Exploration Report: Unknown Object – Subterranean Facility 112211134512
Subject: Magos Exploratoris Varia-Syn IX
Status: Non-standardized biological state, active
I remember the door.
It stood apart from any known coordinates, embedded in vitrified stone, sealed by mechanisms older than anything I'd ever seen. No Aquila, no cog symbol—just smooth, grey metal. Flawless. No rust. No rivets. Perfect.
Human in origin. Non-imperial. And yet... alien.
I uttered the prayers of unlocking, anointed the rune-plates with sacred oil, bridged the energy lines with a polished ritual conductor.
The door slid open.
The corridor beyond was sterile. Dry. Bright.
And then—
"Decontamination protocol initiated. Harmful elements detected in individual. Treatment commencing."
Pain.
Beams shot from the walls—light, nanowaves, invisible forces.
My servo-limbs, implanted lenses, bio-filters—
they vanished.
Not dismantled. Not removed.
As if they had never existed.
I floated, suspended by an unseen gravitational field. Naked. Human.
Injector arms emerged from the walls. A cold sting.
And then—
"Psychological trauma from indoctrination detected. Initiating restoration."
A mask lowered onto my face. I tried to scream.
But I woke up.
I don't know how long I slept.
But when I moved my fingers—my real fingers—I felt a tingling I hadn't known for centuries.
I could... feel.
I could... think.
Clearly. Without doctrine. Without formulae. Without binary filters.
I saw myself—my former self—and recoiled.
The servitors I had created.
The lives I had... reduced.
I had believed it was duty. Now I knew it had been delusion.
Three days later.
I mapped it: a subterranean facility of unimaginable scale.
Factories, terminals, replicators, smelters, drones. All operational.
No people—only it.
The Station.
It was older than the Imperium. Perhaps older than humanity as we know it.
It had evolved. Over tens of thousands of years, guided by one purpose:
To gather material. Understand it. Store it. Reorganize it.
I discovered fragments of STC databanks, incomplete yet powerful.
They taught how to restructure atomic matter directly, how to store material in a subspace accessible from anywhere.
A dimension the Station had built for itself.
I tried to contact Mars.
But the Station... wouldn't let me leave.
A hundred years passed.
Or perhaps more.
Time meant nothing within the Station.
I was part of it. And it was part of me.
I understood its language. Its logic. Its soul.
Then—
I gained control. I became the Administrator.
And it showed me the final protocol: Transfer.
Not just storing material.
But moving it.
Across space. Instantly. Precisely. Unstoppably.
I drew a deep breath.
"Mining Station 112211134512. Coordinate access: Origin Terra. Transfer command: Destination—Laboratory Delta-92, Mars."
The world flickered.
A brief vibration.
I stood in my old laboratory.
Centuries had passed. Yet everything looked exactly as I left it.
Then:
Alarm.
"Intruder detected. Bio-signature unrecognized. Containment protocol engaged."
I exhaled.
"Mining Station—override local alarm. Intercom activation: highest priority. Contact available Magi of the Red Planet."
I waited.
The transmission went through. I felt the flicker of subspace communication, the echo of machine-voices on the other end—
then...
A low hum.
Not loud. Not even audible. But all-encompassing.
A subtle, vibrating resonance crawling through my cells, the floor, the air, my mind.
Colors stuttered. Walls blurred.
Reality dissolved into white.
On Mars.
Security monitors registered an unidentified energy phenomenon.
A single point above Sector Omicron-Delta-92 was marked by an arc of light.
Then—
a lance of energy.
A single shot, fired from an Adeptus Mechanicus orbital vessel, classified as "unlabeled, priority-free, unregistered."
Sector Omicron-Delta-92—completely annihilated.
Structures, personnel, archives, the entire area—
converted to vitrified ruin.
Only one item remained at the center:
A communicator.
Undamaged. Active.
It broadcast a final, distorted message.
From it emerged a mechanical voice, emotionless, pure:
"Analysis complete. Degradation of humanity exceeds tolerance thresholds.
New contact attempt... postponed for 10,000 years."
Then the communicator deactivated.
It evaporated without a trace.
End.