That is not how I want to start my morning. Ever. So I wake up this morning, and walk to the little kitchenette that is part of my quarters here, and look out the door at the little garden Timote has been making, only to see it covered, no, drowned, in blood. I yelled out to 6345, who appeared wrapped in her sleeping tunic, rifle in one hand, my bolt pistol in the other. Grabbing my pistol from her, I wrenched the door open, our weapons scanning in overlapping fields of fire. The garden looked like the remains of a kegger at a khornate cult. Whatever it was, thankfully wasn't human, but it still raised the question, what could have done this? A few vox calls later, and Timote said he would be back as soon as he could manage, and I have put the rest of the base on heightened alert. I found out later it was the body of one of the apex preadators here, a mountain bear, big as an Astares they are, but quiet as an eldars fart, to use the words of the local who identified the body.
I had a cold shower after that, and 6345 made me some breakfast. The day went as usual otherwise. I mostly mulled over my experience from the night before, could it be the Emperor just didn't like the idea of me going through 6345's slate? Was there more to it? I had no idea, so I did what seemed like a good idea, when I returned the dataslate to her, I asked if there was anything else on it. 6345's eyes darted away under her mask, and she mumbled something, just like she always does when she is embarrassed. I asked her again, and she told me that she had a diary on there.
Now, it's not heretical to call the Emperor a bro is it? I knew why he had told me not to, it had been a test. A test to see if I trusted her as much as she trusted me. A test, thanks to him, I passed.