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This article is about the Hand Cannon. For its namesake coup d'état, see Ghaul's coup.
Imagine my surprise to see the Consul stride into my court so puffed up with pride. He took cheap pleasure hurling spittle in my face. We were frog marched to the Leviathan under cover of darkness.
There was to be no execution; Ghaul and the Consul feared the mob. They knew how tenuous their grip on power would be, and how the people adored their god-emperor.
Ghaul dared not look me in the eye. What was the emotion on his face? Was it shame? How could he bear such hate for one who had been as a father to him?
We were sealed inside the Leviathan and ejected into the furthest reaches of space, left to the same fate I had determined for the Consul so long ago. We were left to die.
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