You raise your eyes, trying to meet the immense gaze of the titan for the barest moment, just to look into one of it's hollow eyes and hold it's gaze for a second. “I will.” You promise.

"So you shall." It droned, and for a moment you swear you felt a touch of emotion. "Then we shall fulfill our promise."

Tides well within you, and you're suddenly falling backwards. The ground swallows you, the dim half-light of your blowtorch flying up and away from you as you fall deep beneath the earth. It moves around you like sludge, your body being forced through some kind of barrier, being dragged and stretched as you do. Fuzzy patterns appear in the earth, as if you were pressing your palms against your eyes, while the world reddens and shudders with a wet pulse.

You suck in a deep breath, and feel a flood of liquid enter into your lungs, which handle it easily and naturally. A crown is secured to your head, your arms thicker and your body misshapen and bulky.

"We can see it upon you. The mark of the maker."

The voice of the titan still came, and you raise your head, oddly bound in the cool confines of a clear bag. Needle-lined goggles were still placed over your eyes, fine points driven into your nerves, feeding the knowledge you had gorged so happily on directly into your mind. It was things you had long memorized, almost irrelevant as you became aware of a world beyond the womb for the first time.

Beyond your vessel lay the workshop of a great Magos. Incense burned in delicately placed jars, or steamed from censures born by roving servo-skulls. It gathered in the ceiling, only providing a glimpse of the many great cables that hung from it, snaking into the tanks and holy machinery like the roots of a great tree.

"A smell of tampering, of altered flesh like the ones who crawl inside our veins."

Something moves behind the tanks. A lumbering mass draped in red, larger than a beast and hunched over like a man. A tide of glittering grey pincers clicked on the ground as he - and you were sure it was man - moved to one of the machines. A canister was clutched to his chest as if it was something precious, before being gently slid into a receptacle. His body gently pulsed and vibrated with some kind of effort, and you realized that he was speaking to someone, his head turned to look back and out of your view. What little you could see of the front of his body was cabling and clicking augmetics, crawling hoses and cabling that forced their way into a head entirely masked by Martian red.

"Do you see?" The titan's voice urged. "Do you see the face of the enemy?"

>>5857675
You try to shake your head and reply, forgetting the device inserted into your throat. Your body felt unpleasantly hot, your skin rippling and crawling as you looked upon what you were sure was your creator. His hand was upon the canister, regarding it with his back turned to you. Your spine and neck burned, and your eyes felt hot, your arms subtly chafing against the sides of your chest.

"The unbroken stem. Knowledge written where we cannot touch, in your flesh and under your skin. Remember-"

Your foot moves back, catching the ground as you stumble back with a gasp of fear. Your heart pounds, and your body is slick with sweat. Your lungs burn as you dry heave, expecting more amniotic fluid to come rushing out of your mouth and spill onto the ground beneath you.

"Remember... the enemy... always lurks..." The voice strains, hitching as if coughing. "We cannot walk, so you must run for us."

You control your breathing with an effort, one hand over your mouth to try and prevent yourself from vomiting. You can taste oil and smell acrid copper. The stench of exhaust clogs your breathing, and you sink to your knees, the blowtorch going out as you drop it by your side.

"Remember who we fought... tell of our tale..." It rumbled. “You must speak of the grave of Corvus Lictor.”

“I... I know.” You heave in a full breath, tears running from the effort of self-control. Your lungs start to shudder and move as if not paralyzed still, and you slowly raise your head. “Hello?”

The air had gone still, and no light shone from within the metal helmet. It's form seemed oddly sagging, slumped on the ground as if decaying in the sun. It was gone.

Quality gained: [Machine Covenant] You have made a promise to the titan Corvus Lictor and to the Omnissiah. In doing so, you have become marked. Something has changed within you, although you aren't sure what. Strain Checks based on Logic now award two successes on a result of a 9 or 10. To enter into an agreement without guarantees is to enter into faith.

The nighttime darkness closes in around you again, and the air falls completely and utterly silent. You're alone. The only noise is the wind rattling the scrap metal around you.

>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.
>This is a grave. You're not going to disturb it.
>[Write-In]

>>5857678
>>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.

>>5857678
>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

>>5857678
>>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.

>>5857678
>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.

let's go see

>>5857678
>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.
And pick up that blowtorch. We should really invest in a lantern or electric torch later.

>>5857678
>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.

>Go inside the cockpit, see what's there.
Landslide, eh. Writing.

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You press a hand to your chest, wiping away your tears with effort and rising to your feet, gently picking up the blowtorch as you stand. Lighting it again, you slowly move closer to the base of Corvus Lictor. Torn earth gives away to great chunks of machinery, internal cables and machinery still spilling across the ground like strings of muscle and viscera. You step over them carefully, not wanting to kick one by accident.

Slumped over as it is, the only way to reach the cockpit in the titan's head is to climb up it's slumped back- a task easier said than done, as it was still a monumental hill of metal that was smooth and slick when it wasn't broken and jagged. You lift the blowtorch above your head, and carefully put your foot into one of the immense joint gaps. Then you wedge your other foot into the machinery of the joint itself... and you slowly begin to move upwards.

At first, you ascend with the blowtorch in one hand, but after a brief stumble nearly sends the flame directly into your face, you extinguish it and slip it back under your robes. Moving in the dark, you stumble and slip on the slick plates, but manage to make your way up onto the titan's shoulders, where the armor levels out beneath your feet and you're able to stand upright again. Two peaks extend into the sky above you, just barely lit by the stars they block- Corvus Lictor's enormous shoulder-mounted weapons, marking it's burial like an immense gravestone.

They shadow you as you make your way to the neck, then up and over the thick cuff that protects the head unit. If there was a way into the cockpit, it would likely be here, as the front didn't have the space for a hatch behind it's photoreceptors and sensors. You hardly had the tools needed to properly disassemble a titan's armored shell, but without a hatch, you weren't sure of another way to get inside. The armor was far from intact, of course, so you suppose it was possible for you to slide yourself inside through one of the tears in the plating, but it would be risky.

Fumbling in the dark, only igniting your blowtorch where you thought there was something worth looking at, you work your way around the shoulders. The breeze up here made your robes flap, and the ground was so far away the thin pool of light around you only barely lit the bottom. It would be a long way down if you fell.

The minutes stretch on, and you're on the verge of giving up when your foot snags an indentation in the hull where the neck cuff terminates. Dropping to your knees to avoid tripping, you slide yourself backwards, holding the torch close to the object. A crank lever set into the middle of hatch flush with the armor plating. It was featureless, beyond a small glass cap next to the lever, showing a red symbol behind the glass.

File: Status 9.png (1.49 MB, 1920x1038)

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>>5858867
Carefully, you grip the lever and try to turn it, hearing the metal within screech in protest. Bracing as best you can against the hull, you try again and get it to start turning, only for it to lock up again. Damaged. Forcing it would be difficult, and...

You look at the torch in your hand and shake the fuel canister gently. It sloshes heavily - the low-powered flame barely consumed any fuel - but if it was barely enough to fuse a shaft back together, would it really cut through an armored hull? A titan's armored hull? You could try to cut out the locking mechanism, but if you ruined the lever, you wouldn't be able to try turning it, afterwards...

>[Logic] Use the blowtorch to try and melt the locking mechanism.
>[Conditioning/Strain] Try and force the lever open.
>[Vigilance] Try to find a breach in the hull big enough to fit through instead.
>[Write-In]

>>5858868
>>[Vigilance] Try to find a breach in the hull big enough to fit through instead.

>>5858868
>[Logic] Use the blowtorch to try and melt the locking mechanism

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>>5857674 - brain - shape - head - vessel

wet clay not vessel.

IT lies

>>5858868
>[Write-In]{Logic/Strain] Try to fashion mechanical leverage with which to force the crank.

>>5858868
>[Vigilance] Try to find a breach in the hull big enough to fit through instead.

>>5858868
>[Vigilance] Try to find a breach in the hull big enough to fit through instead.

Hold up.
> ...beyond a small glass cap next to the lever, showing a red symbol behind the glass.
Why would a symbol be protected behind glass? This might be a "smash glass in case of emergency" type release that could open the door. I suggest we use the torch to inspect it first and (if it is indeed a button of some sort) use it. If not,
> [Vigilance] Try to find a breach in the hull big enough to fit through instead.

Anyways, why would the admech leave a titan down here? Wrecked or not, they venerate these things and would gladly give up multiple arms and legs to retrieve one. I can think of three major possibilities:
1. Someone was slacking and approved the paperwork for "ah yes we should build a hive here" without inspecting the area first. This is quite likely- this is the IoM we are talking about, after all.
2. The titan was stripped of any usable parts and abandoned. What is left is too costly and valueless to recover. This one is less likely, given the unit still had "life", photoreceptors, and (as mentioned) the admech venerate these things.
and finally,
3. The Titan was deemed too corrupted to salvage, or was left as-is as it was operated by a legio that sided with Horus and the dark Mechanicum. I'm a bit worried about this one, considering the titan seems to consider a run-of-the-mill tech priest an enemy.

Regardless, we should keep mum about the Corvus Lictor until we get to the upper hive and look and the colour of the titan toys they sell-if they're coloured anything other than cerulean, we might be in trouble.

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>>5859562
>Why would a symbol be protected behind glass? This might be a "smash glass in case of emergency" type release that could open the door.
I can explain this one. I wanted to find an image for the post but I couldn't find one for a door before I needed to post. It's an interlock indicator that mechanically rotates a colored symbol into place when the door is in the locked position. They're usually used for tension mechanisms where you can't intuitively tell if it's locked just by the lever hitting the end of it's travel.

>>5858868
>>[Logic] Use the blowtorch to try and melt the locking mechanism.

>[Vigilance] Try to find a breach in the hull big enough to fit through instead.
Writing.

You shine the blowtorch light close to the lever, squinting your eyes at the reflective red symbol behind the glass. Faint words were etched into the metal in what appeared to be broken High Gothic- which you suspect is actually one of the Mechanicus cants meant to be used by lowly workers. In either case, RED IS LOCK wasn't an elegant phrase, but you understood the meaning well enough.

Experimentally, you push on the lever, metal screeching and protesting until it finally moves and rotates an eight of the way around before stopping again. Shining your light on the glass indicator again reveals that the symbol had rotated exactly half a degree, by your estimate.

So much for the hatch.

Standing up, you survey the hull, looking for any breaks and tears in the armor plating that might provide alternative access. There were plenty of them to offer, although many of them were small enough that you didn't even bother approaching them. Others were large, but far from the cockpit, and you doubted that there was a route from the titan's half-buried knee up to it's head.

Crawling up and over the neck cuff, you carefully put each leg over the lip and drop yourself onto the smooth head of metal. Your legs hit the helmet and you slide on the smooth fabric of your robe, accelerating fast enough for you to briefly attempt to slow your descent by pawing at the metal with your hands as you slipped past.

Thankfully, Corvus Lictor was not a smooth and organically-jointed work of art, but a mighty and heavily riveted tribute to the Omnissiah. Your boots strike the lip of it's immense visor, and your body shakes with the sudden stop. Briefly, your eyes water as the impact conducts up through your body, briefly disrupting the neurons laced through your flesh. Grimacing, you shake off the painful throb in the back of your head, turning to instead follow along Corvus Lictor's head.

You had looked upon it's face from the ground and not seen any breaches in it's armor, but you had only seen it from the front. Perhaps the neck joints had torn, or been broken open?

Sliding around the back of it's head, you find the overlap between the extension of the neck and shoulder armor. The tolerance was tight in terms of the titan's ability to look around, allowing only a slight turn of the head- but at the scale of ordinary humans, it was fairly easy for you to press yourself against the armor and slip under.

Back here, the darkness was even more oppressive, as there wasn't even the false moonlight for you to see your way by- only the light of your blowtorch revealed anything, which wasn't much as your head was locked to one side in order to fit through.

>>5859741
What you could see was very promising, through. The armored joints of Corvus Lictor's neck had not just torn, they had buckled, forced out of place when the metal structure beneath had bent while the armor hadn't. The kind of impact that was the titan must have endured to suffer this sort of damage gave you pause, but in this moment, it helped you. That buckling armor had exposed gaps in it that you could get past, and the structure beneath had torn in several places. Already, you could pick out a few that might be possible for you to fit through.

One section had torn after the armor had ripped free, exposing hairs of sharp metal around a gap big enough for you to fit through. Beyond, you could see a significant divot. Sticking your arm through the hole carefully, you could feel a large space on the other end, which hopefully indicated that multiple layers of the titan's structure had been breached. Your robe snags briefly on the sharp hairs of metal that surrounded the fracture as you pull your arm out, and you frown. They didn't seem particularly dangerous, but you wouldn't want to have a dozen small cuts, either.

Another gap gets your attention. You dismissed it as just a simple gap between the armor and the structure at first, but as you got closer, you realized that the shadow inside the gap wasn't illuminating as your light came closer. Lifting yourself onto the joint, you hold it closer and closer with no effect until finally the light touches something on the other side of the hole- an embedded lumen in the chamber beyond. This was a direct hole into the titan- but, it was far too small for you to fit through, even with your small size. If you wanted to use it, you'd have to manually widen it somehow using... a piece of metal with some leverage, or by bracing yourself against the edge and pushing with your feet or something...

>[Manipulation] Carefully lower yourself through the sharp hole. You might take a few cuts, but you'll be okay.
>Use your blowtorch to soften the edges of the sharp hole so you can climb through safely.
>[Conditioning/Strain] Force the smaller hole open further so you can crawl through.
>[Write-In]

>>5859742
>>Use your blowtorch to soften the edges of the sharp hole so you can climb through safely.

>>5859742
>>[Manipulation] Carefully lower yourself through the sharp hole. You might take a few cuts, but you'll be okay.

>>5859742
>Use your blowtorch to soften the edges of the sharp hole so you can climb through safely.

>>5857674
I'm a bit afraid to contribute but wanted to let you know that this is awesome

>>5859742
>Use your blowtorch to soften the edges of the sharp hole so you can climb through safely.

>Use your blowtorch to soften the edges of the sharp hole so you can climb through safely.
Writing.

Small hairs of metal curl back on themselves, recoiling from the touch of flame upon them. In a strange way, it reminded you of burning paper than metal. They crumpled and shrank upon themselves as if burning to ash, and they wilted at the touch of flame so quickly you only needed to flare the torch's output barely as you worked your way around the gap.

Once you finish, the former gash in the hull seemed as if it had scabbed over. Touching your hand carefully to the metal, you found it had gone sufficiently cool for you to carefully vault yourself through the gap. Immediately, you found yourself enclosed on all sides by dark metal, and you have to extinguish your torch lest you burn yourself in the confined space. There was a gap in the structure, but it was thin, and you find yourself thankful for your small size as you squirm along it. Your chest gives you some trouble, and you have to carefully press your body flat against the small gap before pushing yourself through, lest it snag on something.

The passage narrows, and you briefly wonder what you'd do if you got stuck, but- no, you couldn't think about that now. Your back presses against supply pipes and cables in the ceiling, while the flexible segments of the neck joint press into your stomach and chest. Reaching a hand out, you fumble in the space where it narrows, feeling around the opening with your hand and trying to judge if your head would fit thr-

Beneath you, the metal simply gives way with a loud screech of hinges, and your torso falls through, dragging your head and arms down with it. Your perspective flips, and you briefly see a swinging maintenance hatch flying back towards your face before your legs slip and you tumble through with a rather undignified shriek. Arms hit the floor before your head, and your robe falls down, revealing the kicking legs of your bodyglove before they're pulled over and hit the ground with a smack.

You lay there for several seconds, face pressed into the floor. A low groan comes from deep within your throat, and you slowly untangle your feet. Then find the floor with your arms- and then you sit up. The tiny amount of light coming through the opening you slid through gave you enough sight to pull out the torch and turn down the intensity valve before you light it.

A human skull illuminates in the darkness, inches from your face. One of the mechanicus, their flesh long having rotted away, leaving only a pristine skull entangled with heavy augmetics that laced down into their core. The torso was caught in a heavy sheath of bronze plating that seemed to merge with some of the augmetics, marking them as potentially one of the Mechanicus' foot soldiers. A rifle, wooden furniture cracked with age, lay on the deck next to the body.

>>5861146
Carefully, you stand. One side of the corridor was partially crumpled, the same impact that buckled the exterior armor narrowing the interior, but not enough to prevent you from passing through. At the end, you can see what appears to be the other side of the door you saw on the outside. To your other side, then, must be the cockpit. It hung open, clearly having been opened by someone a long time ago.

The hinges squeak gently as you put your hand on the door, stepping through the open gap and into the cockpit.

This was a shrine. You could feel that in your bones. Even without knowing the symbology of the faded red banners that lay to either side of the door, you could feel the devotion that they had been woven into every fiber. Despite being a functional, spartan space devoid of hundreds of dripping candles or offerings to the Omnissiah, accommodation for faith had been made. Long-burned censers were secured to the wall with heavy bolts to prevent them from rattling while the titan was in motion, and the heavy metal grates in the floor - light and easy to move for access by technomats - was edged in faded gold.

This was a place beloved by the followers of the Machine God, and it was for that reason that your heart seemed to sigh at the love on display... and the sight of the corpses within.

Corvus Lictor's crew had never been evacuated. Crew lay slumped over in their seats, some bodies having being pulled apart as connective tissue rotted. Some seemed to have managed to get out of their seats before dying, being slumped across the room in the process of crawling to the door. Worst of all, though, was the empty tank in the middle of the room draped with devotional decoration and rotted silk banners. Cracks in the glass had allowed the fluid within to drain out long ago, leaving a crumpled, pathetic corpse at the bottom of the tank. It possessed no hands or feet, and thick cables snaked into it's skull. A princeps.

Contained within this place must be a treasure trove of technology- cybernetics from the crew and any guardians left onboard, weapons, even simple things like the basic cogigators and utility devices must be of the highest quality. And... well, you were here, now- Corvus Lictor was gone. These things would not serve anyone else in the immediate future. The question was, could you carry any of it? Taking an entire computer bank was certainly infeasible for you, but perhaps there was something smaller?

>Search for weapons, belonging to the bridge crew or otherwise.
>Search for valuables- religious artifacts like the banners, gold and the like. Things you could sell.
>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.
>Salvage augmetics from the corpses.
>Dismantle things for usable scrap.
>[Write-In]

>>5861148
>>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.

>>5861148

>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.

Information is most valuable, we can always come back later with the convoy folks for true looting later on

>>5861148
>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.
>Salvage augmetics from the corpses.
>[Write-In] Lay the bodies to rest in a more respectful fashion.

>>5861148
>>Search for valuables- religious artifacts like the banners, gold and the like. Things you could sell.

>>5861148
>>Salvage augmetics from the corpses.

>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.
We probably shouldn't overload ourselves.
Also, we should try to open the hatch from the inside so we can get back in easier.

>>5861148
>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.

>Look for anything that seemed portable. Datapads or tools.
Writing.

Slowly, carefully you step among and between the bodies. Even after passing the first body, you find yourself cautious, even hesitant to step on the engraved portions of the deck plating as if you might ruin it somehow. You skirt the edge of it all, and begin looking for what you can- opening emergency tool cabinets, checking under banner flaps and around work stations when you could look without disturbing the corpses. Every loose thing you find, you have to hold up to the light of your blowtorch, which is starting to feel alarmingly light in your hand as it's fuel runs close to empty.

It was well worth it, though. While what you found scurried away was no great treasure, it was by far nothing. Nobody had ever touched this place, other than maybe vermin even smaller than you who could get in through the gaps in the hull. Most importantly, since the crew had never gotten a chance to escape, their emergency supplies were all fully intact. Tools were strewn over the floor, but there were many, and of far higher a quality than you had seen before.

Already, you were pulling out small tools from beneath your robes and examining them next to your finds before discarding the other. First your hammer, replaced with a smaller, metal model with cutouts in a sturdy frame to reduce it's weight. Then a proper metal lifting bar so you wouldn't have to risk your screwdriver in the future. A ratchet who's gears didn't rattle as you twisted it. Basic, to be sure, but they were real tools, not scrap assembled by underhive blacksmiths.

You were only disappointed by the lack of any power tools. That was too much to hope for, you suppose. Your hopes had risen as you picked through the cockpit, but there weren't any, and you should have known there wouldn't be. The power tools used by the Magos who would have crewed Corvus Lictor's engineering crew were all part of their bodies. Servo-arms and integrated saws and welders powered off their own internal energies rather than any sort of portable battery that would risk running out.

There had also been dataslates, many fallen from work stations that then skid across the floor, or revealed as clothing rotted away over the years. Each one you picked up failed to power on when you pressed the buttons. You weren't sure what the problem was, if it was lack of power or the system was simply too damaged to function properly. Admittedly, you also weren't sure what value they'd even have, being owned by officers in a war long past. That data was probably only valuable to a certain type of historian, in the same way that the bronze founding plate displaying Corvus Lictor's name would be to a certain type of person.

>>5862121
Picking through another cabinet, you pull out a collapsing metal saw and happily add it to your collection, becoming more aware of the extra weight you were accumulating as you went through things. You hadn't brought your pack with you, and so anything you got here would be in addition to the heavy food and water you kept in your pack- plus, explain where you'd gotten it to the rest of the convoy. They would want to know how you'd gotten it, and where.

Estimating the amount of weight you had felt comfortable carrying, you think you could afford perhaps one more bulky thing before it became awkward or suspicious. The tools had been a good choice, and you already felt much more confident in the replacements, but you had added several bulky things, so whatever you filled the remaining space with couldn't be too bulky...

>Salvage a weapon. A sidearm, or something that you could remove some pieces of to transport it.
>Take those datapads anyway. Maybe you could sell them to a salvager?
>You didn't have room for anything big anymore, but surely there were some valuable baubles in here? Or scrap?
>You could fit perhaps one augmetic...
>[Write-In]

>>5862122
>You didn't have room for anything big anymore, but surely there were some valuable baubles in here? Or scrap?

>>5862122

>You could fit perhaps one augmetic...

There’s gotta to be at least one very good aug here

>>5862122
>Take those datapads anyway. Maybe you could sell them to a salvager?

>>5862122
>Salvage a weapon. A sidearm, or something that you could remove some pieces of to transport it.

>>5862122
>Take those datapads anyway. Maybe you could sell them to a salvager?
Call me blue cause I am searching for clues, we gotta learn more about our newfound faith. And, it would lend a definite legitimacy if we could deliver them to someone who would listen to the grave of Corvus Lictor.
Secondarily,
>You didn't have room for anything big anymore, but surely there were some valuable baubles in here? Or scrap?
Perhaps some kind of badge of office? Something to tie us to this lost titan...

>>5862122
>Take those datapads anyway. Maybe you could sell them to a salvager?
Knowledge is power.
Secondary: Supporting >Perhaps some kind of badge of office? Something to tie us to this lost titan...

>>5862122
>>You could fit perhaps one augmetic...

>>5862122
>You didn't have room for anything big anymore, but surely there were some valuable baubles in here? Or scrap?

>Take those datapads anyway. Maybe you could sell them to a salvager?
Writing.

You hold the tablets up, staring into their blank screens. There was no telling what was actually on any of them, or if it was even recoverable. What if you went to all the effort of keeping them around, only for them to turn out to be worthless?

...you hug them to your chest anyway and stand up. They were something a bit more precious than just relics of the Machine God, they were history- the records of men long past who would never be heard from again. That was heritage, and nobody deserved an ignominious death like these men had, even if they themselves probably believed that they were just cogs in the machine.

Moving to leave, you pause for a moment.

Heritage...

You look around, thinking for a moment. Then you set the datapads down and kneel at the base of the princep's tank. The bottom of the tank was dark except for the faint glistening of implants in the gloom, but you ignore it and instead gently unscrew the bronze plate affixed to the bottom of the tank.

CORVUS LICTOR
FOUNDED M35.203, KIAVAHR

A string of binary symbols embossed into the metal followed, and you ran a hand over it carefully. Created almost seven thousand years ago, only to fall here. Some titans must be even older than Corvus Lictor, living links that could connect the Imperium back to the times when the Omnissiah walked the earth before his mortal aspect ascended to the Golden Throne. At least, that was one way of looking at it.

You pause at the threshold of the cockpit and look back for a long moment. Then you step out and close the door as carefully as you can.

---

As you trudge back through the dark, fatigue starts to hit you, threatening to make your arms open and all the things clutched to your chest beneath your robe fall out and onto the floor.

“...hey, Leb. Leb!” A woman's voice hisses out of the darkness as you trudge closer to the convoy. “What the f- girl, where have you been?"

“Not far.” This, of course, was a lie. “I was... delayed."

“Delayed?” Liv's voice was incredulously. "It's been hours! Erich thought you'd gone and woken up a sleeper or something! Or gotten yourself offed by a mutie!”

“I...” You hesitate, trying to think of an excuse that would sound plausible.

>"There was a... complication."
>"It was something private."
>"I went salvaging, Liv."
>>[Sub-Option] “Did you know there's an entire titan for scrap out there?”
>"Thought I heard something out there."
>Ignore her and just get into the truck.
>[Write-In]

>>5863125

>"There was a... complication."

Maybe we should try to keep this to ourselves for now.

>>5863125
>There was a... complication / [Write in]
"I thought I saw something and when I went to check it out I fell and got disoriented, I'm glad I found my way back before you left."
Not entirely a lie, just not the whole truth, and playing on us being vulnerable but lucky enough to survive seems a safe bet. Maybe we could show one of our new fancier tools if she pries further?

>>5863125
>"I went salvaging, Liv."
>"There was a... complication."

>>5863125
We shouldn’t let them know about the Corvus Lictor for now-sentimentality to the Titan aside, once the AdMech finds out the filthy underhivers touched their God Machine, they’re going to servitorise everybody involved, along with their friends and family for good measure. Let’s tell a half truth-similar to what >>5863158 said.


>[Write-In] I saw some lights in the distance and thought they were moving (fun fact: this is a real thing called autokinesis). I went investigate, but got disoriented and I couldn’t find my way back. Thank the God-Emperor I managed to find my way back.

If pressed about the tools and data pads we found:
> While trying to find my way back I came across debris from an engine large enough to contain a relatively intact room. I took the tools from an emergency cabinet and the data pads scattered about within. There were a few other things there I didn’t take-an augmetic or two and some baubles-but it honestly isn’t worth it, and I couldn’t find my way back there if I tried.

Finally, just a backup in case they find the plaque or have damming evidence we found a whole darn derelict titan, pristine and full of loot:
> Yes, I did find a derelict titan out in the wastes. I’m not telling you guys where it is, because once the cogboys find out underhivers have been stripping out a titan-and trust me, they will find out-they will servitorise everyone involved, along with their loved ones and friends for good measure. I don’t want that to happen to you guys.

At the very least, that response should immediately win over Liv given her low opinion of the admech, and I think Cad at least should be experienced enough to agree with that.


Secondary: >"It was something private."

>>5863125
>>"It was something private."
Embarrassing but it's the kind of thing people won't dig further into

>"There was a... complication."
>With an extra bit here and there
Writing.

>>5863532
>(fun fact: this is a real thing called autokinesis)
She's actually experienced autokinesis here and there, especially while looking at the sky and seeing her moving lights.

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“There was a...” You hesitate, searching for the words. “...a complication.”

“Complication?” Liv sounded incredulous. “What could be complicated about-” She froze mid-sentence as something suddenly came to mind. “...oh.” She sat back, then winced. “Shi- damn, I'm sorry, Leb. You gonna be okay?"

Now it was your turn to sound confused. “...yes? I was-” You grasp for an excuse to explain the load of dataslates jostling in your arms.

“You need anything to wash with?”

“Wash?” You're taken aback. “Uh, I suppose. My gloves are dirty, so I need to clean them before I eat tomorrow.”

“One sec. Let me get you some water.” Liv turns and slides herself off the hood of her truck before beginning to rummage through the rear.

Dumbfounded, you quietly deposit your armful of dataslates onto your seat for later, then slip inside the defensive triangle so Liv can dump water all over your gloved hands. You scrub them with a bit of tallow soap, not quite sure how to ask what she apparently thought happened. “Was I gone long?”

“You've been gone ever since I got on watch! I was about to wake Cad up and tell him we needed to book it.” She sighed. “Although I guess it's not your fault.”

You were fairly certain it was your fault, but elect to keep your mouth shut. You were already starting to feel very tired from your unplanned excursion, and you didn't want to be mentally compromised in your duties tomorrow if you had to fuse Liv's drive shaft back together again. If you even could, with the promethium you had left. Another dump of water washes the residue off your gloves, and you flick them dry before carefully holding them close to the warm coals for a bit of extra heat.

When you get back into Errat's truck, you nearly sit directly on the dataslates you had climbed into a titan for. Sighing, you carefully pack them - and Corvus Lictor's founding plate - into your bag and shut the flap before suppressing a yawn. You were too tired for this, so you slide the bag into the corner, lean against a door that feels practically inviting with how heavily your eyes are drooping...

A lurch in your seat sends you surging back to consciousness as you get thrown forward in your seat. Your arms reflexively snap out and hit the dashboard, bracing yourself as the front tires level out from the sharp drop you had just rolled over. “The sleeper's awake.” He says, grinning rather more creepily than he probably meant. “Sorry, couldn't resist.”

You push back, your eyes adjusting to the slightly different daylight color outside. At first, you're struck by a feeling that you're in the exact same spot you were before you went to sleep, but the buoys continued to roll past your route, reassuring you that you were going somewhere, at least. “How long did I rest?"

>>5864348
“A while.” He replies lightly. “You almost missed lunch. It was short, anyway, Cad thinks we're behind more than he thought.”

That seemed to be about right, so you don't answer, instead reaching into your pack and taking out one of the ration bars. Errat was practically treating you like a person at this point. You hadn't made a motion towards his truck, and you didn't seem to want to talk to him too much, so you suppose that made you alright in his eyes. Tolerable, at the least, given that he seemed to be in no hurry to make friends.

Buoys fly past on your right, freshly upturned soil at their base where they've been driven into the ground. Here, the terrain was changing, elevation created not by accumulated piles of scrap, blown or fallen from the upper levels, but by the dirt that was supposedly underneath it all. For Errat, it seemed to be a mild inconvenience, but for someone who had never actually seen a hill in person, the slight angle and the way the dirt swelled up from the normally flat foundation floor around you was quite novel.

The bumpiness was old hat, though. You weren't sure what else you were supposed to do by this point, since even if you had any work to do, it's not like you could do much while the truck was jostling like this. Errat was hardly one for conversation, so all you could do was stare into the darkness, waiting and trying to sort out what were distorted shadows and what were real objects. It was harder than you'd imagined it'd be, as you would see flickering shapes in the shadows of the buoys, only to realize that they were the shadows of the buoys themselves, seemingly brought to light by the stablights on the truck as you passed. The stars flickering and flitting by in the evening didn't help, as they distracted you out of the corner of your eye every time they passed by.

On occasion, you found yourself thinking about Corvus Lictor, but you had to admit- you weren't entirely certain what kind of agreement you had even entered into. It's warning about your creator was all the more confusing to you, as well. Not that you couldn't conceive of your creator as evil, but more... it didn't fit- after all, why would he be known to a titan who had been here six thousand years? Maybe Corvus Lictor was mad? Maybe it had been one of the Archenemy's titans?

It was so desolate down here, and that air of isolation was starting to sink in. What could possibly live down here? The others spoke as if there were actual inhabitants to worry about, but... were there? They'd need food, and water that wasn't poisoned by industrial runoff, even hivers needed at least simulated sunlight or they would become sick. Life down here seemed impossible at best.

>>5864350
The thought was still on your mind as you slid yourself under Liz's truck. The weld holding it's drive shaft together was still holding, despite all the shaking on the road. Regardless, you could see hairline fractures forming from your adhoc repair. It wouldn't hold forever, it just needed to hold... about one day more, and then in theory you would be at the base of the ramp, the ‘Tribute’- or, if the map you had seen on the hive wall was any indication, a part of the foundations below Tribute Square.

Either way, it was just two more days until you arrived, one day until you were out of the foundations and into the hive proper.

“Looking okay?” Cad asks, holding out a bowl for you as you sit down around the fire.

“It is not ideal.” You say idly. “The weld is lightly cracked, and I'm not sure I can fix it a second time.” Liv gives you a worried look as you raise the bowl to your lips.

“Well, if we're close to Tribute, I'd say we could probably just abandon it there. It's safe enough, compared to out here.” Cad rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Then again, once we're up into the hive again, the roads are smooth sailing, so we could just tow it."

“Won't that take a while, boss?” Erich asks. “We're short enough on time as it is.”

“Got a better idea? Either way, it's late penalties. We'll hope that it'll hold together, and that'll have to be good enough.”

You tilt the bowl back and gulp some soup down while they talk, before glancing up. Tonight, you had stopped off the road, at the base of an immense concrete structure you couldn't quite reason the purpose of. It was immense- all concrete and girders, but bigger than any individual support column you had even seen, big enough that thirty of the ground trucks used by the hivers could be parked around it and still not fully encircle it. It was so tall you honestly couldn't tell if it continued up to the hive itself or if it ended just after it left your sight.

“Cad, what is that?” You ask, pointing up at it while Erich is busy draining some soup down.

“The stele? No idea, honestly.” He shrugs. “You see them along a lot of the safe routes. I think they're old hive foundations, personally. If one's nearby, the route is generally messy, but safe. I think it's because none of it is useful scrap, so nobody ever wants to come here.”

“Interesting.” You briefly debate offering to transfer to Liv's vehicle, but decide against it. You all traveled in a compact line, so it was pointless to worry about being close to any problem when the entire convoy would stop to fix it. Still, that leaves you again with little to do but wait for the next problem to come. And wait.

And wait.

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>>5864351
You glance out the window again. You could still swear that there were things out of the corner of your vision, only ever seen in periphery when you looked left and right. They danced around the freshly turned soil at the base of each buoy, where the support rods had been driven into the earth.

“Hey, Errat?” You tilt your head at it. “Who actually sets up these-”

Something briefly brushes the hull of Cad's vehicle, and then flits back towards the horizon with incredible, luminous speed.

A sound like a high-pitched, distant drone sounds. The voice of a thousand spinning motors joining together into a chorus, rather than an ear-splitting screech. Something pulses through the air, hitting your whole body like you've been thrown to the ground and making every lumen on the dashboard glow painfully bright for a brief instant.

And then they all go out.

The stablights of Cad's truck in front of you go out as well, and you don't even have to look back to see that Liv's have also gone, as the line of reflectors stretching into the horizon vanish in an instant, plunging you and Errat into complete, total blackness. You barely have time to process that before you lurch forward in your seat. The engine lets out a lone whine, sputtering and making an odd grinding noise as if it was choking, Errat turning the wheel in surprise as the power cuts and the two of you glide to a stop.

Without light, you can only hope that you don't accidentally collide with Cad, or Liv into you. You feel the entire truck rolling to the left as Errat pulls over to avoid hitting one of the buoys in the blackness.

A faint shuffle comes to your left, and you hear the slight leather slip as Errat pulls the vox unit free from above. There's a click as he depresses the contact, but there's no characteristic hiss of static, no confirmation click. “Cad? Cad!” He calls into the unit, then letting go. “Great. Okay, you wait here- actually, no, maybe you should make sure Liv is-”

Your hand find his shoulder, and you surprise yourself with how tightly you're gripping his arm. “Errat. Do you hear that?”

There was a... you can't call it anything else but a rumbling. It was like the road noise you heard when moving, but the two of you were no longer moving. And it was getting loud. Far louder than the convoy had ever been on it's own.

>"...you need to get the truck started."
>"Think we can get out and run?"
>"We need to talk to Cad, right now."
>"Get your gun."
>[Write-In]

>>5864358

>"Get your gun."

This reads like an EMP burst from the drone, check our laspistol and charge?

>>5864358
>"Get your gun."

>>5864358
>[Write-In] Hide in some nearby scrap/under the truck
Whatever this is, it cannot be overpowered or outran, and a convoy of trucks is easy to spot. The only thing we can do other than wait for it to find us is hope that we find it first.

Also, as an aside, how big and how heavy is the founding plate? Like an A4 sheet of paper? is it thick?

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>>5864432
A4 is about right. It's essentially a slightly think sheet of bronze stamped with manufactorum information, like a ship's makers plate.

>>5864358
Hm, looks like a EMP? Not sure if the laspistol will still work.
> "Get your gun and get Cad. I’ll go fetch Liv. Tell them to grab their weapons and regroup around our truck to assess the situation."

>>5864358
>>"Get your gun."

>"Get your gun."
Writing.

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The rumbling continues to grow louder, and your grip on Errat's shoulder slackens, the two of you going very still.

“Get your gun.” You murmur, reaching into your robe and finding the hilt of your laspistol.

“Yeah, good idea.” Errat's voice sounds hollow, and you hear the sound of his hand smacking into his seat and the metal hull as he fumbles in the dark.

Raising your laspistol, you glance at the screen only to see that the luminescent ammo counter on the back is out. You pull the power pack out of it's socket and press it in again, your heart sinking. The screen flickers once, displaying 00 in glowing red text. A flash of light catches your attention, and you look up to see that the lumens of Cad's truck are flickering. They show dim, tiny pinpricks of light before abruptly flaring into life again before the strain seems to overwhelm them and they blink out again.

A building whine starts to admit from the weapon in your hand, and you look down. The ammo indicator was brightening, and soon enough the display began abruptly counting up, then cutting out. Your shots went from none, to eighty, to twenty, then twenty one...

The lumens illuminating the dials in Errat's dashboard flicker slightly, needles jumping before falling limp again. His own stablights flicker- and then you see it.

A creature. Pale, long-limbed and skittering on pointed hands and feet is caught in the light. It screeches at the sudden brightness, scurrying back away from the bed of Cad's truck and into the darkness. Another thing moves behind it, thick and stocky from where it's hands and feet have thickened into paws. Your gaze turns as you see on the other side a fleeing shape with far too many hands dragging limply behind it.

“That's a sleeper?” You ask, eyes wide.

“No-” Errat's reply was cut off by a distant, immense wave of sound that cut off all your hearing. The pistol wavers in your hand, and you hear Errat fail to suppress a whimper of fear beside you. You knew the sound, you knew it in your bones, but you couldn't begin to explain how you knew it, or from where. The sky was flaring green with the light of a distant sun, and the deep, thrumming drone returned. The unmistakable sound of a immense warhorn. “That is!”

Again, you feel a brief weight on your chest as it reverberates through you, and it's something even the creatures around you seem to feel, breaking off and clustering briefly before one of their number shepherds the others forward. It stands vaguely on two legs, and a part of you deeply recoils from the sight as you recognize the perversion of the human form for what it is. An understanding that leads you to look at the... pack around you with renewed horror.

“This wasn't supposed to happen!" Errat gasps between hard breaths. “We were following the guides! They're supposed to veer wide around the sleepers!”

>>5865299
You look down at the laspistol in your hands. The count was leaping up, thirty- thirty eight- a soft beep emitted from the weapon as it's spirit recovered, the counter flashing once at forty five shots, short of what it should have held. There wasn't any gunfire, either from in front of or behind you, but you weren't sure what that meant. Were Liv, Erich and Cad already dead, or were they holding their breath and waiting, just like the two of you were? Lights flickered in the distance behind you, but the brief flashes of illumination didn't mean anything to you.

A flickering red light reflects in the rear window, and you spin around as the dashboard lumens return to life- and stay that way. You don't need to say anything to Errat, who looks down and immediately lunges for the ignition. The spirit of the engine groans with the effort of turning over, the pistons deep within shrugging and groaning within their odd position. One catches, sputters, and the engine abruptly comes to life as the vox begins hissing with garbled static. The stablights flare to full intensity, and for the first time you see the sheer numbers of the creatures beyond you- dozens of shambling, emaciated forms. You mentally count thirty, then forty- there might have been hundreds of them out in the dark.

Some go briefly still as your vehicle starts up again, and you notice the rear lumens of Cad's truck starting to flick in a steady thrum as he tries to turn his own engine over. The vox static intensifies, and garbled voices start to hiss through the interference. "...chain... wak... need... leaving!" The lights flash on in front of you, and Cad immediately floors it in a spray of dirt as another roar of the warhorns rends the air. You look behind you, and see no lights behind you, only a continuous flickering.

An awful weight collides with the door to your side, and you turn to see a pale, split jaw that terminates in an all-too familiar rounded skull and nose. It screeches at you, trying to dig it's claw into the door seal before something metal lays across your shoulder. An awful bang of pressure rattles the cabin, and the hearing in your left ear abruptly goes out as the window shatters in place, a large hole appearing as the shot passes through it and pulps the delicate torso of the creature, which falls away with a choking cry.

You spare a look at Errat, thankful he had it out before lurching as he hits the gas, bracing with your free hand against the dash. Lights come on behind you, and you see the headlights bouncing erratically behind you as she guns it, struggling to keep up as you and Errat follow Cad. Your left ear was throbbing, feeling oddly hot while something wet ran down your cheek. Glands were throbbing deep within you again, and within moments sound began to slowly return, albeit muffled.

>>5865300
Turning around to the front again, you keep your laspistol raised partially, glancing to the sides as you see mutants obviously running to keep pace with you in the darkness. They were succeeding, too, running on all fours with an odd bouncing gait or scrambling on far too many limbs.

“How do we know where we are if the beacons aren't right?” You shout over the background roar of running creatures, engines and distant horns.

“I don't know!” He shouts back. “Cad's the guide!" He winces and recoils from the door in fear. “Frak, they're close...”

You couldn't help but agree, but as you raise your laspistol to aim at one, it falls behind slightly, slipping past the support bar of the windshield, and then so far back you'd be aiming at Errat if you tried to hit it. Another attempt to aim behind you similarly finds you pointing your laspistol at the cargo- with it's promethium tanks buried somewhere inside it. The visibility out your passenger window was shot after Cad's shotgun blast. Your visibility was terrible, but without learning something of your position, you'd just wind up driving to your doom. It was pitch black out there, but maybe you could figure out something.

>[Vigilance/Strain] Open the door and try to see anything about your surroundings.
>[Manipulation] Shoot as best you can through the windows while staying in the cabin.
>[Conditioning/Strain] Get out onto the bed for a better angle.
>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.
>[Write-In]

>>5865301

>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.

We should be a direct shot based on our Manipulation ability score, but I don't think that gunplay is going to win the day here. Better to coordinate with the other trucks and see if we can bust out of this ambush.

>>5865301
>>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.

>>5865301
>>[Conditioning/Strain] Get out onto the bed for a better angle.

>>5865301
>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.
Secondarily,
>[Write-In] Do what you can to get in contact with Liv, and potentially provide fire support if she seems to be getting overwhelmed.

>>5865301
>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.

>>5865301
>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.

>>5865301
>[Manipulation] Shoot as best you can through the windows while staying in the cabin.

>[Logic] Get on the vox and try to coordinate with Cad.
Writing.

You snatch up the vox from it's cradle, letting you the pistol in your other hand rest against the dash as you squeeze the vox-lever. “Cad? Are you there?”

"Yeah." Cad's voice was devoid of any of his usual flippancy, distorted by the odd voxstatic. "Is Liv behind you?"

You glance over your shoulder. “Yeah, she's trying.”

"We need to break away, if we disturb it again, it's shout will lock us all up." Cad's voice was urgent. "We need to get back on the route and ford to safe territory again."

“What about the mutants?”

"Don't worry about them!" Cad is practically shouting into his own unit. "The ones that can hold guns won't want to shoot- they barely have bullets to go around. They're bad shots, so as long as you don't give them a predictable target, they'll wait."

“But-” Errat begins to speak, and you hold the unit up to his mouth for him. “But what about the sleeper?!"

"You think I don't know that?" Cad yells. "Frakking- shut up and drive! I'll try to locate it's relative position."

You look up and out the window, frowning. “What do you mean, it's right there-” You point, before realizing that Cad can't see your arm. “Can't you see it?”

"You can't ‘see’ a sleeper, Labbi-" Cad flubs your pseudonym worse than usual. "Anyone who gets too close to one is already dead. They're vengeful spirits that hate anything large moving around down here. If you wake one up, you have to corkscrew it's haunt, always turning if you want to escape."

You make a strange face at the vox unit, but Errat speaks before you can say anything. “But those are just stupid myths! Machine ghosts in the walls, vengeful spirits from the war unavenged! Sleepers are just mutants pulling idiot scavengers off the road, convoys disappearing!”

“It-” You grimace as Errat throws the truck into a wide swerve, then hold the vox up again. “Cad, those aren't- spirits." You force the words out, hesitating briefly before deciding that now was not the time for deception, if not full truth. “I recognize that sound, that's a titan's warhorn.”

“That doesn't make any sense!” Errat screams, smashing his fist against the wheel. “That's just legends! They would have gotten rid of them if they were here!”

The image of Corvus Lictor appears in your mind, buried in the ground up to it's waist, surrounded by cracked earth and debris from the upper hive and millenia of construction work. “They would have.” You say, making a connection. “But how many titans fought here?”

“I- I don't know! A few dozen?!"

“Hundreds, across the planet.” You say, feeling an odd sense of clarity. “How could they possibly recover them all? The hive was being built at the same time and some-” You swallow. “Some were buried from the battle. Or the adepts got reassigned, or one had it's recovery order put back in the queue and then lost...”

>>5865940
“If they're buried, then how-”

“The hive floor.” You say, glancing at him. “You said it fell out, right? Look at all the scrap, it's completely altered the terrain down here... it's unearthed old piping, temporary shelters, buildings from before the hive...” Or something could have shot it from below... and the hive inhabitants might be none the wiser...

“Spirits buried... but unmourned and angered...” Errat's face slowly drains of color, getting a distant look as he contemplates it. “And we're waking them up.”

A part of you wants to correct him on that. You open your mouth, but before you can find the words, something crests one of the hills beside you and leaps. It hits the hood of the truck, and begins clambering off. It's muscled, heavyset and furred, with a thin pair of beady eyes that turn upon the two of you with startling intelligence before it raises a meaty paw, reaching out towards the windshield.

You fumble for the laspistol you lowered, dropping the vox in the process. It turns it's heavyset shoulder to you as you raise and yank the trigger. The weapon doesn't kick in your hand so much as vibrate as a crimson beam snaps from the barrel, punching straight through the windshield and leaving a smoldering crater in the mutant's shoulder. You fire twice more, barrel wavering as Errat begins to rip the wheel back and forth, attempting to throw the mutant off, but it clings on, even as you continue to fire, your shots going wide and leaving scores along the mutants arms and shoulder. It lets out a bray, as Errat swerves hard to the left, forcing it to strain with it's damaged shoulder before something gives and it goes spinning off to the side with a cry.

Errat attempts to right your course, but the vehicle was vibrating oddly with a sound of metal spilling and slipping over themselves. You felt like you were moving sideways instead of turning where Errat was, and he swears, wavering the wheel in place as he attempts to regain control of the vehicle. He had accelerated too much trying to throw the creature off, and now you could feel why such a slow pace was used the rest of the journey, as the wheels no longer found purchase on the foundation floor, but instead ripped up the loose scrap and slid on top of it.

Too much speed was being lost, and as Cad's lumens began to pull ahead of you while Liv's lights begin to arrive behind you, the stablights catch a glint of metal in the darkness.

>>5865941
Errat recognizes it before you, and he lets out a scream and tries to duck behind the steering wheel. The roar of the engine as he reflexively stomps down on the throttle is cut by sharp cracks as the mutant in the darkness opens fire, bullets striking the hood and shattering the windscreen as you duck forward, pressing your small body behind the dash. Errat's scream is cut short as his body jerks back, with one impact, then another and a third before he wrenches the wheel and manages to rip the truck back onto the road.

You turn your head and see Errat heaving, blood already starting to soak through his shirt and spill down his front as he furiously tries to steer, coasting on the last rush of adrenaline. “We gotta-” He sucks in a deep breath. “We gotta catch up, we have to-” He lists, the engine screaming as he presses down on the pedal again and sends the truck lurching forward. “Gotta...” He had been hit twice in the right side of his chest, while the final round had hit his left shoulder, from how he clenched his teeth each time he turned the wheel.

>He wasn't going to last long like this. Push him out of the truck and take over.
>[Manipulation] Take over driving for him so he can tend himself.
>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find.
>[Write-In]

>>5865942

>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find

Well, shit. Maybe cauterize his wounds with the blowtorch? Even if he passes out we can take over driving

>>5865942
>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find.

Let the driver focus on his work.

>>5865942
>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find.

>>5865942
>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find.

>>5865942
>[Manipulation] Take over driving for him so he can tend himself.

>>5865942
>>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find.

>[Logic] Tend to his wounds with whatever you can find.
Writing.

Turning onto your side, you scramble over the center console, sliding your laspistol into your robes before you accidentally shoot Errat. The engine continues to scream, seemingly still in working order after a few stray bullets, while in the background you continue to hear the all-encompassing roar of passing mutants. You pull at his jacket, revealing the frayed holes that had been blown into his chest. Neither were on the right side of his body to hit his heart, but you knew enough about anatomy to be concerned that the lower of the two could have hit his lung. He softly wheezed as he breathed, but you didn't know if that was just from the shock, blood loss or he was actually having trouble breathing.

Checking his back, you found no exit wound. The bullets must have lodged somewhere in his chest or back. At the very least, his body wasn't cratered like he'd been shot with lasbolts. It was difficult to check his shoulder, given it was on the other side of the wheel from you, but despite bleeding less, it was clearly the more disabling of the two. It had gone clear through his shoulder, and moving it obviously caused Errat pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the injury was setting in. He'd need attention soon if you wanted to keep him focused...

You look around, checking the side doors and passenger compartment for something you could use to bandage him, but come up with nothing. “Errat, I need to stop the bleeding, do you have any bandages?”

“Huh?” Errat slurs, wavering slightly. “What- yeah?”

Grimacing, you reach over and start to apply pressure to the front wounds. “Medicine. Bandages. Where are they?" The sorrowful blast of a warhorn comes again, and you flinch instinctively, glancing around before turning your attention back to the wound.

“Oh, they're, uh... in the back, I think." Errat says, absentmindedly.

“The back?” You stare for a moment.

“Yeah, in the bed.”

You look back over your shoulder at the rear of the truck, swaying in the darkness. It was bathed in the light from Liv's stablights behind you, so it wasn't completely dark, but it was also out back, with the mutants. And no cover. Briefly, you entertain the idea of cauterizing his wounds shut, but shake that off as quickly as you can. The pain would either shock him awake or knock him out, and you weren't sure you were prepared to take that risk. Even if it did knock him out, you suppose so long as the bleeding stopped, that would be an ideal outcome.

>>5866897
One more problem, though: you weren't a medicae. You had no idea how to actually treat a gunshot other than vaguely stopping the bleeding and... sterilizing the wound? That was what you were supposed to do when you go injured- well, apparently it was. Your specifications had never included the seeming ability to heal grievous injuries, so you actually didn't know what parts of your knowledge were lies or not. A part of you wishes you had been shot instead of him- at the very least, you had a striking ability to heal quickly, so your life would be in less danger than his.

You remember the pain from the last cry of the sleeper- titan and wince at the memory of your thoughts running amok. Perhaps that wasn't a good alternative.

>[Conditioning/Strain] Get out on the bed and retrieve the first aid kit.
>[Intuit] A prayer might not go wrong at this point.
>Improvise bandages by tearing clothes and tying them tight.
>Cauterize his wounds shut with the blowtorch, despite the risk.
>[Write-In]

>>5866898

>[Conditioning/Strain] Get out on the bed and retrieve the first aid kit.

Go for broke here, we need real gear for this

>>5866898
>[Conditioning/Strain] Get out on the bed and retrieve the first aid kit.

Time to action movie this shit.

>>5866898
>[Intuit] A prayer might not go wrong at this point.
This is still a 40k quest so this might actually work.

>>5866898
>>Improvise bandages by tearing clothes and tying them tight

>>5866898
>>[Intuit] A prayer might not go wrong at this point.

>>5866898
>Improvise bandages by tearing clothes and tying them tight.

>>5866898

>>[Intuit] A prayer might not go wrong at this point.

Im curious if this will do anything since faith is an intriguing aspect in 40k

>>5866898
>Improvise bandages by tearing clothes and tying them tight.

I believe that's a tie between
>Improvise bandages by tearing clothes and tying them tight.
and
>[Intuit] A prayer might not go wrong at this point.
But these ain't mutually incompatible options by any means. Writing.

You look around for something to use as a bandage - some of Errat's discarded clothing, given that you're wearing everything you currently have. No good, though. If Errat even brought any spare clothes, they're not up front. You think briefly for your ratty old coveralls, but they're at the bottom of your bag, and you don't have time to dig through it- if you even can find it with the truck rattling and shaking like this.

Immediately, you think to tear strips of fabric from your gown. A pang of sadness hits you at the thought, after what it had taken you to get it, but you don't have time for sentiment. You grab the hem of your skirt on instinct and try to tear a strip of fabric off, but the seamed and folded lip is too tough for you to find the right kind of purchase on without tearing the fabric from your hand. Then, you remember the mantle sewn into the shoulders of the robe. It was a flap of gently pleated fabric that helped disguise the slight bulk of the bodyglove, especially where you could slide your hand beneath the sleeve to grab at things on the inside.

Bundling up the mantle in one hand, you grip the base of the seam at your shoulder with the other and pull. The sturdy needlework holds firm for a moment, then a short tearing sound rips out, and a length of silken black fabric comes loose in your hand. You hold it up in front of you, and taking advantage of the now-frayed edge, grip it and tear it down the middle to make two rough bandages.

Turning to Errat again, you slide yourself beside him and press the fabric of his jacket tight against him. He hisses as you do so, and you wince. It had only been a few seconds, but he was already looking haggard, and his struggle to breathe had only gotten worse. You couldn't remove his jacket without distracting him, so instead of trying to place the cloth over it, you loop it under his shoulder tightly once, then a second time, and a third time. It was fairly stretchy fabric, so you should be able to wrap it tight with a few more loops.

...and then what? You didn't know much else to do beyond sterilize the wound - not likely under these circumstances - and apply pressure until it stops bleeding. What else could you do under these circumstances?

Pray?

You stare at your handiwork, then back to Errat's increasingly poor condition. Already, the frayed black fabric was starting to look a little damp as blood soaked through it. There was really no telling if it would actually stop the bleeding, or if he had lost too much blood already.

Praying felt like a good idea.

So how do you do it?

It takes you a moment before you realize that you're not entirely sure how. You knew the words to a few simple litanies, of course. A prayer for the Emperor's benediction, asking for forgiveness, things that would be expected of you as an ‘ordinary’ Imperial citizen, but you didn't know a prayer to stop bleeding. Would it even do it?

>>5868144
You didn't know faith. You had only even thought about the Emperor... maybe once in your life? If he- He was a god, would he be fooled by someone mindlessly citing prayers in desperation? Didn't you have to mean it? And if you meant it, why say it out loud?

Did you even have it in you to mean it?

The thought twists in your gut, surprisingly ugly and bitter. You hadn't been asked to be left unfinished.

Hesitating, you slowly put your hands together, holding them over the bandage and applying a little pressure. Your mouth opens, and you try to think of the words to say. Do you say them in a specific order? Would it not count if you didn't start with ‘Holy Emperor’ or ‘Blessed Omnissiah’? Did you need to phrase it as a request? Could you pray for simple communion and not because you needed something? Dozens of phrases come to mind, some assembled from fragments of other prayers, others simply regurgitating one of your canned prayers wholesale, others...

>Plead for Him to grant mercy.
>Ask for his intervention.
>Pray for insight.
>Mumble something you find suitably faithful.
>Don't say anything out loud, pray silently.
>[Write-In]

>[Optional] Pray to the Omnissiah instead.
>[Optional] Pray to both.

>>5868146

>[Optional] Pray to the Omnissiah instead.

I feel like this is in character, we clearly have some sort of affectation or loyalty programming towards the Mechanicus

>>5868155
You came go ahead and combo it with one of the normal options for the kind of prayer to the Omnissiah you'd like to make. Insight for your standard prayer for comprehension, intervention to ask the Motive Force for aid, etc.

>>5868166

I’ll throw in a

>Pray for insight.

As well, I feel like the Omnissiah is not very prone to true miracles like the Emprah is

>>5868146
>Ask for his intervention.

>>5868146
>[Optional] Pray to both.
>Pray for insight.
>Mumble something you find suitably faithful.

>>5868146
>Ask for his intervention
>[Optional] Pray to both.

>>5868146
>Pray for insight.
>[Optional] Pray to the Omnissiah instead.

>>5868146
>Mumble something you find suitably faithful.
>[Optional] Pray to both.

>Pray for insight.
>[Optional] Pray to both.
Roughly. Another pretty split one, eh. Writing.

Your hand tightens slightly on the bandage. You just didn't know. That was the problem, in the end. You just didn't know. You felt like half a person, your mind unfinished- worse than unfinished, it was like you had been shot full of holes and never mended. What you desperately needed was to know, but that more than anything else was denied to you down here. Your heart felt cold in your chest, giving you a rush of shame as you realize that your own problems have made you hesitate while a man suffers in front of you.

Did you even believe in anything? All you had was the faintest hope that you weren't worthless. That you shouldn't have just laid down and let the corpsegrinder pull you under- hope?

“Emperor...”

The word came suddenly, welling up in your chest and feeling warm on your lips.

“Emperor, I... I need...”

A part of you wished you had some kind of rosary with you to pray with, but instead you narrow your eyes, search for the words, and say more calmly and quietly.

“Emperor. I need your guidance to preserve this man's life. He doesn't deserve to die like this and I don't know how to help him.”

You were surprised by how easily you said it. You were surprised by how much you meant it. It wasn't poetic- in fact, it felt so stilted you would worry that you words were empty if you didn't feel the growing warmth in your chest. More words were spilling out, both before you could consciously register them and also carefully considered.

“Omnissiah. I need your blessing in this place, to protect me from evil and to fulfill my vows. Emperor and Omnissiah, god of machine and man alike, ruler of both halves of me, help..." You trail off, unsure of how to conclude it.

You wait for something to happen.

A loud clunk of two halves of metal coming together makes you flinch in the seat, being knocked out of your reverie by Errat's arm gently jostling you as he changes gears. Moving back, you look up and around you, shaking your head and refocusing. Suddenly all of the noise comes back- the scream of the engine and the rampaging of mutants outside. It could only have been a few seconds, but...

You turn your attention back to Errat. Blood soaked the impromptu bandage, but it seemed to have slowed down. A glance at his other arm showed only thin rivulets coming from his other arm- a good sign, if the wound was shallow enough to only cause him pain and not so much bleeding. You doubt you would have been able to bandage it properly from this side of him anyway. You can't help fussing with it a little, tugging on the knot you had made, then taking your second prepared bandage and wrapping it around his chest the other way, crisscrossing on top of the first wrapping so you can tie a very basic knot and torsion it down, increasing the amount of pressure applied to the wound.

It wasn't much, but it'd have to work. Errat was still pale, but he didn't seem to be getting any worse, at least for now.

>>5868863
"C-cad?" Liv's voice crackled on the vox, clearly straining. "I can hear this funny creaking noise..."

"We need to keep moving!" Cad said. "Just keep pushing it, they'll start to get tired running on foot like that!"

"I-I don't know if it'll last that long..."

You wince. It was cracking already, put under this kind of stress, it might not have long. There wasn't anything you could do about that, though. Not like you could weld the thing while it was running and moving. Another blast of the warhorn echoed over the horizon, and in the distance, you saw a flare of red light, past the green lights welling up before you. They lit up with an luminescent electrical discharge that spread out into the sky, and a few seconds later the wail of rage and hatred hit you. Your mouth suddenly tasted dry, and you could smell acrid, burnt metal on the air. This was nothing like the sorrow and regret that were laced in the the first titan, this was anger and unchecked, seething malice in audible form.

A second later, it was gone, drowned out by a returning wail from the titan nearby, but the red light in the sky remained.

Cad was probably right. These creatures did tire, and some of the slower ones were already starting to fall behind your vehicles, veering to try and get close to Liv before they fell completely behind, but being unable to without risking being swept under her tires. Was there a safer way, though? Or perhaps, a bolder way, one that would let you end this right here and now?

You didn't have long to contemplate it before the line of buoys abruptly ends.

The bright points of light which had been your guide this entire time vanish in an instant, and your head whips around as the last reflector grows dim behind you before suddenly going out, and ceasing entirely to exist. The trail had vanished entirely, and in such total darkness, you had no way of knowing where the road would begin again- not until you got close to wherever the next buoy was.

“Wha-" Errat's head whips up, the sudden change seemingly shocking some consciousness back into him. “The-”

>"...Cad, do these things fear sleepers as much as you do?"
>"I think I know what they did."
>Urge Errat to speed up.
>[Write-In]

>>5868864
>"I think I know what they did."
I have no idea where this is going but lets get more lore

>>5868864

>"I think I know what they did."

Were there Chaos Titans here?!?

>>5868864
>"I think I know what they did.”
>>5864350
“... freshly upturned soil at their base where they've been driven into the ground...”

The mutants moved the buoys to lead us into range of a titan’s EMP blast, allowing them to ambush us while the vehicles were disabled. Clever.

Well, we’re in deep crud now. Since we can ‘see’ where the titans are (and Cad presumably can’t), we probably should coordinate with him. We’ll give him the relative bearing of the titans so he can guide us clear, preferably on as flat of a surface as possible to prevent over-stressing Liv’s driveshaft. Once we’re actually safe, then we should stop, fix the drivetrain with whatever fuel and materials we have on hand, and get Errat’s wounds looked at.

Any thoughts on that plan?

>>5869029

Whoa, this anon cracked it for sure - let’s do as he suggests

>>5868864
>"I think I know what they did."

>>5868864
>"I think I know what they did."

>"I think I know what they did."
Writing.

>>5869029
Eyy, someone reads my hints. Occasionally I get worried that these threads go on for so long that any hints I drop get forgotten by the time they're relevant...

>>5869322
>I get worried that these threads go on for so long that any hints I drop get forgotten by the time they're relevant...

This is fine, Its not anywhere near Valen levels of BS recall.

>>5869323
I almost created a Pathologic-style mind map for this quest before I ran it. Just a visual web of different bits of information learned that I could reveal items on as they were learned, to sort of serve as a combo quest log and codex. But that would have taken like two weeks to put together and writing this thing is almost a full-time job already.

Something flickers in the back of your mind. Before... you had noticed the buoys seemed to be freshly placed, almost as if they had been moved... and then, all of a sudden, you're caught in the zone of a sleeper. The change must have been subtle- so subtle that not even Cad had noticed the deviation despite being your guide. Which meant...

You reach up and grab the vox unit again. “Cad!”

"How's our boy doing?"

“Er...” You spare a glance at Cad. “He's been better, but he's upright for now.” Errat snorted, before yawning and shaking his head before downshifting again. If he was well enough to laugh about it, he was probably well enough for now. “Look, Cad, I think I know what they did.” You don't wait for him to reply before continuing. “They've moved the buoys and diverted us into the path of a sleeper."

"But I know this route! I would have noticed us making a wrong turn."

“Not if the change was very slight." You reply. “Over several kilometers, even a bend of one degree could put us off position by a hundred meters.”

"How does that help us?"

“If the bend was so slight as to be undetectable, then the real route must be nearby. Within a kilometer, at least. We just need to know which way it is.”

"That doesn't help us, we have no way of knowing where the sleeper really is. Those horns are tricky, they might sound like they're in front of you, behind you- to the side of you. It's impossible to truly know."

“It's to our left.” You look up. “Doesn't that mean that we go right?”

"You can't know that." Cad sounded exasperated. "If you're wrong, when we turn, we'll go deep into it's territory, and then it might fire!"

"I-it sounds like it's to our right, to me..." Liv's voice quavered.

"No, it's just a trick. Keep going straight."

You glance up. Going straight would keep you going at the slight angle of your redirected route, meaning that your path would slowly drift closer to the sleeper... putting you at further risk of being hit once again and shut down by the blast. Unless you turned now, you'd keep going deeper into it's... ‘territory’. That makes you briefly reconsider, though. Perhaps that wouldn't be a death sentence? You could perceive the titan... and you think on occasion, you had perceived whatever emission it was making to sense your presence. Auspex, maybe. If you continued to see it... maybe you could chart a safe route through it's territory?

>"Trust me."
>"If we keep going this way, we're all dead."
>Get Errat to turn right and leave them.
>Don't say anything and try to focus on finding a safe course through it all.
>[Write-In]

>>5869380

>"Trust me."

Omnissiah guide us!

>>5869380
>"Trust me."

>>5869380
>Don't say anything and try to focus on finding a safe course through it all.

>>5869380
>"Trust me."

>>5869380
>"Trust me.”
Maybe we can use our blown eardrum to our advantage somehow? Say the horn sounded just as loud in both ears even with the blown eardrum, so it was likely in the blown eardrum’s direction or something. It’s a bit of a flimsy excuse though.

>>5869380
>"Trust me."

>>5869380
>>Don't say anything and try to focus on finding a safe course through it all.

>"Trust me."
Writing.

File: Status 10.png (1.49 MB, 1920x1038)

1.49 MB PNG

There wasn't really anything else for you to say. After all, you didn't have any evidence you could actually show him.

“Trust me.”

Silence reigns on the vox. For a second, there's only the roaring of the tires, the screaming of engines and the stampede, forming a background thunderstorm as it joins with the distant sound of warhorns. Then, Cad starts to bank right, taking a gap in the scrap piles in order to swing himself through the stampede. Errat follows him, and the lights still shining on both of your backs let's you know that Liv is following as well.

The baleful eye of the titan in the distance disappears from your vision as you turn, and you sigh slightly. It wouldn't be over until you were far from this place, but for now, it would do.

The spray of ricochets and sparks against your door reminds you that it's far from over.

"Frakkers are going to get desperate." Cad snarls. "Get ready for them to try anyth-"

He cuts himself off as you hear a scream through the air outside rather than through the vox.

“No... NO!"

Your head whirls around, fully expecting to see Liv being thrown to the side as that weakened axle finally gave way, but what you saw instead wasn't a trail of sparks as the transmission ripped itself in two, but Liv sliding back and forth, her rear end abruptly wavering as the mutant that had just gotten itself caught beneath her wheels jammed up beneath the truck. It's head turned to mush as the wheels ground into it, but it's accursed flesh held, and that slowdown had allowed multiple other mutants to fling themselves onto the sides of the vehicle. They weighed the frame down, crawling close to the cabin as the occupants shot back desperately from within, losing speed and allowing the horde to descend upon them.

Already, the stablights were vanishing back into the darkness, standing out as two dim points while an increasing number of bodies began to swarm it. Liv's screams of panic made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end, and you shivered at the emotion contained within it. The two of them were likely done for- the mutant had wedged itself thoroughly beneath their wheels, and there was no hope for them to get out to dislodge it now...

A traitorous part of you whispers that allowing them to be consumed would virtually guarantee that the rest of you would get away, though.

>Say nothing and leave them to their fate.
>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.
>Try to get Errat to turn around and pick them up.
>Try to get Errat to turn around and help dislodge them.
>[Write-In]

>>5870285

>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.

We have to go for it, right?

>>5870285
>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.

>>5870285
>Say nothing and leave them to their fate.
You only need to be faster than your friends

>>5870285
>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.
Real Underhive Actionheroine!

>>5870285
>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.

We have to try, I think.
Errat's in no state to be doing anything that would jeopardise his wounds like hauling a truck into a fast 180°

>>5870285
>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.

Nice to see this quest picking up more players, it deserves more notoriety!

>>5870285
>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.

>[Manipulation/Strain] Make a precision shot and burn the mutant enough for them to break free.
Writing.

There wasn't time to think. Already, you were starting to lose sight of anything but the glare of the lumens as the truck itself was swallowed up by the darkness.

You twist in the backseat, yanking out your laspistol and wrapping it over your wrist, aiming out the back window and down beneath the glow of the lumens. You could see the body of the mutant beneath, just barely visible. It's body was tangled up, limbs distorted and difficult to pick out, but the arrangement was still human enough for you to guess where the joints were. They'd be weakest there, but could you make the shot?

Without a sight, with a pistol? On a truck that even now you fought against the sway of?

Unlikely.

Keeping it's apparent speed relative to Errat's and the size of the vehicle in mind, you adjust your aim, attempting to hit what you couldn't see by calculating it's position- an advantage you luckily held in this instance. With only estimations of the vehicle's exact size and speed and your shaking limbs and poor marksmanship, you were guessing at best, but if anyone was to do it, it'd be an A-series like you.

You narrow your eyes and squeeze the trigger, feeling the pistol hum and shake in your hand slightly as a lasbolt let loose. Something flashes close to the ground, and you yank the trigger again, grimacing as your eyes struggle to pick out the mutant in the gloom. If you missed and hit the underside, you could knock out the oilpan, burst one of the tires, and far worse.

Liv's front end vanishes into the gloom, taking the mutant and everything except the lumens with it. Raising your laspistol one final time, you mutter a prayer to the Emperor and squeeze the trigger once more.

The bolt flashes out into the darkness, and something glows and shudders with impact before cooling into darkness again.

Liv's lumens remained locked in place, slowly fading.

Then they abruptly jerk one one side, lifting up like the tires had just rolled over a curb, and the vehicle surges forward with a burst of speed that seems to surprise Liv as much as it does the mutants. The backend starts to fishtail as it's unexpectedly jostled by the mutant being swept under it's wheels, but that sudden, violent swing also served to jostle the mutants who had been clinging onto the top, battering at the windows and attempting to claw the occupants. They crouched low, holding onto the chassis and trying to ride out the violent jerking, but one came loose, it's slippery, soft limbs failing to stay locked on the frame.

File: distant lights.png (1002 KB, 712x1500)

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>>5871320
It fell, and in desperation, clawed out at it's neighbors. The sudden weight ripped them away, and as the extra weight came off, Liv accelerated, throwing the lumens from side to side in your vision. It emerged from the darkness, sporting a bright red side where the wheels had been clogged, and behind it, you could see mutants colliding with the other pursuers, locking limbs and taking their neighbors down with them, with only few stopping quickly enough to avoid being dragged into the pedestrian collision.

You stare at the vaguely comical scene, then slump back, your back hitting the dashboard. Your arms shake, hand holding the laspistol in a vicegrip. You watch the mob disappear into the darkness along with their snorts and cries, outlined by the distant eruptions of the sleepers, which gathered like thunderstorms in the distance. Small pings occasionally sounded softly in the dark- stub rounds, maybe, fired by desperate mutants as they watched you slip away, although those too faded into nothing.

Slowly, your hand relaxes, and you breathe a small sigh as you mange to let the pistol drop onto your lap.

Errat's head suddenly rises, and you wearily turn your head around, only to see a sudden flare of light in the distance. A small point of oddly concentrated light suspended in the air. Then another point to it's left, and then another following that. Cad turns left, aggressively fording through a small gap between two piles of scrap to come in line with it.

You had found the road.

More than that, the sky was brightening as if dawn was close. You frown at it, wondering what the source of the slight orange tint was, then you realize that it must be the lights in a distant ceiling. A place where the hive was still fully lit, and close to the floor of the foundation. Your destination.

---

It turned out to be something of a ramp.

Here, where the foundations didn't end, but the hole in the ceiling started to come to an end, the inhabitants had built on the torn edge of the former hive floor, which hung limply like a flap of skin around a deep wound. They had constructed piles of debris- heaps of plascrete, earth and whatever scrap they hadn't taken to the smelters had been forced under the great panes of metal, supporting it as a makeshift ramp that ran up into the brightening sky, which was becoming so bright you realized you could see the ground outside the light of the convoy.

The tires hit the bottom, and you felt your stomach lurch as the entire truck was suddenly pulled up at a sharp angle, Erich pulling on the lever and gunning the engine confidently to push you upwards.

>>5871322
Of course, Errat hadn't driven the rest of the way. As soon as Cad determined you had come far enough to be safe, he had pulled everyone over to refuel, made Erich take Errat's place and laid him down in Liv's truck to take it easy on his wounds. He was still having trouble breathing, but there wasn't anything you could do about that now except keep his bandages fresh and tight. Medical care was hard enough to come by out here without him losing a lung.

Erich proved to be much more socially apt than Errat had been, smiling at you politely and nodding when he slid into the seat, before raising his brow at the passenger mirror and adjusting it, although he left the one on your side of the cabin alone. He had made some polite small talk, but with his nerves as thoroughly fried as yours were, he was just focusing on the drive. Considering what had happened, Cad had declared that you were to skip camp and make hard time to the Tribute so as to avoid any chance of the mutants regrouping and catching up.

It made sense, but now Erich was on his third mug of cold instant recaf he'd produced from a canteen in his coat, and you were becoming acutely aware of how - like the elevator ride on the way down had been - just how little space was between you and oblivion. You were also aware of just how much metal could subtly creak as things moved across it unsupported. The packing of material beneath the ramp wasn't perfect, and in places you could feel a disconcerting vertigo as the metal sagged slightly under the weight of the truck mid-movement, the entire plate groaning across it's surface as it changed shape.

Erich seemed to be a decently practiced driver, thankfully, and he maneuvered the two of you admirably considering half of the windscreen was gone, cracked or full of lasbolt holes. Unlike on the way down, you didn't have much opportunity to enjoy the environment- such as it was with half of it covered in fog that seemed to spill down from the hole, and the other half washed out by the brightening light.

Already, you'd nodded off a few times, your eyes shutting as exhaustion briefly caught up to you, only to be shaken awake a few minutes later.

Shapes were starting to appear out of the fog. Straight lines and grids, and walls that seemed almost novel after being underground for so long. The ramp was becoming sharper, and you could see that it had been regularly hammered with slats and chains to improve grip where the bend in the floor was the greatest, allowing Cad to gun his engine and fling himself up and over some kind of ledge behind you.

Erich waits for a minute before gunning the engine and nearly sending your head smacking into the dash as he forces the truck up and over the edge, pulling the corridor beyond into sudden clarity.

>>5871324
It was a converted hive tunnel, ordinary except where the road suddenly falls through the floor and vanishes into mist that curdles at the edge of the room in a swirling mist. You can feel hot air blowing through the holes in the windscreen, and you realize that this must be the hive heating at work. The road continued a small distance before abruptly terminating in a floor to ceiling chain-link fence, with armed guards milling beyond it. A small metal tunnel had been built into the fence, with a booth on the side where someone could speak to one of the guards inside. A heavy steel door blocked off one end, and as Cad spoke to the guard inside, it started to rise on a chain, causing the entrance on your end to be blocked off by an identical door falling as a counterweight.

A checkpoint, then. Allows only one vehicle through at a time so mutants can't storm the entrance in force without overcoming a significant hurdle. Not too shabby. And also, well-constructued enough that you were fairly certain some level of techpriest was tangentially involved.

Cad pulled through the checkpoint, and the guards reversed the gates so you and Erich could pull through. You didn't need to roll down the window for the guard to see in given that the window had been blown out by Errat, but he gives the two of you a once over through his boot before he signals for the doors to cycle and let the two of you through.

When Liv rolls out a few minutes later, one of the guards comes up to the door and opens it. He shares a few words with Liv behind the wheel, and turns his attention to Errat, who blearily opens his eyes to pay attention to him. He examines Errat's wounds gently, then nods to Liv and gives Errat something to swallow before he steps away and walks past you to speak with Cad.

You take a moment to examine his uniform with curiosity. He wasn't a member of the Planetary Defense Force judging from his lack of rank insignia and the beaten condition of his flak plate, but he was apparently a medic of some description, which meant training. Did he work for Imperial forces, maybe? Or was he just using their gear?

He pushes away from Cad's truck and moves to rejoin the guards, and Cad starts to pull almost immediately.

"C'mon, lads." Cad sounds suitably enthused. "Might as well push the last hour."

You reach a hand up to brace for the inevitable lurch as the truck begins to move, but when Erich accelerates, the road just starts to smoothly roll by. You must have been making a strange expression, because Erich laughs easily. “Bit jarring after so long down there, yeah?”

“Yes.” You admit, glancing out the window. “It's only been a few days, I know, but for me it feels like most of my life.”

The hidden meaning of your words were nonsense to him, of course, so he just nods. “I know what you mean. Sorry that your first trip went so horribly. It's not normally like that down there.”

File: hive tunnels.gif (1.95 MB, 540x303)

1.95 MB GIF

>>5871325
You don't comment, instead lapsing back into silence. The convoy follows the road, making smooth turns that send the convoy around so that you're traveling in the direction you came from, across the ceiling instead of beneath the foundations. Mentally, you call the map of the old hive transit network to mind. Tribute Square was north of Foundation Square, giving weight to your earlier guess at the original name of Uptown.

The hive tunnels start to whip past you, and you note with interest that the hive walls are significantly less worn in this area. The road instructions aren't painted over and diverted, while cracks in the wall are sealed with more reverence and care than elsewhere. Conversely, there was next to no traffic on the roads except for you, unlike the Suns' part of the hive with it's low, if constant traffic. Perhaps it simply wasn't as heavy on this particular side of Foundation Square?

Wind cuts through the holes in the windows, and you have to squint through tears sometimes to see how the road ahead is. The tunnel ahead of you is opening up, larger and larger until- you're through.

Uptown - rather, Foundation Square - was smaller than the Sun's converted city, but it was dominated throughout by a massive spire that pierced the side and melded into the ceiling. Grating on the side showed the inside of a massive elevator shaft, and in an instant you understood what it was. A cargo artery, meant to transport heavy goods between hive blocks quickly and with speed. Theoretically, this should take you up to the next sector, if not further, although no artery every ran directly to the top of the hive. Given that the spaceport was at the top of a spire, only a very small column of the hive could have direct artery connections.

People bustled, just like in the Sun's territory, but the majority of them had the look of dignitaries, soldiers and other Imperial servants. Something humming flew past your window, and you turned your head to see an actual servo-skull float past, trailing purity seals and a long scroll beneath it.

The convoy slowed and pulled over next to the road, doors opening and Liv, Cad and Erich all emerged with visible sighs of relief, Liv miming kissing the ground with exaggerated slaps against the rockcrete floor. You can't help but raise an eyebrow as you find your bag in the footwell and heft it with one hand as you slip out. A small shower of glass dust falls out of the door as you slam it shut. Your pack was certainly much lighter after days of eating through your rations, using the blowtorch and drinking through most of your water, which made it much easier for you to lift with one hand.

“Can't believe we made it in one piece.” Erich says, looking at Cad as you approach. “Me, especially.”

>>5871326
“You're telling me.” Cad sighs. “We're going to have to rechart the routes. Maybe change the designs of the buoys as well so they can't move ‘em again. That was one clever move.” He glances at his watch. “Look, we’re late, but I'm not comfortable making Errat wait. That medic back at the checkpoint said he'd be dead already if he really had a punctured lung and that he'd be okay with some attention, but I'm not so sure.”

“Guess that's what we're doing next, then.” Erich shrugs.

“Yeah, it'd be a pain if he dropped dead now." Liv agrees.

They seem to nod together, before looking over at you.

>"This is where we part ways, then."
>"Thanks for the ride."
>Curtsy formally, then leave.
>"Is it always that horrible?"
>[Write-In]

>>5871328
>"This is where we part ways, then."
>[Write-in] "Thank you for the ride."

>>5871328
>>"Thanks for the ride."

>>5871338

Supporting, these guys have been all right. Maybe we’ll put in a good word for them when we ascend the Heights of power

>>5871338
Supporting. Maybe we could also ask them to see where we can find work or something? Our food's not going to last forever after all.

>>5871328
>[Write In] So do I get a bonus for a being a lifesaving deadeye on top of saving a third of the cargo?

>>5871328
Got something to patch up my mantle?

>"This is where we part ways, then."
>[Write-in] "Thank you for the ride."
Writing.

>>5871328
>>5871844
>supporting
we also should not forget the stuff we got from Corvus Lictor

>>5872001
I'm dumb...

>>5872003
If it's any consolation, I've been where you are more than a few times myself.

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You look between then. “This is where we part ways, then.” It felt like a strangely sudden moment, but you suppose with your own lack of injury, there wasn't any reason for you to follow them to wherever the local medicae was. You lean over and hoist your bag up onto one shoulder while you try to think of anything else to say. “Thank you for the ride.” You manage finally, nodding at Cad.

The others shift uneasily, unsure of what to say beyond Liv managing a slight smile and Erich giving you a nod.

“Well, you did pay us...” Cad grins, and you turn and begin walking away. It wasn't exactly bittersweet for you- you didn't know any of them, and they were gangers at that, but in a way they had been temporary companions.

Pulling the other strap onto your shoulder, you move to the side of a passing pedestrian, stretching your eyes up to the cargo artery that dominated the block. Your next step would be-

“Hey, Lebesnati!”

You turn in surprise, mostly at the sound of Cad getting your pseudonym right for once. A billowing brown shape registers for a brief instant before it collides with your face, soft fabric and the smell of sweat and the odd smell of charcoal and smoke that seemed to cling to synthleather. You reach up and pull it off your head, looking down at the bundled of embroidered leather that made up Cad's jacket.

“I feel bad about your pretty dress getting ruined!” Cad calls. “Consider it payment for mechanical services rendered!”

You blink and look up at him, taken somewhat aback by the gesture. Even if it was only synthleather, this was a significant luxury item on Odrev.

“I'd recommend washing it, though.” Liv smacks her teeth with each word, turning as Cad moves back to his truck. “He probably never has!”

“That thing will impress the right people in this hive, y'know.” Cad waves airily in your direction without looking back. “Everyone else, it's too subtle for them to get the meaning.”

You quietly fold the jacket over one arm, expecting a follow-up demand for payment, or some kind of condition, but the three vanish behind pedestrians and their vehicles without another word. Looking at it carefully, you slowly turn and begin fording your way through the crowd again, a strange buzzing feeling in your ears.

Either way.

You have places to be.

>>5872118
Approaching the central artery, you notice the shipping checkpoint built into the base of it. It wasn't particularly closely guarded like the one back at the foundations, so clearly most of their security was at the perimeter of Foundation Square. Above it, another deck seemed to be dedicated to merchants arranging the shipping and transportation of goods. It was almost like the depot that had been back in the Sun's territory, except not ramshackle and build out of an old storefront. Everything was purpose-built, and elevator cars continuously departed, seemingly without any sort of return trip before the next car could be loaded. You knew well that it wasn't operating at anything close to it's max capacity, but why would it, for a sector that seemed to be in frequent disrepair?

They accepted passengers quite readily, it seemed. A small queue formed next to the checkpoint, full of ordinary citizens and lesser scribes. As you draw closer, you see that they're being admitted by one of the loaders, handing over tickets before being arranged in the empty space between cargo, sitting on some palettes or propped up against the cage wall of the elevator before it's sent upwards to the next sector. It must be faster than whatever proscribed civilian route was nearby- if there even still were any besides the artery.

Considering it all, the day was still fairly early. You had at least half the day to go, and you might as well spend it traveling.

On the other hand, you felt drained and exhausted from the day's events, even with the bit of sleep you had managed to get. A place to rest and have a good meal would do you a lot of good right now. But time was money- or in your fast, time was food. Without any income, you would slowly run out of resources to survive off of. Stealing it had worked once before, but was that even repeatable in a place with more law and order? What would you do if you stayed and lost precious days of travel trying to make some money, only to not make any?

What's more, from a cursory glance around, this place was more of a thoroughfare than anything. One or two carts were set on the corners hawking food, but there were no businesses beyond that of transport, lodging, security... it was a place for goods to be moved up and down, anything else was secondary. You suppose the workers here must live outside this area, and walk or ride to work each day...

>Stay the night.
>Keep moving.

>>5872120

>Stay the night.

Rest is in order.

Also, special note to the QM - you did a great job with the gangers, don’t be alarmed that the players are choosing to ditch them.

>>5872125
Nah, I never thought anyone would want to stay with the gangers. Player sentiment so far has been pretty strongly in favor of sticking with the goal of ascending through the hive, so I fully expected the choice to be moving further up and further in. Plus, like A-414 says - she doesn't actually know them all that well, so it'd be kind of weird to throw in with the first people she meets.

>>5872120
>Stay the night.

>>5872120
>>Stay the night.

>>5872120
>Stay the night.

>>5872120
>Stay the night.

>>5872120
>Stay the night.
>Make subtle enquiries about tech parts and if someone can restore datapads.

>Stay the night.
Writing.

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A sudden yawn cuts off your train of thought, more or less making the decision for you.

Foundation Square was structured primarily as a traveler's stop, where lodging ranging from the spartan to the... mildly expensive. The businesses here struck you more as catering to the traveler than any kind of resting population- grocers without restaurants, bars without seating, hotels without houses. They were all aimed for people who weren't staying here or didn't plan to long. A part of you expected storage businesses, maybe even a few stores selling tools or defensive supplies for the average traveler, but if they were here, they didn't present on a cursory glance.

Finding a place to stay the night is relatively easy, thankfully. It wasn't as effectively free as staying in the cargo berths, but the bunkhouse offered you a real bed and a locker to store your things while you were around town. The urge to just collapse and rest is strong, but you remind yourself with an effort that any sleep now will just make you tired earlier in the day tomorrow.

With that in mind, you give yourself the basics: a bar of corpsestarch and some of your remaining stockpile of water. A damp cloth and a few minutes with it helps to wash some of the dirt and grime from your boots and robe- while your bodyglove was mostly just damp and stiff from the amount of sweat and humidity it had absorbed over the past few days, your gown was sullied with massive streaks of dust and dirt that covered the front and rear where you had sat on it or lain under the truck. Not to mention the messy streaks of dust that had built up on the front any time you had needed to lean against the door or squeeze through a tight space. There was even an oily-looking stain that you couldn't remember the precise origin of on one of the wide sleeves.

Laying out your tools on the mattress, you wipe the ones you had retrieved from Corvus Lictor down to get the dust off, somewhat regretting that you hadn't taken any of the sacred unguents that had been in the Sun's repair kits with you. They could have used a good coating.

Some attention with the small combination knife and saw that you had in your tools let you somewhat neaten up the torn mantle of your gown, trimming the tatters of fabric off so that they were somewhat neat. The hidden cloth band that the mantle had attached to was visible now, looking almost like a pair of featureless epaulettes rather than a fashionable short cloak.

It was a shame. It was still a nice gown, after all.

Speaking of...

>>5872908
You pick up Cad's jacket and examine it. With your hands directly on it, you could get a view of how intricate and elaborate the embroidery was, along with the sheer age of the garment. The synthleather was made to last in a way that synthleather was uniquely suited for, melded with elastic segments under the smooth exterior, giving the interior a superior fit- well, for a man taller and much stockier than you, that it. The liner was obviously much newer than the exterior, and It was likely older than Cad- or at least, he hadn't been it's first owner either. Someone had woven individual golden threads over and under the other, creating thicker lines that broke apart and traced into dozens of intricate designs, subtle enough that it would appear by and large to be mostly featureless from a distance.

It was obviously pretty valuable- although right now, it could do with a wash and... oiling? Was that how you cared for synthleather? You vaguely recall something about not being supposed to immerse leather goods, but the waders you were supposed to use for spilled hazardous material on the docks were leather, so it must be waterproof...

All in all, you could probably do with cleaning yourself along with your clothing, although your current accommodations didn't have much in the way of showers. You'd probably have to find a nicer hotel if you wanted any amenities. Other than that, you weren't sure what else was available in this place. Work was a possibility, but you'd have to do some digging...

You have 2 Wealth.

>Find some superior lodgings. [1 Wealth]
>Restock your supplies. [Varies]
>Look into making some money.
>[Write-In]

Huh, my name is wiping out of the field with every post instead of staying like normal. I'll have to keep an eye on that.

>>5872910

>Find some superior lodgings. [1 Wealth]

Wealthy travelers will know how to further ascend the Hive

>>5872910
>Find some superior lodgings. [1 Wealth]

>>5872910
>Find some superior lodgings. [1 Wealth]

>>5872961
Seconding

>>5872910
>Find some superior lodgings. [1 Wealth]

File: 1636892282854.jpg (56 KB, 500x264)

56 KB JPG

>>5872910
>Look into making some money.
We need to intake the money

>>5872910
>Look into making some money.
Steal

>Find some superior lodgings. [1 Wealth]
Writing.

File: Status 11.png (1.49 MB, 1920x1038)

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Your Wealth has been reduced to 1.

Water slowly soaked through your hair, running down the back of your neck. Strands clung tightly to your neck, and the water circling the drain ran brown with the dirt you were carefully scrubbing from your skin. With all that you had done in your first week of life, you had expected there to be more grime, but instead most of your body was actually caked in dried sweat, dust and other biological accumulations.

You were at what appeared to be a local-run hotel, aiming to undercut the competition by offering fewer amenities, but a room, running water and a secure locker at two thirds the price of the other hotels. It had seemed to be a little too good to be true, but knowing you didn't require lavish amenities like a fully provided breakfast, free recaf and an authentic likeness of the Emperor for all the money you had, you had decided to go with it. The front was banged up, the room was barely wide enough for you to sit with your legs over the side of the bed and you were fairly certain someone was engaging in aggressive reproduction in the next room.

At least the water was hot. It was apparently piped through one of the hive's many factory complexes, heating it to boiling before cooling to more tolerable temperatures on it's way back to the hotel, although it still left your skin feeling red and raw when you were finished. Steam filled the small booth, and you scrubbed in your third layer of cheap shampoo in an attempt to banish the grime from your hair. It wasn't particularly helping, but it made you feel better, at the least.

Steam filled the booth, and you sighed at the odd squirming of your skin where the water had scalded it. The places where you had bruises from your hectic entrance had been throbbing by the time you got in, but by the time you turned off the water they were already starting to fade. It made you feel oddly itchy, in a way - or at least, the skin above each bruise felt oddly dry, and you felt the sheets rub against your skin as you laid down to sleep that night.

Your accumulated Strain has been cleared.

You awaken feeling substantially more human the next day. On some level, you think, being clean and slightly more presentable made you feel like a little less of a disgrace. Clean clothes helped, too, thanks to a small stack of rattling washing machines the hotel provided at the end of one hall. You had initially hesitated due to the... adequate production of the units, but in the end you were glad you had trusted your garment was made with such things in mind, as the clean matte black fabric gave you a strange peace of mind.

>>5873734
Cad's jacket had been a bit harder to figure out what to do with. You had taken out the liner and ran it through the machine, which was easy enough, but still unsure about whether you could wash the leather itself, you had settled with just wiping it down with a damp rag, removing a small layer of dust and grime. It sat on your bed now, although you would need to begin packing your things soon, as the bed would only be yours until about midday.

Outside, you could hear people and vehicles starting to move, as traffic picked up with the beginning of morning work shifts. Of course, the shifts never actually ended, but they were somewhat slower at night. The cargo arteries would be moving soon, and every amount you delayed here, you were acutely aware that you were losing precious time you could be using to make upwards progress. You could at maximum afford to stay here only one more day, which meant you couldn't afford to just waste your time...

>Get going while the day is young.
>Buy as much food as you can afford. [1 Wealth]
>Any supplies you can get on a budget? [1 Wealth]
>Find a local shrine.
>Figure out a way to make some more money.
>At one point, you said you wanted to see the imperial authorities. So, where were they?
>[Write-In]

>[Optional] Wear the jacket.

There only might be an update on Christmas, what with the holiday and so on. Decent odds no, but maybe.

>>5873741

No worries, Bentus.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

>>5873738
>Find a local shrine.
>[Optional] Wear the jacket.

>>5873757
2nding

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>>5873822
Thirding.

>>5873738
I just caught up and frankly, this quest is fantastic.
You do a good job Bentus, keep up the good work.

>>5873757

3rding

>>5873738
>At one point, you said you wanted to see the imperial authorities. So, where were they?

>>5873741
Merry Christmas

>>5873738
>Find a local shrine.
>Of the Mechanicus if possible.
>[Optional] Wear the jacket.
We should give them one or two of the datapads of Corus Lictor

An old man sets his axe against the side of a table. It's almost a ceremonial thing now, it's blade too well-oiled and cared for to be seeing regular use these days. He sighs, moving with the effort of age and clattering augmetics, setting himself down as much as he's able to at the workstation. A young man hovers anxiously just outside his reach, looking at him anxiously. The candles had been properly lit, incense placed three sticks at a time into the correct holders, cog wheels and offerings laid out next to a pair of enameled wings on a chain at the brazier. It was acceptable.

With a wave of his hand, the boy goes scurrying for the door, barely paying attention to the motion itself before leaving. The old man looks over his shoulder, brow furrowing beneath his augmetic rebreather before allowing himself a shrug. He could barely remember being that young anymore, but had his generation been so impertinent when they were in training? He hoped not, but he knew on some level that he had been.

His hand traced the glass pods that had come to be the walls of his home, each of them housing a tiny minnow of his life's work. If anything, they were roses on a bush- vaulable to a gardener only in the moment before being cut down for sale. A florist would find more beauty in the arrangement than the flower itself, which felt... apt, in a way.

Removing a cover from one of the machines around his workstation, he revealed his prized rose. The centerpiece of his work and his garden, the bulbous roots that gave him yearly sprouts. He stared into the liquid, but if there were any answers to be gained by watching the slow blossoming of what lay within, they weren't evident to him.

---

Howling winds cut through the darkness that clung to him on all sides, buffeting his cloak, although he paid no mind to the frost that built up slowly on his body, dismissing it with practiced ease. He was a man who preferred heat to cold, but even he could appreciate a brisk wind to abate the fires of the forge. Keeping his eyes fixed forward, he walked with no light, finding his way by counting his steps and occasionally referencing a multicompass in the palm of his hand.

He mounted a nearby hill, dislodging a piece of scrap and causing it to tumble to rest at the base of a clawed foot. The mutant's head stirred, and in an instant it was on it's clawed feet, a threatening rumble gurgling out of it's throat before it saw what was approaching.

>>5874231
Cresting the hill at an unhurried pace, he took care in finding his way to the foot of the hill, ignoring the beast as it skittered back and attempted to survey it's prey with beady eyes. Raising his eyes to meet it with carefully considered blasé, he raised his hands slowly, recognizing the human recognition in the mutant's eyes. Slowly, he reached beneath his cloak, but instead of withdrawing his weapon, he extended a foil-wrapped bar. “I mean you no harm, friend.” He said, wishing somewhat that he didn't have to raise his voice to be heard over the winds.

The mutant cocked it's head, clearly tempted, but wary at such an open gesture of generosity. Still, with a whine, it came closer and practically ripped the bar from his grasp, scurrying back before he could take it away and tearing the foil open. When it finished it's meal, it raised it's head again, but instead of finding another bar in his hand, it beheld a small pendant dangling from a chain between his fingers, the palm-sized symbol gently pinched between two fingers.

“Have you ever seen this symbol?”

---

Cheers swept the hive, and he couldn't help but feel a touch of amusement at the chorus of joyful noises. On days like these, the world seemed brighter, the things that tried to creep in shadows banished by the people's faith- or perhaps just mollified.

A modified sentinel stumbled past him, decorated in tinsel and scraps from the cascade of forges that lead from the mines up to these higher manufactorums. It swerved and scraped on the ground in a curious sort of dance, a reenactment of some kind from the people's past. He kept himself somewhat out of sight, not intentionally hiding himself so much as allowing himself to go unnoticed as the impromptu parade passed by. On occasion, of course, someone would move to the rear, stumble into the alley to relieve themselves or simply glance behind them and catch sight of him.

He would make no attempt to cow or dismiss them, merely nodding and occasionally rumbling something in that way he had discovered made people less afraid of him. Families would often hurry away after that, to his amusement, but their anxiety at his presence was understandable.

Hundreds of candles had been lit for the glory of the fallen Primarch- he had counted when he had lain his own out. And on this day - the culmination of the week of festivities that was held in memorial and later celebration - it made his absence seem a little less dark.

A passerby who's breath registered as being full of amasec slurred something to him, stumbling against him with a hard thud, and gently being set on his feet again a moment later.

“Ah... yes. Merry Sanguinala.”

I said I wouldn't update on Christmas and I suppose that's still true, but then this little sideflash special came to me while eating sausage, so enjoy a brief pan out to the rest of the hive for a moment.

>>5873738
>Find a local shrine.
Gotta give our thanks for saving Errat.
>[Optional] Wear the jacket.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Bentus! Thanks for running this quest!

>>5873738
>Find a local shrine.

>Find a local shrine.
>[Optional] Wear the jacket.
And we're back at it, folks. Writing.

In the Sun's territory, you hadn't hoped to find a proper shrine- well, you hadn't though about prayer while you were concerned with your survival. You actually weren't generally expected to do much other than the basic rites of faith, and... if piety was a part of your order, it hadn't been instilled into you before you were rejected.

On the foundations, though, you had managed to patch Errat up despite your lack of knowledge, and you had that laspistol shot. Yes, Errat's wounds had apparently not been as severe as you feared in the first place, but in a way your prayers had been answered with his survival. You felt a strange obligation to give thanks for that, although you weren't sure exactly why you would need to. A miracle for prayer, that was already a fair exchange, was it not?

The question remains on your mind as you pack up your meager belongings, carefully sliding them into the backpack so they don't take up as much space or slosh when you move, using the tattered bits of your coveralls - washed despite their tattered state - as padding for some of the tools and dataslates. Then you get to the jacket laid out on the bed.

Experimentally, you smell it. As much as you were touched by the gesture from Cad, you had no interest in being surrounded by whatever musk clung to someone from the underhive. Or him, frankly. After the liner had come out of the wash, though, it seems to just smell like cheap detergent and not sweat and grease, which was a noticeable improvement, so you turn it over in your hands and slip it on.

Your hands didn't emerge from the end of the sleeves, which instead flop around in front of you before you bunch the sleeves up, giving your arms an odd bulbous shape with all the extra leather and fabric. The hem comes down far past your waist, partially covering your hips, and leaving a significant amount of extra space around your waist when you zipped the front up. That wasn't necessarily a downside, either, as all the extra flap would help you conceal anything bulky you wanted to carry around, as unlike the gown with it's proper mantle, there wasn't much concealing where your hands were.

If anything, the leather sleeves made it more obvious where your hands were.

Admittedly, it was somewhat stylish, although you had to admit you weren't sure about the fit. Even if there were advantages to it being oversized, it looked kind of... ill-fitting on you.

Still, you found yourself in somewhat high spirits as you left your tiny room and returned your key to the surprisingly corpulent woman who ran the front desk.

“You have a nice day, sweetie.” She said in a voice that sounded half as young as she looked.

“Ah. Yes, thank you.” You nod and bow slightly before turning out onto the streets of Foundation Square.

>>5875702
A shrine to the Emperor was not a rare commodity, and that bore out almost immediately as you followed the perimeter of the transit stop. The area was arranged around the cargo artery in two basic legs, which intersected at the base of the artery and then extended perpendicularly, forming a V shape. Each leg had it's own competing loading and shipping depots, representative of the different merchant interests controlling cargo traffic through this area. You weren't sure what was actually coming through this section of the hive- surely you weren't on the Steel Ladder, or else there would be more forge traffic. That reminds you that you never really learned what the convoy's cargo had been, but you suppose it didn't truly matter, in the end. It was likely sundries or parts for the service work that needed to be done in the depths of Odrev.

The area had two shrines- one at the end of each leg, where the most intense traffic came through, providing an easy place for weary travelers to give their thanks to the Emperor for safe passage. The one you wound up in front of was basic, as far as shrines went, with three shelves arranged before a small statue of the Emperor, no bigger than your head. Offerings and candles were lit before the icon- small scraps of prayer scribbled on parchment, and you couldn't help but note that a nearby preacher happened to sell candles and pre-printed prayer cards for the ill-equipped and illiterate.

Even for those that made no offering, though, there was space in front of the shrine for citizens to kneel to the image of the God-Emperor in brief prayer. None stayed for too long- any who wished to enter into deep contemplation would probably not bother doing so in a place like this. Instead, many simply bowed and made the sign of the Aquila before leaving.

You spend some time circling around the shrine, sure that it was what you were looking for, but strangely trepidations about coming closer. The place didn't give off a strange feeling, but you couldn't help but feel like you hadn't completed your search, even after looping around the entire square and finding the other shrine, which was of a similar nature to the first. Your eyes kept moving as if you expected to see something else, which strangely disquieted you. There was something you were supposed to-

Something clicked in your head.

There was no shrine to the Omnissiah.

>>5875704
Whatever Imperial servants had set up this shrine for the convenience of passerby hadn't paid any thought for the devotions of the Mechanicus among them. Perhaps they simply were not common down here, with the abilities of even a humble technomat not worth assigning to these humble workers - after all, you had to be the mechanic for the convoy. Or perhaps they simply had their own shrines, hidden or separated from the more common Imperial faith.

That left you feeling oddly conflicted. You had prayed to the Emperor and Omnissiah both down there, was it appropriate to pay respect at a shrine to only one?

>Pray to the Emperor at the shrine.
>Pray to the Omnissiah at the shrine to the Emperor. They're the same deity, after all.
>Pray to the Omnissiah at the shrine to the Emperor. It's not great, but it's what you have.
>Who it's consecrated to isn't important, you just need a place to pray.
>Perhaps you can make your own tiny shrine to the Omnissiah?
>Pass it over for a shrine to the Omnissiah later.
>[Write-In]

>>5875705

>Perhaps you can make your own tiny shrine to the Omnissiah?

This is the clearly correct option

>>5875705
>Perhaps you can make your own tiny shrine to the Omnissiah?

Pray to the Emporer at the Shrine and make a shrine to the Omnnissiah alongside it.
Then pray there.

>>5875705
>Pray to the Emperor at the shrine.
>Perhaps you can make your own tiny shrine to the Omnissiah?

>>5875705
>>Who it's consecrated to isn't important, you just need a place to pray.

>>5875705
>Perhaps you can make your own tiny shrine to the Omnissiah?
>If we make it portable, perhaps we can carry it to the shrine to the Emperor and pray to the two-who-are-one together.

>>5875808
2nding, but if possible maybe something portable like >>5875837 suggested. potentially incorporate/base it on the founding plate? Engrave the back of it with a cogskull or something?

>>5875705
>[Write-In]
Can't we just...ask the preacher if there is a shrine for the Omnissiah around somewhere?

>>5875705
>Pray to the Omnissiah at the shrine to the Emperor. They're the same deity, after all.

>Pray to the Emperor at the shrine.
>Perhaps you can make your own tiny shrine to the Omnissiah?
We'll start with the tiny shrine and loop back into the first thing. Writing.

You thin your lips in thought.

Just paying your respects to one wasn't a viable option. You had prayed to both, and so you would give thanks to both, lack of a proper shrine be damned. If there was only a shrine to the Emperor, you'd make the other one yourself if you had to.

A part of you was sure that there was some kind of shrine to the Omnissiah in this sector, probably much more than one, but it wouldn't be anywhere near here. Without the presence of any technomats, nor forge workers, there wouldn't be a need for it. Any passing techpriests would likely build shrines at their places of work, or carry their own portable shrines within vehicles, and you weren't about to break into a nearby transformium just to use the shrine.

Which left you with a different problem, of course.

You actually didn't know what constituted a shrine to the Omnissiah.

The basic concept seemed simple, at least. A shrine to the Emperor incorporated an icon or symbol of the Emperor- a direct depiction, an icon like the Aquila or something more esoteric like a skull, the Golden Throne, even Terra itself. Then a place for offerings or, if the shrine was too humble or compact for offerings, a few simple candles would do nicely. Shrines to relics often didn't bother with offerings, as the shrine was dedicated to the relic itself, honoring the Emperor with it's preservation and display. A shrine to the Omnissiah would simply replace the symbols with a simple cog or the more formal Cog Mechanicum, even one of the many depictions of the Omnissiah if the creator was feeling extravagant.

You could close your eyes and recall the many Mechanicus shrines that had been in the corners of the memories shown to you in the water, but to see a thing wasn't to know a thing. Was it enough to simply make the symbol, or should it be functional? You could see a shrine to the Voice of the Omnissiah in your mind, a binaric translator mounted inside a cog. Was it enough to have the symbol, or should the translator be functional? Did you need to anoint it with sacred oils as you would an engine, or was that just for engines?

...in fact, did any of the details really matter?

As prayers went, your attempt hadn't been a great one. It had still potentially been answered, though. So did it really matter how you did it, as long as your intentions were honest, your words from the heart? Was that what it meant to have ‘true’ faith?

If that was the case, did your shrine even need to be metal, or have an offering or anything else like that? Perhaps so long as you chose something that was meaningful, it would be enough.

Something that was meaningful...

>>5876445
You remember the founding plate in your bag. That was a part of something holy- perhaps one of the most holy things to all of the Mechanicus. Certainly, it was the most holy thing you had on you, but... a part of you ached at the idea of using it. Were you really going to leave it here, with the common offerings, or make it into just a tiny shrine? Surely it deserved better than that... not that you'd be able to give it better. Could you make an offering, then take it with you? No, an offering wasn't an offering if you took it back, right? Wasn't it supposed to be for the shrine...? Although, if it was a shrine in it's own right...

There was still a bit of fuel left in your blowtorch. If you wished, you could clumsily fuse some pieces of metal together, or soften wax enough to work with. Your options for low-quality materials were pretty much endless- everywhere you looked, bits of trash and scrap cluttered the corners of the streets, swept into corners and piling up in the side passages beyond the thoroughfare of the hive. Not to mention the merchants. You could probably get them to part with some of their scrap for a small sum of money. Which was to say, most of your money, that is. If you spent it... that'd be it. No more hotels, food...

>Buy bits of metal from the merchants- parts, pipes and cogwheels from the merchants to use. Depict a piece of machinery. [1 Wealth]
>Using trash and scrap from the street, fashion a basic cogwheel icon.
>One of the votive candles, perhaps you can shape a few into something?
>[Write-In]

>[Optional] Construct it using Corvus Lictor's founding plate.
>[Optional] Make something small enough for you to take it with you.

>>5876448

>Using trash and scrap from the street, fashion a basic cogwheel icon.

Let’s not overthink this

>>5876448
>Using trash and scrap from the street, fashion a basic cogwheel icon.
>[Optional] Make something small enough for you to take it with you.

>>5876448
>One of the votive candles, perhaps you can shape a few into something?

>>5876448
>Using trash and scrap from the street, fashion a basic cogwheel icon.
>[Optional] Make something small enough for you to take it with you.

>>5876448
>Using trash and scrap from the street, fashion a basic cogwheel icon.
>[Optional] Make something small enough for you to take it with you.

>Using trash and scrap from the street, fashion a basic cogwheel icon.
>[Optional] Make something small enough for you to take it with you.
Writing.

You find a can under one of the benches. Trash from the bins. Bits of metal shavings and scrap not collected or unnoticed by the salvagers. Things that get swept behind the equipment bolted to the hive walls, alleys that aren't cleaned frequently enough to avoid building up small piles of trash and scrap. Another can, a piece of a bench arm that fell out.

At first, it's just random metal pieces that you can weld easily with your blowtorch, but then you start to formulate a plan. You collect more cans, then realize the end result would be far too massive, collecting long bolts in their place. It needed to be big enough to be a proper shrine centerpiece, but not so large as to be unable to fit in your bag. If it was so small you could fit it in your pocket, it was just a glorified pendant.

There's an old door hinge beneath from trash in one of the side alleys, which you pull apart and examine closely for a second. In your mind, you begin to build a blueprint, glancing at each part you pick up before committing it's exact dimensions to memory. You organize the bolts mentally, adjusting your mental image of where they would have to be attached to form the shape you desired. Four bolts become five bolts, then nine bolts...

For the stand, you hunt for long pieces of flat metal that can be affixed to your stand so the top-heavy icon won't fall over, and manage to find a metal book stop cast in a bin of other Administratum junk - tin inkwells, broken quills and the like. You hold it, the hinge and your bolts up, then nod to yourself, putting the pieces together in your mind.

Finding a quiet corner is easy- you just have to walk down a few random side halls from the central artery. So long as you avoided traffic and didn't make too much of a nuisance of yourself, what residents you did encounter see fit only to glance at you briefly before moving on. Around a slight corner that hid you mostly from view, you kneel down and spread out the pieces. You had been briefly concerned that you wouldn't find all the bolts you wanted and would have to improvise a different design using only eight instead, but you had found sixteen in the end.

Carefully, you lay them out, placing the head of each bolt against each other until you form a ring of bolt heads, each bent at a slight angle relative to it's neighbor such that the line wrapped around itself, forming a circle. Removing one of the cans you had saved, you tear it's bottom open with pliers and punch out the inner disc of it's lid, earning yourself a small metal ring. You hold it against the back of the line of bolts you had made, making sure it was the right size before setting it aside.

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>>5877484
Igniting your blowtorch briefly, you hold one bolt carefully in place, then weld it against it's neighbor with the higher heat setting. Removing your hand so the bolt could cool, you make another pair at the precise angle, eyeballing it where any other craftsman would have to use a measuring tool. You make two, four, seven sets- and by the time you finish with the eighth, the first two have cooled sufficiently for you to place them together and make another precise weld to bond them together, forming a shape that was roughly one fourth of a circle.

It seemed to be working, and so you continue to weld the pieces together, placing the pairs of bolts adjacent and making your fourth circle into half a circle, then three-quarters and finally completing the circle, welding the very first bolt to the last one.

Picking it up by the threads on the bolts, you hold up your improvised icon. The heads of each bolt had been fused together, forming an inner circle, with the threads fanning out around it like the teeth on a cog. Of course, a real cog had shorter teeth, but what you had constructed looked a bit like a sun as well as a cog this way, which felt appropriate in a weird way.

Flipping it over, you weld the ring from the can on, melting the sharp edges with a little attention from the blowtorch. Pulling the bolt from the door hinge, you break off the plate that would attach to the door, instead welding the empty hinge to the ring, such that when you hold the hinge bolt up on the ground, you can slide the entire icon down onto it, with the cog properly upright and straight. It was very top heavy, though, which meant as soon as it wobbled a bit, it would flop over and hit the ground. That was where the book stop came in, as the flat metal legs welded to the base of the bolt provided a the footprint for it to stay stable on it's own.

And, since it was made from a hinge, you could take it apart and pack it mostly flat in your bag when you were done.

Smiling a little bit, you stand up, holding the two pieces close to your chest as you return to the main street. You would go to one of the shrines and give thanks to the Emperor, while... ah. Should you put your little shrine down at one of the official shrines? You wouldn't want to offend the priests, but... no, surely it was no objection? The God-Emperor and the Omnissiah were different aspects of the same god, after all, and it seemed like a shame to not put your shrine on the same level as the icon to the Emperor. Although... perhaps it would be safer to not risk drawing any more attention to yourself than you had to. If you asked one of the priests and made them angry...

>Put your shrine together with the Emperor's, then pray.
>Set up your shrine somewhere private after making your prayer here.
>You should just ask for permission. There's only a chance they won't be reasonable.
>[Write-In]

>>5877486
>>Set up your shrine somewhere private after making your prayer here.

>>5877486

>Set up your shrine somewhere private after making your prayer here.

Let’s not draw attention to ourself here

>>5877486
>Set up your shrine somewhere private after making your prayer here.

>>5877486
>[Write In] Pray to the emperor, then ask permission to set your icon beside the statuette while you finish your prayers. Failing that, finish your prayers elsewhere.

>Set up your shrine somewhere private after making your prayer here.
Writing.

You slide the icon beneath your robes, tucking it partially into one of the larger pockets of your bodyglove so it wouldn't flop around. While you doubted anyone would disgrace themselves by taking object to someone else's worship, you had no desire to put that to the test here. Besides, you didn't know if it would be considered rude to remove your shrine before leaving, putting you in something of a rock and a hard place. Do you anger someone for placing it in the first place, or risk their ire for removing it when you're done?

No, better to keep it to yourself for now.

Instead, you carefully approach the shrine, mixing with the crowd and moving your way through them to the shrine. Instead of loitering at the edge of the crowd this time, though, you move forward with the others approaching, finding a place a few rows from the front to kneel down. Most knelt, some made the sign of the Aquila, others bowed their head in contemplation before the icon of the God-Emperor.

You kneel to the Emperor, placing your hands together as you had on Errat's arm. Without a limb to grasp, your palms met, and you touched the sides of your index fingers to your forehead. The Emperor was haloed by the soft light of candles gathered around His feet, giving the sculpted hood of his face a deep, formless quality that was as distant as it was majestic.

“Holy Emperor...” You close your eyes, murmuring to yourself. “Thank you for your aid. Please continue to give your protection to him so he may heal.” You pause for a moment, then add as an afterthought. “And to me, your guidance, so I can make it through this...” You trail off slightly. It wasn't much of a prayer, and it didn't feel like enough of a proper adulation.

Simultaneously, anything more would have been hollow, almost a lie. You think you haven't quite grasped prayer yet.

You open your eyes, looking up at the icon again. For some reason, you briefly thought about atmospheric storms, like the water that supposedly fell outside the hive. Maybe that's what the shadows in the hood were like. You wouldn't know until you'd actually seen one.

Standing, you exit to the side, sidestepping the other worshippers while also letting someone shuffle up from behind to take your place. Your hand goes to the icon of the Omnissiah self-consciously, checking to make sure it was still in place as you leave the crowd. You would need a semi-private place, one with a table or convenient box to place the icon on, but that shouldn't be a problem around here.

Would it be better if it was near machinery? It would do no harm, at least.

>>5878107
You find yourself wandering towards the cargo artery- staying just a few streets away from the main thoroughfare, just on the edge of where hundreds of workers had made their converted homes, in the place between industry and rest. This space was strangely purposeless, with forgotten boxes, things and machines you didn't understand the function of jutting out from the walls at random. Many hummed with faint power, enough to make you hesitant to approach one with your tiny shrine, lest you disturb the machine spirits.

...instead, you find a junction box that juts slightly from the wall. Carefully, you lay out the stand of your shrine, thankful to no longer have the awkwardly shaped object jutting into your side. It doesn't wobble too much - despite the book stop feet sticking off the edge of the box - and so you slide the cog icon onto the stand, hesitating before stepping back, as if it might fall apart if you're too hasty.

Kneeling once again, you search for the words, trying to figure out what to do with your hands. A part of you still expected to be admonished for a lack of extravagance in your faith, down to your hand gestures and speech itself. A sigh of static comes from one of the machines next to you as something within it cycles and discharges, and you sigh almost in sequence with it. Frowning, you put your hands together once again and bend your head forward.

Your eyes meet the floor, and you notice a piece of red fabric in the corner of your vision.

Lowering your hands, you turn and see a red-robed figure standing behind you. Stooped slightly with the effort of something heavy, the techpriest regarded you through a faint set of green optics, hidden in the recesses of a cog-teethed hood and dancing faintly with golden light.

“Curious.” It booms quietly, almost as if trying to murmur in a voice no longer capable of doing so.

>Shriek and jump back.
>Immediately apologize for what you're doing.
>Politely greet him.
>What's curious?
>Say nothing.
>[Write-In]

>>5878109

>Politely greet him.

How lucky for us, this cogboi might be our ticket to the top of the Hive

>>5878109
>Politely greet him.

I know we shouldn't, but can you imagine his reaction if we showed him the stuff from the Titan.

>>5878238

“Hey, you look like a nerd - what do you think about this old junk?”

>>5878109
>Politely greet him.

>>5878109
>>Shriek and jump back.

>>5878109
>>Immediately apologize for what you're doing.
If anyone is going to have opinions about how to properly worship the Omnissiah, a priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus will, They're no technomat or lowly servile. Also, what are they doing here? we're probably interfering with some kind of maintenance or inspection just with our presence, let alone attempt at 'prayer'.

>>5878109
>Immediately apologize for what you're doing.

>Politely greet him.
Writing.

“Ah.” You immediately turn yourself while remaining low, lowering your head in the direction of the techpriest respectfully. “Magos.”

A soft electronic trill played, and you saw the techpriest's shoulders jerking beneath his robe. For a brief moment, you feared offending him before you realized he was laughing. “Magos! If I am a Magos, then you are a technomat.” His optics turned, and a mechadendrite - which you had initially mistaken for a metal adornment on his belt - unfolds to pick up the small icon you had set up, delicately lifting it's base using a small folding claw. “Very clever.” The vox unit mounted to his mask hums quietly when he isn't speaking, letting out a low rush of static as if taking in a breath. “Even got all sixteen teeth as dictated.” Holding out his actual hands, he takes the icon into his hands and turns it over carefully, the augmetic fingers holding the shape very gently, optics fully fixed upon it. “Of course, it hasn't been properly consecrated by an ordained techpriest, and is therefore an invalid object for anything more than class eight prayers."

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

“Remarkable handiwork for a laywoman.” The techpriest continued, seemingly oblivious. “Did you arrange this by hand, or did you mechanically align the pieces?”

Carefully, you rise to your feet. Over-deference to a minor techpriest could be in of itself an insult to others, such as titled nobility who were actually entitled to your deference, even if they weren't present now. That, and it put you in a better position to run if you had to. “By hand, techpriest."

“Enginseer.” He corrected, softly. A hand vanished into his robe, and returned with a cloth attached to the head of a small oil bottle. With great care, he swabbed the icon, working the cloth into every corner and along the threads of every bolt, leaving behind a glistening coat of oil that left the ordinary, worn metal vaguely reflective. Replacing it, he set the claw of his mechadendrite on the center of the cog, and his vox boomed with a flickering string of golden light.

|I||||I| |II|II|| |II||I|I |III||II |III||II |II||I|I |II||I|| ||I||||| |II|||I| |II||I|I ||I||||| |II|I||| |II|I||I |III||II ||I||||| |III||II |II|II|I |II||||I |II|II|| |II|II|| |II||I|I |III||II |III|I|| ||I||||| |II|IIII |II||II| ||I||||| |III||II |II||I|I |III||I| |III|II| |II||||I |II|III| |III|I|| |III||II ||I||||| |II||||I |II|III| |II||I|| ||I||||| |II|II|I |II|IIII |III||II |III|I|| ||I||||| |II|I||| |III|I|I |II|II|I |II|||I| |II|II|| |II||I|I ||I||||| |II|IIII |II||II| ||I||||| |II|||II |II|IIII |II||III |III||II ||I|III|

Whatever nuances are encoded in the rapid rush of binary that comes from the vox grill is lost upon you, although you can feel that there is... almost an emotion to the erratic pitch of each note. One of deep care- certainly, he seems to be handling the icon very gently.

>>5878861
“It is done.” He holds it out with both hands. “Please, in the future, ask one of my brothers or sisters for assistance, first.”

You accept it gingerly. “Thank you.”

“You have steady hands for a laywoman.” He added. “Are you an artisan?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“Your talents must be wasted in your current occupation. Can I ask why you did this?"

“There isn't a shrine to the Omnissiah in the area, enginseer.”

He shook his head. “No. Why did you intend to pray to the Machine God in the first place?”

“I wanted to give thanks.”

“Thanks?” His vox rumbled, as if amused. “That is... unusual, for the laity. Are you of the cult? Forgive me, you do not exactly appear to be a technomat.”

>"I'm not."
>"I don't know."
>"My... 'family' was."
>"In a way."
>[Write-In]

>>5878862

>"In a way."

No reason to lie.

Is that hexadecimal displayed visually Bentus?

>>5878862
>[Write-In] "I have had... something of an epiphany bestowed upon me recently. It feels... right, to do so."

>>5878862
>>[Write-In] I am not intiated, no... But I do have faith in the Omnissiah.

>>5878862
>"I'm not."

>>5878953
This feels good, but I'd also combine it in a way with>>5878980
So, if I can offer a combination of the write ins?
>[Write-In]
Something like, "I am not initiated, no... But I have had... something of an epiphany bestowed upon me recently. It feels right to do so, and to have faith."

>>5878865
Man I wish I was clever enough with ASCII to make that happen. I'm sure there are dash-line variants you could use to make false numbers. In my case, though, it's just binary.

>>5878862
>"My... 'family' was."

Hum. This is one of those scenarios where I don't feel confident smoothing over the tie myself, so we'll narrow the options and count again without write-ins, alright?

>"In a way."
>"I'm not."
>"I'm not an ordained member of the cult, but I have faith."
>[Optional] "My... 'family' was."
>[Optional] "I've had... something of an epiphany lately."

>>5879403
>"I'm not an ordained member of the cult, but I have faith."

>>5879403
Why not roll a dice?

>>5879404

Supporting