Warhammer 40K eats people. I don’t mean that it will consume your life, or that your home will be taken over by the countless models that you don’t have time to paint. No, I mean the setting itself is fuelled on corpses - whether it’s the soldiers of the Astra Militarum dying in crusades, the Administratum clerks toiling over documents, or the criminals forced into permanent sentence.
It’s a truth that understands; whether it’s you or the Poxwalker you’re about to cleave in half, you’re both just meat in some god’s army. In a not-sodifferent life, that medicae servitor, tending to the wounded while encased in machinery, might have had your face instead. Plainly stated, it sucks to be a human - or an ogryn - in 40K. You probably told some sergeant you were tired of eating corpse starch, and now you’re here, a prisoner of the Inquisition, sent to liberate Hive Tertium with a shovel and some old lasgun,
