Nolan stood patiently in the foundry's oppressive heat, listening as Raditus outlined its various proposals with chanical enthusiasm.
The servo-skull's suggestions were ambitious and comprehensive. First ca improvents to Hydra's brainwashing technology, refining the ntal conditioning protocols to incorporate direct combat knowledge implantation. Muscle mory, tactical doctrine, weapon proficiency, all downloaded directly into enhanced neural tissue like software updates.
Second, Raditus proposed designing modular chanical armor: low-cost but robust, prioritizing durability and ease of manufacture over sophisticated features. Simple plates that could be stamped from standard materials, servo-assists that used proven Imperial designs rather than experintal systems.
"The beauty of modular construction," Raditus explained, its chanical voice animated with technical passion, "is rapid scalability. With minimal ti investnt and resource consumption, we could produce batches of barely adequate Astra Militarum troops. Not exceptional, perhaps, but functional. Expendable in the right tactical contexts."
Nolan listened without showing much surprise or particular enthusiasm. The Servo-Skull's obsession with mass-producing soldiers wasn't new. Raditus had been advocating for explosive recruitnt and rapid deploynt strategies since their first conversations about military doctrine.
But this ti, Nolan didn't imdiately dismiss the idea.
He considered the proposal seriously, weighing pros and cons, calculating resource requirents and strategic value. Finally, he spoke.
"If you can produce actual working samples of this equipnt, physical prototypes that demonstrate functionality rather than theoretical schematics, then we'll discuss your suggestion at a subsequent command eting." Nolan's tone was asured, neither encouraging nor discouraging. "Try to gain support from others. David, Connors, even Bucky. If they see rit in your designs, I'll authorize production."
The servo-skull's optical sensors brightened considerably. That was as close to approval as Raditus would get at this stage.
Afterward, Nolan spent additional ti discussing carapace armor styling with the Tech-Priest. Aesthetic considerations mattered more than people assud. Armor that looked impressive affected enemy morale and reinforced the wearer's psychological confidence.
Finally satisfied with the direction of Raditus's work, Nolan turned and left the foundry workshop. The temperature dropped noticeably as he ascended back toward the upper levels, cool air feeling almost shocking after the furnace heat below.
He returned directly to his private lounge, the small room that had beco his refuge during contemplative monts. Nolan sat on the tal bed, its surface cold against his legs through his clothing, and thought for several long minutes.
Then he activated the simulator.
The interface materialized in his consciousness with familiar ease. He navigated to the designated salvage function, a feature he hadn't utilized in considerable ti. The chanics were straightforward: specify an item category, invest resource ti, hope probability favored desired outcos.
He designated the salvage target: Power Fist Gloves.
Then he increased the invested resource ti to one thousand hours. Substantial investnt should theoretically improve results, though randomness always played its role.
[Designated salvaged item: Power Fist Gloves]
[Basic salvage consumption: one hundred hours]
[Increase salvage probability?]
[One thousand additional hours added]
[Salvage probability increasing...]
Nolan selected ordinary salvage, running the process ten consecutive tis to maximize chances. Then he took a deep breath, feeling tension in his shoulders he hadn't consciously acknowledged.
"I haven't needed designated salvage in quite so ti," he muttered to the empty room. "Hopefully I've accumulated so luck during the interval."
The system began its work, calculations running beyond his perception.
Later, in the brightly lit base hall, Nolan reclined beside the tal round table with elbows propped on its surface. His hands were crossed, fingers interlaced, as he listened to Bucky across from him.
The forr Winter Soldier was clearly agitated.
"Captain, the guys you recruited are a bunch of complete bastards!"
Bucky's frustration was obvious, almost tipping into anger. Deep lines creased his forehead as he went on,
"Every one of them has been enhanced with Super Soldier Serum, so their mory and reaction speed are way better than before. But they still refuse to learn anything from my combat experience or follow my tactical thods!"
Bucky's chanical arm, the one engraved with Adeptus chanicus emblems in intricate patterns, rested on the tal table's surface. His grip tightened unconsciously around the silver water glass he'd been holding, crushing it into a ball of crumpled scrap tal with casual, frustrated strength.
"They actually mocked my instruction!" Bucky continued, his voice rising slightly. "Called my techniques 'sissy thods' to my face! Said no real n would bother learning such cowardly tactics! Can you believe that?"
Nolan, who'd been holding back a smile throughout this entire complaint session, finally allowed a slight grin to cross his face. He shook his head gently, almost fondly.
"Bucky, haven't you encountered similar attitudes during your past military career?" Nolan's tone was patient, understanding, but also slightly amused. He blinked slowly, studying his friend's frustrated expression. "Just follow your honest instincts. There's no need to overthink the situation or worry excessively about their approval."
He gestured casually with one hand.
"Haven't you noticed those sa guys obviously respect Old John far more than they respect you? That's entirely because the only activities Old John has engaged in these past days, besides eating and sleeping, are systematically beating people unconscious in hand-to-hand combat training."
Nolan's smile widened slightly.
"For a group of fundantally violent n who solve most problems with direct action, there are only two reliable thods for gaining their genuine respect. Either you make them absolutely terrified of you, instilling fear so deep they dare not resist from the bottom of their hearts. Or you earn their admiration on the battlefield through demonstrated competence and shared bloodshed, making them completely respect your capabilities."
Bucky's expression shifted as Nolan spoke. Sothing in his eyes changed, hardening with renewed determination. The words seed to awaken dormant instincts, military training and Winter Soldier conditioning both contributing to sudden clarity.
"Captain," Bucky said, standing abruptly with newfound purpose evident in every line of his body, "I think I understand exactly what needs to be done now."
He nodded heavily toward Nolan, the gesture carrying finality and commitnt.
Then Bucky, his face settling into a considerably grimr expression than before, shook out his chanical arm. Servo-motors whirred softly as he tested the limb's responsiveness. He turned and walked with deliberate strides toward the passage leading to the second underground level.
Nolan watched him go, still smiling. He observed Bucky's tall figure, noting the slight dignity in his bearing despite the frustrated energy radiating from him.
A soft sigh escaped Nolan's lips.
"Facing four hundred forty-four Super Soldier Serum-enhanced fighters simultaneously, Bucky's probability of victory approaches zero," he muttered to himself, almost conversationally. "Although, maybe not. If Bucky chooses to admit defeat and request reinforcents, Raditus would definitely provide him with combat servitor support. That Tech-Priest loves any excuse to field-test new equipnt."
At that mont, hasty footsteps suddenly echoed from the tal passage connecting to the base hall.
David erged at speed, its tall fra moving faster than usual, the slight hunch in its tal spine more pronounced. The Man of Iron's optical sensors were blazing bright blue, suggesting elevated processing activity.
It walked directly toward Nolan's position without preamble or pleasantries.
Nolan, who'd been relaxing against the tal round table, imdiately straightened. He took a deep breath, reading urgency in David's body language. Sothing had happened.
He stood from the tal seat, fixing his gaze on David's sensor array.
"David, what's wrong? Report."
"My Lord, Mada Gao's criminal organization has suffered major setbacks." David's chanical voice carried clinical detachnt that sohow made the news worse. "Because all elite gang mbers were transferred to the base for enhancent procedures, the Hand organization seized the opportunity to launch coordinated sabotage and counterattacks against all your properties simultaneously."
Blue light flashed rapidly in David's optical sensors as it continued.
"Originally, Mada Gao planned to handle the situation independently using remaining forces. However, this assault appears to be the Hand's full commitnt. They're attempting to completely destroy Mada Gao's criminal empire through this surprise offensive, eliminating your presence in the underworld power structure."
David paused, its tone shifting slightly.
"I personally assess that to minimize unnecessary profit losses and prevent further territorial erosion, we should directly eliminate the Hand as an active threat. They've beco a ti bomb that requires permanent defusal."
Nolan's expression gradually transford as David spoke. The casual warmth drained from his face, replaced by sothing cold and calculating. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
A sneer crossed his lips, devoid of humor or warmth.
"I originally intended to preserve the Hand organization intact, allowing Mada Gao to use them as training opponents for developing her subordinates' combat capabilities," Nolan said, his voice dropping to sothing quiet and lethal. "Since they're foolish enough to invite their own destruction so enthusiastically, I'll simply oblige them. Kill them all. Leave absolutely no survivors."
The next mont, Nolan twisted his neck sharply left, then right. Vertebrae popped audibly. He began issuing orders with rapid precision.
"David, notify all gang dogs imdiately. It's ti for them to leave their cages and hunt."
David's tal head dipped in acknowledgnt. One tal hand waved sharply, triggering pre-programd response protocols.
Automatic servo robots that had been on standby throughout the base hall instantly divided into multiple specialized teams with coordinated efficiency.
One team headed directly to the underground foundry, tasked with extracting weapons and full equipnt loads for four hundred forty-four enhanced fighters.
Another team rushed toward the second underground level training areas to initiate ergency assembly protocols for all gang dogs.
Simultaneously, additional servo robots moved to Nolan's position, carrying components of his Terminator armor. They would dress him for war while he walked, maximizing ti efficiency.
Nolan, his face set in stern lines that promised violence, strode toward the tal platform where his Terminator armor stood in dormant mode. The massive suit waited like a sleeping giant, ready to wake.
David turned and walked toward the equipnt room at matched pace. It would prepare additional weapons and tactical gear for Nolan's deploynt: ammunition reserves, backup power cells, dical supplies, communications equipnt.
At the sa mont, at the edge of the training ground on the second underground level, Bucky stood before the assembled gang dogs. He'd been preparing to have his "friendly exchange" about proper respect and combat instruction thodology.
An automatic servo robot suddenly rolled up to him at high speed, its chanical tentacles waving for attention.
Bucky received the notification through his neural interface, information flooding his consciousness in compressed data packets.
He imdiately pivoted toward the training gang dogs, his voice cracking like a whip across the space.
"Everyone! Stop training imdiately! Ergency assembly! Prepare for combat deploynt!"
The response was instantaneous and impressive.
Tall gang dogs abandoned whatever activities they'd been engaged in without hesitation or complaint. They ran toward Bucky's position, forming organized ranks in remarkably short ti. The ergency assembly took perhaps ninety seconds total, showing the discipline that had been drilled into them despite their earlier resistance to instruction.
The next mont, automatic servo robots carrying laser weapons and full carapace armor loads rushed onto the second underground level like a chanical tsunami. They moved with single-minded purpose, distributing equipnt with practiced efficiency.
Gang dogs began donning armor plates, securing straps and checking seals. Hands grasped laser rifles, fingers familiarizing themselves with controls one final ti. Faces showed mounting excitent, anticipation mixed with professional focus.
The local Astra Militarum belonging to Nolan was preparing to deploy.
The super soldier gang dogs' first real battle was imminent.
The Hand had made a fatal mistake.
Now they would learn the price.
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