In the Grim Dark Future of the 41st Millenium There Is Only Cringe

Piper, the Black Ships, Somewhere In the Sol System

"We are mute but not without power, we are silent but not without resolve, we are untouchable but not without courage, we are sisters and have but one father. We are seekers and we shall find our prey, we are warriors and woe to those we oppose, the Emperor's mark is on our brow, all who deal with the Warp must beware, His Judgement and vengeance is ours to deliver!"
— Motto of the Sisters of Silence

"How serious are we about the whole 'mute' and 'silent' thing?"
— Enforcer Piper McLean of the Sisters of Silence

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The cell door slowly slid open with a long, ear-piercing whine of metal-on-metal. Over the mechanical noise, the rustling of bodies trying to distance themselves as far away from the entrance as possible, mixed with the occasional weak groan or gasp pain. When the door rumbled to a stop, agonized screams and fearful pleading began.

And with a deep breath, Sister Piper of the Silent Sisterhood stepped into the cramped room.

The reactions of the dozens of malnourished souls crammed into the small room only intensified upon her entry. Many collapsed onto the grated floor clutching at their heads as they screamed themselves hoarse. Some went feral, violently pushing and clawing one another to try and get as far away from her as possible; trampling several of their cell mates to death in the process. The fewest in number were those who still possessed enough sense of self to plead for mercy.

It was the latter of which Piper was searching for.

She scanned the chaotic scene with her eyes, and only took a step if absolutely necessary. Her every movement shaping the ebb and flo of the throngs of panicked bodies, and she would prefer to keep the number of those crushed to death at a minimum.

For a moment she began to believe that the cell contained no such strong-willed prisoners, and that she would just have to grab one at random, when from the corner of her eye she noticed a small form huddled in the corner adjacent to the door.

It's a small girl, no older than five. With long, unkempt hair the color of her own, and skin the color of parchment. Her clothes, if they can even be called that, are little more than tattered bits of stained cloth that threaten to fall off her malnourished frame at the slightest movement.

And yet for being so young, so frail, and so very alone, the girl is staring back at her in defiance.

This was the one Piper knew she must take.

She rested one hand on the hilt of her sword- for a creature can only be pushed into a corner for so long before it attacked -and slowly approached the child.

With every step the defiance in the girl's eyes diminishes; fear and pain taking its place. And by the time Piper is two paces away, the girl is on her side in the fetal position, screaming for her mother to make the pain stop.

And for what had to be the thousandth time, Piper had to swallow her own self-loathing and pushback the question that is always on the back of her mind.

Why did she have to be born without a soul?

The girl was spasming in a pool of her own vomit by the time she reached her, and was clearly in no shape to walk out of the cell, let alone the corridors of the ship. So, the young Sisters of Silence enforcer adjusted her wolf fur cloak so as to cover the right pauldron of her Vratine armor, and scooped the girl up into her arms; resting the girl's head against the makeshift pillow. The spasms increased for a moment, but her close proximity knocked the girl unconscious in a matter of moments.