What The Heck is An Imperium?

“You know what they’re gonna call you?”

The guy front of him in line, looking back over his bare shoulder.

He didn’t answer.

The DI screamed no talking at their faces when they first off loaded, and now, this guy with the long red hair was trying to get them in trouble.

He wasn’t sure what trouble entailed but he sure as hell didn’t want to find out.

“Meat,” said the red head. “Fresh meat.”

“Who the fuck is talking in my line?”

The DI caught him.

Caught them.

He slammed between the two of them, standing there nut to butt, as it was called, hardly an inch of breathing room between them.

And then the DI, Drill Instructor, was in that space.

He was a wiry plug of a man, five eight in his spit shined and polished boots, hair buzzed high and tight and cool grey eyes that flashed in anger.

Irritation.

Surprise, like he couldn’t believe some numb nut newbies would disobey him.

So he asked.

“Do you like disobeying a direct order?”

Screaming at the red head, but eyeballing him.