Leaping upright, I grab my pipe and water pistol. I rush to the barricade and stare down the long, grey corridor. Beyond, a cacophony of pale white bodies twirls and prances in a grand parade.
All are naked and beautiful, dazzling beyond comprehension, yet my body shakes with fear and my mind thrashes in torpid desperation. E-SIM rumbles in my ear, drugs rush through , and I spasm from an electric shock.
My thoughts claw upwards, pushing against the foetid desires swamping my consciousness. I gasp and cloying rose smoke taints my tongue and throat. With mindless automation, I pull the trigger.
A pathetic stream of silver liquid bursts from the plastic pistol. The Demons halt their advance and point their crab-like claws and chitin swords at . They laugh like gentle bells, all tuned to mind-numbing, discordant perfection. They halt just beyond the barricade.
I continue to fire, emptying the whole reservoir, and refill it as the Demons resu their dance. Their bodies lt, while their faces are locked in rapture and their eyes are mad with pain.
The power field rushes over my pipe as the Demons tear at the barricade, their clumsy, crude weapons rending tal like the sharpest of blades. I jab at them through the gaps and swing wild blows at their poking claws. Each strike severs limbs and blasts holes through their withered fras, all pretences at youth and beauty fleeing with their ever rising fury.
My anger rises in concert and my second heart thumps into action, the odd feeling surprises and a nasty strike slices my wrist. My grip fails and the pipe clatters to the floor, but I feel no pain and my sudden panic is washed away in a second rush of chemicals.
I stumble back, then bare my teeth and growl; a deep, alien rumble bubbles up from within my chest, surprising both the Demons and myself. Again, the artificial muscle mory uploaded during yesterday’s fight drags my left arm up and I fire repeatedly at the dissolving Demonettes, then reload and repeat.
Their line collapses and the nanites' first victims dissolve into thick, scintillating smoke. They lose half their number to the narrow silver stream, seemingly unaware of their casualties until suddenly, the Demons at the back fade back to the Immaterium, or at least, that’s what I think they’re attempting as they undergo a weird twisting between corporal and incorporeal state and fail to go anywhere.
There will be no escape, rumbles E-SIM. Rip and tear, Operator.
E-SIM’s words barely register as I chanically fire at the Demons. One, then two Demons break through the barricade. The first disintegrates when I slap it, the power field crackling over my unresponsive hand. The second stabs through the chest, splitting my ammo bottle, and spraying us both in nanites.
The final demon swiftly destabilises, consud by silver mist. I stagger back, clutching my chest. Nanites swarm over , sealing the wound and my fingers twitch as my wrist is repaired.
Warning, bionic stomach damaged; primary heart, damaged. Please remain still while repairs are underway. Nanite production compromised... Infection protocols overridden... External nanite recovery underway... Core E-SIM function restored in approximately eighteen hours... Power draw at 2%... Ergency reserves at one hundred percent...Main power at zero point zero two percent.
I want to swear. Really, really loudly. Difficult to do when I can hardly breath though. Those blades are crazy wide. I’m lucky it didn’t catch my spine. Ever so carefully, I lower myself to the ground and lean against the canteen wall.
That was far too close. I need to practise and get more skill downloads. I need soone to watch my back, and a big fucking gun, and an ocean of ammunition, and, and, I need, need-
I can’t believe I was stabbed through the chest, and I live! These implants are amazing. Is this when I’m supposed to say “Praise the Emperor”? Because right now I want to curse the undead bastard.
Oh, how did I do? I check the prominent and permanent counter in my HUD. It displays a luminous, golden 29 over an edgy black skull. Not too shabby for two days work. It also rams ho why the least of E-SIMs new modules require 100 kills a piece.
If I survive long enough, I’ll be a genuine badass. That’s aweso, nothing like being your own hero. At the sa ti, I know the price of badassery won’t be paid in kills, but pain, blood, and sacrifice. I’ve barely started my down paynt and want no more. Even the lure of wondrous technologies and parahuman feats can’t tempt into that mire. The sheer, instinctual desire to live, however, and blunt necessity of my situation? That has diving head first and all I feel is numb.
I sniff and blink rapidly. Just the painkillers. I’m sure of it.
A while later, it twigs I maxed my ergency power and main power is still filling.
“E-SIM disable Warp Tap please.”
Warp Tap disabled.
“What’s the difference between the two power sources?”
You have twenty-two distributed energy storage modules of identical size and capacity. Ergency reserves encompass two modules, one at the back of your neck as part of your spine. The other is part of the Warp Tap.
“So main power is ten tis ergency power, and will charge at zero point one percent per hour rather than 1% per hour. Each of my modules require approximately zero point one percent of ergency power, or zero point zero one percent of main power per hour, and an additional zero point one percent per added function, like Body Tuning, or more when they’re building or repairing themselves or . Power draw is asured as a percentage of ergency power. Do I have that straight?”
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Operator's summary is adequate. Remain in low power mode?
“Definitely. I think I’ll refer to each type as EP and MP too. Anything I can do to speed up my repairs?”
Definitions updated. Remain still and do not request nanites for non-standard purposes. Consu materials when requested. E-SIM suggests returning to your berth before your painkillers wear off.
“Once I return, can you knock out so I can sleep through the repairs?”
Yes. Please rest in the materials bath, Operator.
“OK.”
I return to the sarcophagus room and follow E-SIM’s instructions. 15 hours later, I wake, EP at seventy percent, with my body whole and hearty, if entirely unfit for purpose. Returning to the cafeteria, I consider fashioning so scrap armour, then discard the idea as the Demons ripped through the scrap barricade pretty easily. Instead, I spend two days making a better barricade, welding layers of tal with nanites and cutting pieces to size with my power field.
Eventually I end up with a barricade ten centitres thick with a firing hatch in the centre and a door on the right. By the end of the second day, I no longer get out of breath and tire much slower.
Next, I strip down a N.O.M. and use one of its pumps to pressurise a couple fire extinguishers I found in “Organics” with an air-nanite mix. Half-way through day three, EP reaches Fifty percent. I redeploy the warp tap and continue working, setting a one point five tre semi-circle barricade behind the primary barricade.
EP fills and MP starts charging and I keep working, repeating the second barricade around the door to “Organics” and reinforcing the vents. By the ti I’ve finished, MP is at 1% and no Demons have turned up. I turn off the Warp Tap and, with E-SIM’s aid, sleep.
I wake, re-engage the Warp Tap and have E-SIM start on my sensor module. The most basic sensor is another freebie. No point walking about looking for stuff while blind to threats and my environnt. Unsure what to do as I wait, I stare at the MP counter for a good twenty minutes, before coming to a revelation.
“Crap! EP and MP are going to take at least forty-one days to fill up. No way I can sit here holed up for so long.”
I bang my head on the wall a couple tis, then start crafting spikey, slitted fras. Rushing outside my barricade with the new pieces, I weld them to the floor and ceiling, keeping my line of sight fairly clear, but reducing how many Demons can charge my barricade at once.
The next day there’s still four days left on my sensor counter, and ten for body tuning. I’m a fair bit thinner, so I return to the sarcophagus room and try the hyperweave undersuit. It doesn’t fit. With a sigh to the heavens, I grab the pallet truck and load it with scrap from random rooms, and head towards the Orcs and start patching the bulkhead.
My risky choice rewards as no Xenos appear, and by the ti the sensor module is ready, I have a scrap bunker and a sealed bulkhead with a handy door. Further skill downloads improve what I can do with the nanites and I’m able to repurpose so organics into rubber seals. I notice that the power draw for external work is three tis greater than building the sensor module, despite the vastly simpler task, and increases exponentially up to five tres away, after which the nanites beco scrap.
With great satisfaction, I return to my room and finally put on the undersuit. Though the joy of flimsy protection is eclipsed by the first sighting of my penis in millennia. It feels like the symbol of a new dawn for and my psyche.
I don’t quite skip as I finally embark on my exploration of the space station, new maps and routes flashing in my mind, but I do spin my reluctantly mobile companion, the pallet truck, around a few tis while humming a waltz.
The scanner fills my head with data as I stride down the corridor, light, temperature, warp corruption, threat detection, everything I can think of and even more I’ve never heard of.
This thing is aweso. My confidence blooms and then is thoroughly swept away by a familiar stench.
Sewers.
How is this possible? There are no people, sludge lines will be dry with dust, and yet black odours swarm .
My surroundings change, filling with moisture and mould. Strange growths make navigating harder. There’s a bump and a pop; a yellow-green sar streams behind the pallet truck and the choking sll intensifies.
The kill counter hits thirty.
Unwilling to back up, I leave the pallet truck and advance, pipe and pistol at the ready. I avoid stepping on the creeping mould.
Warning... pathogens detected...
I cover my mouth and backpedal, my body sweating. Fucking space germs!
Chewing on my lip, I wait for my sentencing for about five minutes as E-SIM continues its relentless analysis.
Scanning antigens... scanning... scanning... thyroid accelerator engaged... deploying counterasures... immunity at 1% and rising... power draw at zero point five percent
I want fire.
Instead I rush back to the canteen for the ergency rebreather and return with a fire extinguisher filled with pressurised nanites as well.
The immunity counter continues to count upwards. A little peak at it unleashes an endless list of pathogens and toxins all at varying percentages. My shoulders shake and I close the list. More details will not help now. Seeing my immunity tick up at a stead pace and with E-SIM supressing any symptoms, I continue with my exploration.
Checking each room, I find multiple labs, filled with bizarre growths. Unable to do anything about it, I continue, passing beyond the infected corridors. I pass another airlock and acquire the helt, gloves, and boots to match my undersuit.
This ti, I rember to grab the maintenance STC for the undersuits by touching my lanyard to the back of the locker.
Putting on the helt, gloves, and boots, I relax a little. You can never have too much protection in the 41st millennium.
The stairs to the next level are blocked by twisted tal, and the next section of this ring is cut off by a bulkhead I’ve little intention of circumventing. Instead, I lever open a lift shaft, my growing strength coming in handy.
Climbing the shaft is unnerving. Even with my enhanced sight and extensive sensors, I see neither top nor bottom, but a pitch hued maw, waiting for to slip. My new gloves and boots are good, sticking to the ladder, with an adjustable, adhesive grip, controlled by the suit’s integrated computer.
Two floors up and another three kilotres clockwise I reach my destination. I disable the Warp Tap and enter. Above, in plain text, states:
STC Library.
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