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  • File : 1328072742.jpg-(93 KB, 440x599, InquisitorRamsay)OrdoCulinatus.jpg)
    93 KB Warhammer 40,000 -- Cafeterium Nightmare Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:05 No.17756644  
    The cryo-vault was damp and permeated with the smell of decay, mold-spores and stink wafting out as the heavy plasteel door opened wide with a groan.

    Even in the shadowy gloom cast by the filth-encrusted light fixtures, the cavernous void of the Cafeterium's cryo-stores was impressive: here is where the Hive's huge stores of sustenance were to be kept and prepared by the Administrati de Cuisine, with assistance from the commis-servitors and Cuisinart-skulls. Or, it would be impressive, if it were not in such an unsanitary state.

    The foyer, which should have borne a small cache of fruits, vegetables, and pastry - the bounty of the sub-sector's Agri-worlds -, was instead a single great sheet of shimmering green fungi and stringy azure organic-growth that had overtaken the entire chamber. Moisture dripped from the degraded ceiling and seemed to condense on every surface, while mold-rimmed pools of some fetid liquid shimmered gently due to unseen movement upon their surface. Those assembled were forced to duck briefly as a small swarm of carrion bats fluttered through the open entryway, no doubt sustained by the myriad insectoid vermin scuttling through and buzzing around the many piles of indeterminate rot littering the room, few of which consisting of materials that could still be identified as having once been edible.

    Beyond the prep-room, behind a sealed armour-glas divider was the long-term storage cryo-chamber where pod wheat, smoked grox flanks and other flash preserved products were to rest in long-term storage. The wall of inch-thick armour-glas, normally transparent, was now utterly opaque; the near side was matted with patches of hairy red-and-green sheets of lichen-mold, the far side apparently smeared with some unknown black ichor.

    Inquisitor Ramsay of the Ordo Culinatus turned his head away in disgust and took a deep breath of the Hive's stale recycled air, muttering under his breath, "Fuhkin' 'ell... We're really in the shit this time."
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:06 No.17756652
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    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:09 No.17756689
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    It began several days earlier, when a squad of acolytes infiltrated the Hive and performed the initial investigations into a plague of nigh-limitless virulence that had broken out in the city, and several others across the sector; with all signs pointing to something nefarious taking place in the Cafeteriums - the Administratum adepts continued to receive requisition forms for ever greater and more varied resources, despite the fact that residents had almost completely ceased to visit (choosing instead to subsist on underhive vermin and other questionable foodstuffs) after rumors spread that a meal at the Cafeterium quickly lead to sickness or mutation.

    Upon planet fall, Q - a Moritat of unequalled passion for the blade, the Inquisitor's favored Explicator and personal carver - managed to enter the facility without arousing suspicion and plant a pict-fly, allowing Jean-Baptiste (a Calculus Logis and expert aboyeur) to further investigate the facility. Q also managed to recover a sample of the Cafeterium's fare, which was handed off to the Chirurgeon, Lou-Bertha, a Sister-Hospitaller (and the Inquisitor's saucier) who was able to isolate a variety of compounds tied to the plague-strain.

    Investigation via the pict-fly revealed clean - though surprisingly bare - serving and prep areas, but the connection died just before entering the cryo-storage units and could not be re-established; the final sensor readings, assumed to be in error, showing impossibly-high biofrequency readings. Quite a bit of footage showing the kitchen's operation was recovered however, and the Inquisitor was most disturbed by the utter lack of passion he witnessed in the execution of the dishes, which were themselves flavorless and overcomplicated - almost none of the ingredients were fresh, most drawn from a small deep-freeze storage unit in the prep area, and the huge portions were undoubtedly driving up the Cafeterium's costs.
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:11 No.17756715
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    The hardened Inquisitor turned to the assembled Administrati - now clearly terrified, their eyes cast down in shame - and shook his head with disdainful amusement, "What was your claim again? 'They were cleaned yesterday'? Yesterday?! Look a’ it, you Emperor-cursed idiots! Fuck!"

    He nodded to Jean-Baptiste and the Administrati de Cuisine began to shriek, the commis-servitor suddenly tightening its grip on his arm with a sickening crack of bone. The Inquisitor allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, reveling in the inept fool's suffering, before snapping his respirator into place and stepping into the den of foulness; retching slightly despite it, as the aura of decay washed over him and his boot skidded slightly underfoot.

    Ramsay kicked the wall to dislodge some of the refuse from his boots, but only managed to send more filth cascading from the wall and ceiling, a heavy sheet of lichen-like mold falling into the uncovered vat below it with an audible *PLOP*.

    Peering into the vat, Ramsay turned back toward the Administrati, his eyes filled with barely-contained rage.

    "What the fuck is THAT?”, he asked, reaching a gloved hand to grasp a ladle protruding from the fuzzy green slop, "Is this... What did you serve me?" The Administrati offered no reply.

    "SAY IT, YOU HERETICAL PIG!", he roared, violently swinging the befouled ladle of gunk towards the man's face.
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:12 No.17756745
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    The Administrati could manage only a feeble "... pesto...", shrinking away from the ladle with tears in his eyes.

    "That's right... Pesto.", Ramsay said, nodding and holding the ladle in front of the heretic's face. He continued, "Well, if it was good enough for your customers - for ME - you won’t mind having some, will you?", and looked again to Jean-Baptiste.

    The Administrati screamed again and fell to his knees, the commis-servitor dragging him past his underlings and back out into the antechamber, another of the commis-servitors grasping the putrefied vat and moving after them. The Administrati's muffled screams, and the choked gurgling that followed, left little doubt as to what came next.

    Ramsay smiled.
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:14 No.17756769
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    There was no explanation for the large quantity of absent ingredients, nor for why nothing but filthy metal drums - filled with a viscous red substance used in most of the dishes - ever left the Cafeterium's main cryo-chamber; despite the fact that the Administrati de Cuisine, and his underlings, visited the main cryo-chamber several times daily.

    The Cafeterium's staff had no warning of an impending inspection, certainly not one performed by a man known famously as the Ordo Culinatus' most stringent and merciless Inquisitor, and they were running about like headless Ginny fowl from the moment Ramsay entered the Cafeterium.

    He seated himself, ignoring the servo-hosts' pre-recorded greetings, while his acolytes entered the kitchen and rounded up all they could find. These were brought before the Inquisitor, who immediately placed a massive order - many of the dishes containing ingredients he knew had arrived days earlier, but had not been sighted by the pict-fly - and sent them back to work, 'entertaining' himself in the meantime by interrogating each of the non-essential service staff in turn.

    It soon became clear that the front-of-house, whatever their true loyalties, had no great love for the kitchen staff; almost everyone asked noting the strange behavior - and smell - of those involved in preparing the food, particularly the Administrati de Cuisine. The marmiton and plongeur were of particular interest, as they claimed something truly bizarre was taking place in the main cryo-chamber - the one the pict-fly failed to access - though they had few details; only that they could personally attest to the hygiene levels drastically decreasing the closer one got to the primary cryo-storage chamber, and that both the chamber and the kitchen staff had taken on a strange mildew smell...
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:18 No.17756817
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    Inquisitor Ramsay watched silently, as Q and one of the commis-servitors worked at the locking mechanism, tightly gripping his sanctified spice mill - it had been several minutes now since he'd ordered Lou-Bertha to torch the room, the heat and incinerated-growth making it impossible for Jean-Baptiste to access the console, thus requiring some elbow grease to gain access to the long-term storage cryo-chamber.

    They did not appear to be making much progress.

    He turned to peer at the dead Administrati's underlings, each still held in the iron grip of a commis-servitor, and grimaced at what he saw. Two of them seemed to be trying to pull free of the commis-servitors' grip, muscles trembling and eyes wide with fear; while the other three lay groveling on the filth-encrusted floor, muttering to nonsense to themselves.

    "Fuck... Come on guys, let's go! I want to get out of this shit-slophouse as soon as pos-...", Ramsay said, cutting off as the arcane truth of the underlings' mumbled nonsense dawned upon him, and something heavy slammed against the inside of the sealed long-term storage entry. Ramsay shouted for his acolytes to prepare themselves as Q leapt away, the entry-seal suddenly bursting into the foyer and crushing the commis-servitor before it. Next came a wave of stink that even the respirators could not overcome, followed closely by the deafening buzz of millions of flies swarming forth to blind the Inquisitor and his acolytes...
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:21 No.17756845
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    To call the meal he was served 'awful' would be a compliment - even without the plague-contamination (little worry, thanks to Lou Bertha's experience with antigens), Inquisitor Ramsay would have taken it offense at being served such a meal. It was an insult, not merely to him, but to food; which to Ramsay, was tantamount to insulting the Emperor himself.

    He had killed for far less.

    Today though, he was on a search for answers, and the journey to enlightenment would start in this shit-hole Cafeterium.

    Once the meal was finished, Ramsay made his way to the prep area, which was as clean and efficient as expected - the pict-fly had shown as much, and his earlier interrogations had revealed that the kitchen staff had little to do with the activities therein.

    The lower preparatory chamber was another story.

    The pict-fly had shown it as slightly messier than the last-stage service area, but a more careful inspection revealed the truth - the floor was sticky in a most foul manner, rotten bits of food littered the storage cabinets and signs of vermin infestation abound.

    The Inquisitor was shaking his head with disgust, still pondering the missing ingredients - and what state he would find them in - when Q shouted for him to come quickly.

    When the Ramsay found him, the Moritat - whom the Inquisitor had seen bathed head-to-toe in battle-gore without concern - was bent over, coughing and gagging violently.

    He had found the main cryo-storage chamber.

    Ramsay took one look before messaging Jean-Baptiste, growling, "Make sure none of those Administratum pricks wanders off... In fact, get them down here, NOW!"
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:23 No.17756854
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    Ramsay violently swatted at the insects with the spice mill, a cloud of holy pepper briefly filling the foyer, and drew his plasma pistol; aiming at the shattered ntryway - where a more than a dozen humanoid Warp-horrors were slowly shambling forward, leaving a trail of vile purulence in their wake. The creatures seemed to pay the flies no mind, even when they became stuck to their single great pus-encrusted eyes, burning with infection and madness. The lead monstrosity carried a heavy pus-dripping blade, twisted and glowing faintly with a malign green energy.

    For a moment, everything was silent, the Inquisitor starring down his plasma pistol, into the huge eye of the lead creature; his acolytes waiting uncertainly for their master's command, and the horrors doing likewise. Then, without warning, the Inquisitor fired.

    The plasma-blast slammed into the abomination's eye, resulting in an explosion of burning gore and putrefaction as the creature crumpled to its knees.

    Inquisitor Ramsay of the Ordo Culinatus roared, "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!", as everything turned to fire and bloodshed...

    To Be Continued...
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)00:29 No.17756927
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    You know, it's a funny little parody....

    ......until one realizes that the amount of food safety required for a hive is probably just like that. And given the grimdarkness of the Imperium.....

    welp, this is going in my DH game
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)01:25 No.17757441
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    last bump for thoughts/interest
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)01:30 No.17757496
    I cant wait for black crusade where Chaos Chosen Jamie Oliver starts his cafetorium heretic revolution.
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)01:46 No.17757660
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    Who's to say, perhaps it has already begun.

    This could merely be the early stages of his nefarious "Feed me Better" campaign....
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)01:56 No.17757769
    Failing to wash your hands for a full thirty seconds before preparing food is HERESY!
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)09:46 No.17760648
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    mfw this thread
    >> Anonymous 02/01/12(Wed)10:02 No.17760702
    >> I apologised on 4chan !!857o4GkKJgy 02/01/12(Wed)10:18 No.17760778
    But what of the Two Hairy Bikers? Pilgrims belonging to the Order of the Blessed Egg and Bacon Buttie of St Griswold? The selfsame buttie where it was said that the ketchup and Egg that ejected itself onto St Griswolds robes dried in the shape of our lord the god emperor?

    What of Inquisitor-Saint Keither Floyd, the greatest and most violent of all of the Ordo Culinatus? His contributions to the order onnly matched by his violent outbursts that were known to devastate whole worlds, and his massive bouts of sodomy where nothing with a pulse (and quite a few things without) were safe!

    Or of the fearsome Triumvirate of Optimus Patella Imperator? Headed by the Inquisitors Burton-Race, Coupar and Baines these shadowy figures choose who shall become the next High Lord of the Imperius Culinarius, the shining example to all Culinari across the Emperors mighty imperium?

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