[Simulation terminated. Duration: fifty-six days.]
[Retainable rewards available.]
[Option 1: 'Tyranid' Xenos Combat Intelligence (Incomplete)]
[Option 2: Imperial Commissar Standard Kit (Complete Set)]
[Option 3: Lawrence's Hell Gun (Standard Pattern)]
Note: "Reporting to the Commissar, my na is Lawrence, from Pearl Moon. Commissar... would you like so fish?"
[Simulation duration exceeded 24 hours. Simulator cooldown penalty applied.]
[Cooldown period: fifty-six hours.]
[Current available cooldown reduction: two hundred ninety-seven hours.]
[Consu cooldown reduction ti?]
[Cooldown reduction declined. Simulator entering natural cooldown cycle (reduction may be applied at any ti).]
The simulation interface faded.
Nolan didn't reach for a reward imdiately. His hand hovered over the selection screen, trembling slightly.
His eyes fixed on Lawrence's hell gun among the options. The weapon's designation glowed softly in the dim light of his room.
Even after completing the simulation and being presented with rewards, he felt no excitent. No satisfaction. Just a hollow emptiness in his chest.
The sacrifice of countless human lives had built the Imperium's foundation, stone by stone, corpse by corpse. Drakos. Lawrence. The entire 358th Regint, ground to nothing against an enemy that couldn't be reasoned with or stopped.
But facing Chaos, facing the Tyranids, facing the endless tide of heretical forces and xenos threats...
Did the Imperium of Man truly have a future in the Warhamr universe? Or was it just slowly bleeding out, fighting a war it could never win?
Perhaps it was the alcohol still working through his system. Nolan found himself unusually sentintal, his thoughts darker than normal.
After a long silence, he selected Lawrence's hell gun.
Even though it was the only standard-pattern, non-special weapon he'd obtained through multiple simulations, it felt right. It felt like honoring sothing.
In an instant, a Kantrael Mark II pattern hot-shot lasgun materialized in his hands, its gyro-stabilized barrel still warm to the touch. A heavy backpack power cell appeared on the floor beside him.
Nolan moved with practiced efficiency, slinging the battery pack over his shoulders. The weight settled comfortably across his back—muscle mory from the simulation guiding his movents.
He raised the hell gun to his shoulder, cycling through several quick-aim drills. His finger rested alongside the trigger guard as he tracked imaginary targets.
"Pew. Pew pew." The childish sound effects escaped his lips almost unconsciously.
He was still in his apartnt, of course. Actually firing the weapon would be catastrophically stupid. A hell gun's las-beam could punch through the entire building and cook anyone in its path into charred at.
Nolan turned the weapon over in his hands, examining every detail. The cool weight of real tal. The faint hum of the power cell. The worn grip that fit his palm perfectly.
The excitent of holding an actual physical object from the simulation diluted his earlier lancholy, pushing the darkness back to the edges of his mind.
It was early morning. His internal clock, precise as always, reminded him that dawn was approaching.
Reluctantly, Nolan removed the battery pack and set the hell gun aside. He collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
The next morning, well before sunrise, Nolan was already awake and moving.
He cradled the hell gun carefully as he made his way toward the basent. A weapon this dangerous needed to be kept far from curious eyes and careless hands.
Besides, he needed to ask UR-025 for help tracking Madam Gao and Bullseye's movents. If he could coordinate their locations properly, maybe he could eliminate the New York underworld's leadership in one decisive strike.
Just like clearing out a Tyranid infestation. Cut off the synapse creatures, and the lesser organisms fall into disarray.
Nolan descended the stairs cautiously, the hell gun's weight reassuring in his arms.
He pushed open the basent's iron door.
UR-025 stood in the center of the room, motionless. Waiting.
Nolan's expression remained neutral, but his eyebrows rose fractionally.
The hell gun in his arms whined softly as its power cell cycled up.
He leveled the weapon at the figure before him.
He knew perfectly well that even a plasma pistol on infinite charge probably wouldn't scratch UR-025's ancient armor. But so things were worth doing anyway.
This was about principle. About human dignity.
Then ca the dull clang of tal striking concrete.
Nolan froze, caught completely off guard.
The towering chanical figure dropped to its knees with surprising grace. It lowered its tal torso in a bow and spread its arms wide, palms upward in a gesture of complete submission.
UR-025's voice rang out, chanical yet filled with unmistakable reverence:
"Welco, Omnissiah. Your faithful and eternal servant, UR-025, awaits your commands."
Nolan's eyes widened. His finger tensed on the hell gun's trigger.
After a long mont of stunned silence, he asked carefully, " UR-025... did you do sothing? Please tell you didn't crash Earth's entire financial market. Or dig up the city's entire cable network."
At Nolan's question, UR-025didn't raise its tal head. It remained in its humble position.
"I have received divine revelation. I am rely your servant and instrunt, not an autonomous guide. I was not fully awakened when I first erged from hibernation. Now I have simply returned to my proper function."
Divine revelation? Servant? Instrunt?
UR-025's words only deepened Nolan's confusion.
The gods of this universe definitely didn't have ti to enlighten stray artificial intelligences. Most of them were abstract cosmic entities, incarnations of fundantal forces far beyond mortal comprehension.
"UR-025, we agreed before. We're partners." Nolan took a deep breath, slowly lowering the hell gun's barrel. "I've always treated people as equals—"
Before Nolan could finish, UR-025jerked its head up sharply.
The pale blue lights of its optical sensors pulsed wildly. It actually interrupted him, its chanical voice taking on an almost pleading quality:
"I am your tool! Your servant! This is not subject to debate! Please, issue your commands. I can do anything for you!"
"Uh... fine. Find the current locations of Bullseye Lester and the Hand's Madam Gao. Take over their cell phones and establish surveillance."
Nolan stared at UR-025suspiciously, his tone cautious and testing.
Before the words fully left his mouth, projections sprang to life from UR-025's eyes. Holographic displays showed Bullseye and Madam Gao's movent patterns, their current positions, even real-ti feeds from their surroundings.
Their phones had been compromised, transford into listening devices that captured every nearby sound.
In Earth's digital age, UR-025 moved through cyberspace like a god. Nothing was beyond its reach.
Nolan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. An idea ford.
He addressed UR-025 with exaggerated seriousness:
"UR-025, I've thought about it carefully. I want to beco a billionaire. I also want to be humanity's guide and Earth's supre controller!"
The holographic projections suddenly vanished.
UR-025 turned its full attention to Nolan.
"I will help you construct a secure base facility, superior to anything on this planet. I will monitor all of Terra's human population to ensure your safety. I will provide you access to any useful knowledge you require. Millions, even tens of millions in liquid funds can be made available to you."
UR-025 paused, its voice taking on a firr edge.
"However, for greater resources, or to bring all of humanity under your control... my lord, you must accomplish this yourself. I will support you from behind. I will pray for your success. But I will not do it for you."
Nolan's eyes narrowed to slits. He stared hard at the kneeling machine.
"Yesterday you said you could make a billionaire. Today you're refusing. Tell . What happened? What changed your mind?"
The hell gun ca up again, its barrel painting UR-025's chest with a targeting laser.
UR-025 remained kneeling, unconcerned. It spread its arms wider, exposing its central chassis completely.
"Do you understand that stolen wealth represents the accumulated blood and sweat of countless humans? How many impoverished people dream of improving their circumstances through honest work? And you simply want sothing for nothing? You want to beco enslaved to endless material resources?"
The lecture made Nolan burst out laughing despite himself.
The damn heretical machine was giving him an ideological education course. The absurdity was too much.
Nolan's laughter died. His voice dropped into a dangerous register.
"You heretical piece of scrap tal. Don't try to brainwash . Didn't you just say you're my tool? My servant? So why do you keep refusing my orders?"
He shifted tactics abruptly.
"Fine. I don't need to be a billionaire. Just go to an arms manufacturer and order a hundred thousand guns for . The more the better!"
"If my lord provides with reasonable justification that I find convincing, I will place that order imdiately. If you desire aircraft carriers or fighter jets, I can acquire those as well."
UR-025's optical sensors glowed steadily, its voice perfectly calm.
This ti, it was Nolan who found himself struck speechless.
He'd been counting on UR-025 to legally procure firearms through legitimate channels. How many weapons could he possibly smuggle otherwise? A few dozen at most?
But he couldn't reveal the simulator's existence to a heretical machine intelligence. That was out of the question.
"I... I'm going to shoot you!"
Nolan's frustration mounted, his grip tightening on the hell gun.
"Shoot ? I welco it! Go ahead! Fire! Omnissiah be praised!"
The shaless machine started playing the martyr, offering up its tal body with theatrical fervor.
Then its voice softened, taking on an almost gentle quality:
"My lord... humanity can only rely on itself."
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