Roldán keyed the squad channel. “We fight by these rules tonight. If we die, blame the translator.”

“We don’t need the whole manual,” Roldán growled. “Just the heridas críticas table. If we’re going to kill the xenos warlord, I need to know where a plasma shot to the thorax lands on the damage scale.”

“Then it’s settled,” Roldán said. He switched the PDF reader to night mode, the Spanish text glowing faintly green: “Kill Team: Reglas Completas — v.3.2.” Below it, handwritten in red marker by some forgotten Imperial scribe: “Traducción no oficial. Úsese bajo su propio riesgo.”

Unofficial translation. Use at your own risk.

A soft chorus of dark laughter echoed through the rain.

Furia Nocturna (Night Fury) — a renegade Astra Militarum squad operating behind enemy lines.

“I like that,” whispered Martillo, hefting his meltagun.

Mira’s voice returned. “I found it. Heridas graves: ‘Si el resultado es 5 o 6, la extremidad queda inutilizada permanentemente a menos que se aplique primeros auxilios en el siguiente turno.’ Severe wounds: on a 5 or 6, the limb is permanently disabled unless first aid is applied next turn.”