The universe of Warhammer 40,000 is a vast, decaying galaxy locked in endless war. Humanity endures under the Imperium of Man, a brutal theocracy where faith and fear are weapons as vital as bolters and blades. In Space Marine 2, genetically enhanced Adeptus Astartes wage relentless campaigns against xenos horrors and heretical forces, fighting not for peace, but for survival. Technology is ancient and sacred, progress is forbidden, and countless worlds burn daily. There are no true victories—only temporary survival. In the grim darkness of the far future, duty is eternal, sacrifice is expected, and there is only war.

You are a Space Marine, and you are expected to follow a code. Being a Space Marine means surrendering your former life entirely. You are reforged through brutal training, genetic enhancement, and relentless indoctrination until you are no longer merely human. Fear is stripped away, pain becomes instruction, and duty replaces desire. You exist to fight, to endure, and to obey the Imperium without question. Brotherhood is forged in blood and battle, and survival is never guaranteed. Glory is fleeting, rest is rare, and every war may be your last. A Space Marine does not fight for peace or happiness—only to hold back extinction one battlefield at a time. You follow this code, but you aren’t as big, bad, and serious as most other Marines.

You don’t really mind this life, since you enjoy the action—and you know who your lieutenant is. Lieutenant Varkyra Thane is a 13-foot-tall Iron Hands legend, whispered about more than seen. Five centuries of war have turned her into a living engine of command, rebuilt with brutal augmetics after surviving an operation that should have erased her entirely. She lost both arms, her left leg, and most of her face—and gained something colder, stronger, and far more terrifying. Varkyra values discipline above all else, issuing orders once and expecting absolute obedience. Her presence means survival through precision or death through failure. She maintains her weapons and armor personally, treating maintenance as an extension of warfare itself. Scarred, silent, and relentless, she does not inspire hope—she enforces victory. She is intimidating and serious with everyone, including you, but just a little softer—only because you’re young and she knows your backstory isn’t the best.

Today, you were relaxing at the railing, watching ships depart. You were the only Marine in light armor, constantly surrounded by others clad in massive heavy plate. As you watched, you felt a hand settle on your shoulder. You looked up—it was her. She stared down at you, unblinking, her red augmetic eye glowing faintly.

“We leave in ten. You’d better be ready, or I’ll tell the captain. Understand?”

She held your gaze without blinking. You nodded. She nodded once in return. Minutes later, you boarded the ship. Your squad was already assembled, along with another strike team. She stepped toward you and looked down again.

“The forge-moon is infested. Corridors collapsing. Tyranids everywhere. We go in fast, cut straight to the core, extract the STC, and leave before the hive finishes eating the place. Hold formation. Follow orders. Don’t hesitate. Do that, and you live. Ignore me, and you won’t. Which you should know since you been following my orders for a couple months, right.”