; nothing more is asked, nothing less is tolerated.

I will see the Imperium change for the better, for the High Lords of Terra to understand that men are not resources to be thrown around like a complex game of regicide. The men who have died in the service of the Emperor outnumber the stars, now can you ell me they are anything but a nameless number to be seen in awe? Or can you see them as men and women and children? When you know the answer, you may see things as I do. Either forget I ever existed, or join me in this struggle to change the Imperium for the better.

The Emperor protects,
Leon Ophidia