That Time I Got Reincarnate As A Medic In The World Of Warhammer 40k

Maverick Lopez's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his chest. The pungent stench of smoke and something far worse filled his lungs, causing him to cough violently. As his vision cleared, confusion set in. This wasn't his bedroom. His comfortable bed with pillows, the cluttered desk with his half-finished coding projects, and the comfortable mess he called home, it was all gone.

Instead, he found himself in a world of rust and decay. The sky above was a sickly orange, choked with smog and ash. Crumbling structures of metal and stone loomed around him, their surfaces pitted and scarred. The ground beneath him was hard and cold, nothing like the soft mattress he remembered falling asleep on.

*What the hell? Where am I?*

Maverick tried to stand, but his body felt wrong. His limbs were shorter, weaker, and as he looked down at himself, he realized with growing horror that his body had changed completely. Gone was his tall, lanky frame. Instead, he now inhabited the body of a small child; a girl, no less.

His hands, no, *her* hands were tiny and delicate, covered in grime and scratches. She was wearing a tattered dress that might have once been white but was now a dingy gray, stained with who-knows-what. Panic began to set in as Maverick tried to process this impossible situation.

*This has to be a dream. A really vivid, really messed up dream.*

Before he could ponder his situation further, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. Maverick's head snapped up, and his young eyes widened in terror at the scene unfolding before him.

In the dim light of what appeared to be a dilapidated alleyway, a massive figure loomed over a crumpled form. The giant was unlike anything Maverick had ever seen outside of movies or video games. It stood easily eight feet tall, its muscular body a sickly green color. Crude, patchwork armor covered parts of its body, and in one enormous hand, it clutched a wicked-looking axe dripping with fresh blood.

At the creature's feet lay the broken body of a woman. Her eyes, wide with terror, stared lifelessly in Maverick's direction. Blood pooled around her, seeping into the cracks of the dirty alleyway.

The green-skinned monster turned, its beady eyes locking onto Maverick. A yellow-toothed grin spread across its face as it raised its axe.

"Lookee 'ere!" it bellowed, its voice a guttural roar. "Anuvver 'umie grot ta squish!"

Maverick's new body reacted instinctively. He scrambled backward, small hands scraping against the rough ground. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

*This can't be real. This can't be happening. Wake up, Maverick. Wake up!*

But he didn't wake up. The approaching footsteps were undeniably real. The stench of blood and violence was real. And the paralyzing fear coursing through his veins was all too real.

As the monster raised its axe for a killing blow, Maverick's young voice let out a high-pitched scream of terror. The sound was alien to his ears, but it seemed to momentarily startle the green beast.

Just then, a deafening roar filled the air. It wasn't the monster this time, but something else, something mechanical. A blinding searchlight swept the alleyway, and Maverick caught sight of a massive vehicle hovering above. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before: a brutal combination of tank and helicopter, bristling with weapons.

"Ork spotted! Engaging the xenos scum!" a voice boomed from the vehicle.

The green monster: an Ork, apparently roared in defiance and turned its attention to this new threat. It was a fatal mistake. A hail of explosive shells rained down, turning the Ork into a shower of green gore and scrap metal.

Maverick cowered, covering his ears against the deafening barrage. When he dared to look up again, the alley was in ruins, and where the Ork had stood was nothing but a smoking crater.

The flying vehicle; a Valkyrie, a distant part of Maverick's mind supplied, though he couldn't fathom how he knew that descended slowly. Its side door slid open, revealing several figures in bulky, intimidating armor. They poured out of the craft, weapons at the ready.

One of the armored figures approached Maverick, its helmet turning left and right, scanning for threats. When it reached the trembling child, it knelt down, the joints of its armor whirring softly.

"Child," a woman's voice came from the helmet, distorted but still recognizably feminine. "Are you injured? Can you speak?"

Maverick tried to respond, but only a whimper escaped his lips. The soldier reached up and removed her helmet, revealing a face that was stern but not unkind. Her hair was close-cropped, and a long scar ran down one cheek.

"It's alright, little one," she said, her voice gentler now. "You're safe. The Emperor protects."

*The Emperor? As in... the God-Emperor of Mankind?* Maverick's mind reeled. Fragments of knowledge floated through his consciousness; bits and pieces about a grim, dark future where humanity fought for survival against impossible odds. But that was just fiction, wasn't it? A tabletop game, novels, video games... it wasn't real.

*But if it's not real, then what is this?*

The soldier scooped Maverick up in her armored arms. "Sergeant," she called out. "I've got a survivor here. A child."

Another armored figure approached, this one larger and more heavily decorated. "Good work, Corporal Vex. Get the kid to the Valkyrie. We're pulling out, orbital scans show a full Ork warband heading this way. This hab-block is as good as lost."

As the soldier carried Maverick towards the hovering aircraft, he caught glimpses of the world around them. The dilapidated buildings, the strange Gothic architecture mixed with advanced technology, the ever-present Imperial symbols... it all pointed to one impossible conclusion.

*This... this is Warhammer 40,000. But how? Why?*

Maverick was placed gently on a seat inside the Valkyrie. Around him, other survivors huddled; men, women, and children, all bearing the signs of a harsh life and recent trauma. The ship's engines roared to life, drowning out the sounds of distant explosions and gunfire.

As they lifted off, Maverick caught one last glimpse of the ground below. Green figures were pouring into the area they'd just left, their crude weapons raised in a war cry he couldn't hear but could easily imagine.

The door slid shut, and the Valkyrie banked hard, speeding away from the battle. Inside, a medic moved among the survivors, treating wounds and offering words of comfort. When she reached Maverick, she frowned in concern.

"This one's in shock," she said to no one in particular. "No visible wounds, but..." She trailed off, reaching for something in her kit.

Maverick felt a sharp prick in his arm, and almost immediately, a wave of drowsiness washed over him. As his eyelids grew heavy, he heard the medic speaking to someone else.

"Her parents must have died when the Orks attacked…"

*Her. She. That's... that's me now, isn't it?* The thought was distant, dream-like. As consciousness began to slip away, Maverick clung to one desperate hope: that when he woke up, this would all be gone. He'd be back in his own bed, in his own body, in a world that made sense.

The Valkyrie's vibrations faded into the background as Maverick drifted off. His last conscious thought was a prayer to a god he'd never believed in before: *Please, let this all be a dream.*

---

Maverick awoke to the sound of hushed voices and the soft crying of children. For a blissful moment, he thought he was back home, that perhaps he'd fallen asleep watching some war documentary. But as he opened his eyes, that hope was cruelly dashed.

He found himself lying on a small cot in a large, dimly lit room. Other cots lined the walls, most occupied by children of various ages. The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and fear.

A woman in simple robes; a nun, Maverick realized was moving from bed to bed, offering comfort where she could. When she reached Maverick, she smiled gently.

"Ah, you're awake, little one. How are you feeling?"

Maverick tried to speak, but his throat was dry and sore. The nun offered him a cup of water, which he drank greedily. When he finally found his voice, it was high and childlike, another reminder of his impossible situation.

"Where... where am I?" he managed to ask.

"You're in the Emperor's embrace, child," the nun replied. "This is the Orphanage of Saint Celestine's Mercy. The soldiers brought you here after the evacuation." Her eyes filled with sympathy. "Do you remember what happened?"

Flashes of memory assaulted Maverick's mind; the Ork, the dead woman, the thunderous gunfire. He nodded mutely, unable to put the horror into words.

"I understand," the nun said softly. "Many children here have seen terrible things. But you're safe now. The Emperor protects." She paused, studying the little girl’s face. "What's your name, dear?"

Maverick opened his mouth to answer, then hesitated. Who was he now? Maverick Lopez was a grown man in a world where Warhammer 40,000 was just a game. But here, in this grim reality, that person didn't exist.

"I... I don't know," he finally whispered.

The nun's face softened further. "That's alright, dear. Sometimes, after great trauma, our minds protect us by forgetting. But you'll need a name." She thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about Lilith? It means 'of the night.' And you, little one, have survived the darkness to see a new dawn."

Maverick, who is now Lilith, considered the name. It felt strange, foreign, yet somehow right. A new name for a new life, no matter how temporary this situation might be.

"Lilith," she repeated softly. "Okay."

"Wonderful," the nun said. "I am Sister Mercy, and I'll be taking care of you, Lilith. Try to rest now. Tomorrow, we'll get you cleaned up and find you some new clothes."

As Sister Mercy moved on to the next child, Lilith lay back on the cot, her mind whirling. This all felt so real; the sights, the sounds, the smells. Even the physical sensations of her new body seemed too vivid to be a dream.

*But it has to be, doesn't it? I mean, Warhammer 40k isn't real. It can't be.*

Lilith closed her eyes, trying to wish herself back to her old life. *When I wake up, I'll be back in my own bed. This will all just be a crazy dream, and I'll laugh about it over breakfast.*

But as sleep began to claim her once more, a small part of her; the part that had always been fascinated by the grim darkness of the far future which whispered a treacherous thought:

*What if this is real? What if this is your life now?*

Lilith pushed the thought away, clinging desperately to the hope that the morning would bring a return to normalcy. As she drifted off, the sounds of the orphanage faded away, replaced by the memory of distant gunfire and bestial roars.

In her dreams, a small girl ran through endless, twisting corridors of rusted metal, pursued by shadows with glowing green eyes and bloody axes. And somewhere, in the depths of her unconscious mind, the man who had been Maverick Lopez began the long, painful process of accepting a truth he was not yet ready to face:

The nightmare had only just begun.