With a muffled roar, the AV landed on the open ground outside the Ruined Town Workshop; before the stirred dust had fully settled, its heavy hatch slowly opened.
Maine and his team silently began unloading, an ineffable heaviness permeating the air.
The recently concluded mission had been too brutal, and the unexpected reversal at the end had left everyone with lingering fear.
Now, they had a more direct and awe-inspiring understanding of the power wielded by the entity deep within the workshop.
Osiris' tall, dark-red figure appeared at the workshop entrance, the regular soft clink of his metal boots against the ground.
His crimson optical lenses slowly scanned over the group, who were busy moving salvaged weapons and electronic parts, finally settling on the unconscious modified soldier Dorio was carrying as if she were a heavy package.
"An operation lacking necessary intelligence support and overly reckless has led to avoidable resource depletion and equipment loss," Osiris' synthesized voice was steady and devoid of emotion, but the words themselves constituted a stern reprimand, "This fully demonstrates that your existing decision-making mechanisms and risk assessment capabilities are clearly insufficient.
While serving me, any similar mistakes will be considered a severe waste of valuable resources."
His accusation did not stem from anger, but from a cold, efficiency-based judgment.
For Osiris, emotions were a distant and inefficient redundancy; he was more concerned with the ultimate outcome of an action and its input-output ratio.
Maine took a deep breath, not attempting to argue, merely nodding heavily: "It was our mistake, boss. We will remember this lesson."
He knew clearly that in the face of established losses, any explanation would seem pale and powerless.
Osiris did not continue the topic; his attention had been entirely drawn to the "gains" of this operation.
He walked over to Dorio, and a nimble mechanical tentacle silently emerged from beneath his dark-red robe sleeve, precisely coiling around the modified female soldier's armored collar, effortlessly lifting her as if her heavy Militech-grade cybernetics were weightless.
"Handle these recovered items," he simply instructed Maine, then carried the captive and turned to walk deeper into the workshop.
Just as he passed the two light attack mechs, which had been brought back and should have been completely incapacitated, something strange happened.
A faint hum and the sound of parts resetting came from inside the mech shells, and then they stood up on their own, moving with slightly stiff but exceptionally steady steps, like puppets controlled by invisible strings, silently following him towards the designated storage area within the workshop.
The core area of the workshop was bathed in constant, cold light.
Osiris laid the captive flat on the central, specially made metal experiment table, and restraints automatically locked her limbs and torso.
Several mechanical tentacles, equipped with different functional sensors, silently descended from above, beginning a comprehensive, all-angle deep scan of the body on the experiment table.
Optical lenses, spectrum analyzers, deep bio-signal Probes… multiple scanning modes activated simultaneously, and a torrent of data streamed like a rushing waterfall, rapidly scrolling across the floating interface at the side of Osiris' vision.
"Identity confirmed: Lieutenant Morris, affiliated with Militech's Special Projects Operations Department." Osiris softly read out the identity information directly retrieved from the opponent's not-yet-fully-damaged military chip.
His consciousness, like an invisible Probe, effortlessly penetrated Militech's proud ICE, delving into her chaotic memory zone.
Countless memory fragments, like shattered glass, reflected harsh training, bloody mission executions, and the intermittent sharp neural pain caused by cybernetics operating under overload.
Osiris browsed these fragments with almost absolute indifference, precisely sifting out valuable technical parameters and combat records, while directly ignoring emotional fluctuations and painful experiences belonging to "individuals."
The scan data quickly constructed a detailed 3D model of Morris's body, with the precise location, specific model, and real-time energy flow path of each implant clearly marked.
Analysis results showed that she was equipped with an experimental-grade Sandevistan-type neural drive system, version 5.4b, capable of suppressing neuronal signal delay to below 0.08 seconds under extreme acceleration, but its cooling cycle was too long, and continuous use would place a huge load on the central nervous system.
The "monomolecular wire" implanted in her left forearm had a rather crude launch mechanism, resulting in effective range and striking accuracy below standard levels.
Her existing reinforced tendons and alloy bone structure, while providing basic strength and mobility enhancements, had quite low energy transfer efficiency, with about 17.3% of wasted loss.
And the pair of mantis blades named "Night Raven," their high-frequency vibration mode was still acceptable, but the material's toughness and energy conductive coating had obvious defects, easily leading to metal fatigue.
"Overall assessment:" Osiris' synthesized voice carried an undeniable tone of judgment, "This is merely a product of forcibly stacking various laboratory-grade components, with low system integration, a design philosophy rife with shortsightedness and opportunism, and irreversible, continuous damage to the carrier itself.
Its actual combat effectiveness is far below theoretical expectations."
In his cognitive system, the Adeptus Mechanicus technology tree from the Warhammer Universe, while perhaps appearing crude and even exuding a primitive savagery in appearance, its intrinsic operating principles, profound understanding of material science, and mastery of the essence of energy and matter, were far beyond the technological level of this world.
And the Cyberpunk World's cybernetic technology was more like a blind groping in unknown territory and a crude, opportunistic application, full of technical pitfalls and flaws.
His gaze focused on Lieutenant Morris's nervous system, which was on the verge of collapse due to excessive modification. Deep scans clearly showed her neurotransmitter levels were extremely abnormal, and her brain's limbic system already showed risk signs of organic damage—these were typical early physiological characteristics of cyberpsychosis.
"Based on existing data models, if this carrier continues to perform high-intensity combat missions or implants more powerful cybernetics under the current load level, her nervous system will completely collapse within twelve to twenty-four standard months, with a probability exceeding ninety-two percent," Osiris reached a cold and ruthless conclusion.
This body might be a valuable experimental asset in Militech's eyes, but in his eyes, it was merely a defective, short-lifespan tool.
However, it was not entirely without value.
Certain basic qualities exhibited by this carrier—systematized military combat skills, the body's adaptability to the Sandevistan System, and a still-resilient physical foundation—just happened to provide an excellent "experimental embryo."
A clear concept began to rapidly form and perfect within Osiris' logical core: to completely transform her, reshaping her into a Rust Stalker that met Adeptus Mechanicus standards.
In the vast and complex armed hierarchy of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Rust Stalkers were semi-mechanical assassins known for their efficiency and lethality.
They were equipped with specialized Sicarian series prosthetics and unique spherical jointed upper limbs, relying on the surging power provided by miniature fission reactors on their backs to unleash astonishing extreme speed and agility.
Their movement trajectories were elusive and unpredictable, their instantaneous burst speed even surpassing the primary astartes of the astartes, approaching the ghostly agility of the Eldar, and they were especially adept at high-speed pursuit and precise assassination missions.
Lieutenant Morris, in Osiris' view, was like a crude, degraded, and simplified beggar's version that clumsily imitated some characteristics of a Rust Stalker, but suffered from severe underlying technological deficiencies.
She indeed possessed speed and was equipped with close-combat weapons, but overall, she completely lacked the systematic design of a Rust Stalker, which perfectly integrated all systems, making them seamless, efficient, and lethal.