My name was Ken, a soldier of the Penal Legion.
My name was not really Ken, but I had to forget my own name. From now on, I was Ken.
Life in the Penal Legion had not been easy, but now, inside this Black Fortress that I did not know what else to call, I thought I would rather have stayed in prison.
Our overseer was a fellow named Flieg, but he died. At first, we were delighted. Our Commissar Ken cut off his hand and used it to remove all our explosive collars. He told us that if any of us made it out alive, we should say our name was Ken, a soldier personally pardoned by the Emperor's Angels.
Most of us kept following him. He had proved that following him could keep us alive. Perhaps the Emperor really was watching over him.
A few fellows decided to go it alone. I thought that was a foolish choice.
Emperor, please believe me. Everything I say is true. Please guide me, show me the way. What should I do?
I was lost.
Ken's head was in my arms. I swore I had not betrayed you, great God-Emperor. He fell in battle, a worthy death, and I was no coward either. I fought to the very last moment.
Death had not come for me. Was that your blessing? Great God-Emperor, I had no intention of questioning you, but were those who charged onto the battlefield and killed the remaining enemies truly angels sent by you?
Their bloodthirsty brutality exceeded anything I could imagine, and their conduct was anything but holy. They said Ken's head was excellent: round, loyal, brave, worthy of hanging from their bodies. Then they cut it off.
I held Ken's head in my arms. I was following