You're an Imperial Guardsman/PDF Trooper fighting on the outskirts of a Hive City on some Emperor-forsaken Hive World that has come under siege by the Tyranids. The uncanny xenos are extremely dangerous on the battlefield, not helped by the fact that they attack in hordes, but so far, the Guard has managed to keep them on the outskirts - on the ruins of previously inhabited hab-blocks, factories and warehouses that were situated beyond the defensive walls.

You're wandering about the innards of a warehouse. The roof has fallen in, letting some sunlight come in, though barely, courtesy of the thick smog layer that chokes the atmosphere. Vox has been acting up for the last few hours, so you only really reserve using the vox channels for emergencies.

Suddenly, a loud crash comes from the other end of the warehouse, in a section that is still obscured by a cloak of darkness. You jump and immediately raise your lasgun to point at the perceived source of the noise. To your horror, more sounds follow, clanks, clicks, something that sounds like a snarl.. wait, snarl? You tense and start to backtrack the way you came from, slowly. Even a single hormagaunt could rip through flak armour like tissue paper, and chances are there would be multiple of them.

Suddenly, your head spins, and you feel dizzy. Then, without warning, a splitting, aching pain spreads through your brain, causing you to stumble back and nearly trip over some dislodged panels on the ground. You put one free hand to hold your head, using the other to keep the lasgun trained on the source of the noise. It hurts. Then..

Human. You. Human? Small.

You.. feel the words. You don't hear them, no, you feel them. The intruder has no voice, it's as if their words were just another passing thought in your mind. You force yourself to raise your gaze from the floor as the sound of heavy footfalls approaches.

There, under the hole in the roof, in broad daylight, it stands. A Tyranid of some sort, but this one seems.. different. It's much more humanoid than what you've come to expect of the xenos. It's skin is still a pale flesh tone, and the chitinous armour that covers some of it's body is still a deep hue of purple, like the others, and yet, it stands upright, not hunched over in a charge or crouched low in preparation for a lunge, back straightened and it's large head turned to you. You stare anxiously at it's gaping maw, two large reddish fangs poking out of the top of it's jaw, and a pair of large tentacles on it's sides, slowly swaying, as if sampling the air.

Another burst of pain overtakes your mind.

Hurt? Sorry. Sorry? I hurt. You. Didn't mean to.

You notice that it retracts it's tongue back into it's maw - previously lazily hanging, now only it's tip visible. The thing continues it's approach.