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Tyco & The Tyranid Space Monster Zoanthrope


PART 1
They'd been only awhile to what seemed an eternity, on these badlands. It didn't matter though, to hearken back. It seemed for Tyco a given, when Jeb and the other two of his own seeming remnant Marine Chapter had happened upon that bastion, with its crane, to refit it into something seeming alive.

A bar.


But time stretches a long while with nothing but the silo's ferment.


Time.


There didn't seem much to it, there were scattered fellows upon this world, no doubt.

A bike.


His own had been the last in what seems to yet be the Chapter. He'd been doing recon, and saw some figure far off, its lope a distant gait to give Tyco some maybe noticed something.


A Tyranid?

It had been craning on the barren expanse, on a slight rocky upcrop to be seen by Tyco, then. Its massive brain-pan grown full plume, its bipedal form making even hulking Tyco feel the part of a dwarf.


Its alien eyes seemed to glint life alone upon this far expanse, known not by Nova Terra, but by Terra Nova, a seeming stretch to be the size of Texas.


PART 2


Tyco's head rushed, to find himself straddling the Zoanthrope's shoulders. A seeming piggyback to give flight, the Zoanthrope majestically gandering side by side, its step a massive bound, its mind interchanging of its own bearings with Tyco's in turn, if only fleetingly.


The bike had been Tyco's ride up 'til now.


The Zoanthrope didn't know what Tyco had been, either, to bear any further questioning, for on this barren expanse of no life seen, even a bramble could be taken to hold a desperate clutch for one's own to keep.

But the Zoanthrope didn't want to give in to that.

Tyco seen the Zoanthrope's mind's recollections, of where it'd been, and from what last it'd seen another.

Squats. Squat bikers.



What more could there be, to this place where even the Emporer holds no address? When Tyco knew full well, what a Tyranid such as the Zoanthrope is, to even regardless find himself astride such a bemoaned thing, yet winded away on the slashes, on the frickitures, and of all things, his own hold on life, on duty, on even his formerly disregarded and left behind bike.


There, in the distance. An alcove.



Part 3 SOON