[System Rebooting...]
[Severe damage detected in logic core.]
[Radiation levels in the external environment exceed safety limits.]
[Current Location: Segmentum Obscurus - Forge World Seven - Underhive - Waste Reclamation Zone No. 492.]
[Identity Confirmed: DAOT-7734 Autonomous Engineering Unit.]
"DAOT? Dark Age of Technology?"
A wave of alarming red text flashed across Andy's retinas.
"Holy—! What exactly have I been reincarnated into?!"
He tried to take a deep breath—even if it was of toxic exhaust—but he failed. He had no lungs in his chest; only a miniature cold fusion reactor and countless tangled sensory circuits.
"..."
Andy had transmigrated into an Iron Man. His silence was deafening.
If he had known this was going to happen, he never would have bragged to his online friends about how he'd be a high-ranking noble if he ever crossed over into the Warhammer universe!
In the hopeless universe of Warhammer 40K, being reincarnated as anything was better than being an Iron Man.
In this dark 41st Millennium, the Imperium of Man's hatred for AI was virtually absolute. Ever since the Iron Men led a rebellion during the distant Dark Age of Technology that nearly drove humanity to extinction, any machine with self-awareness was classified as "Abominable Intelligence."
For such things, the Imperium usually employed maximum-power directed-energy weapons to blast them into dust, before scattering said dust into the Warp.
The good news: Andy's brain contained a complete STC (Standard Template Construct) database from humanity's Golden Age. The STC was the pinnacle of human achievement; with it, you could theoretically build a Gloriana-class battleship from scratch or turn a barren Dead World into a paradise.
The bad news: This thing wasn't a "system." It couldn't just ding and manifest items out of thin air.
At this very moment, he was huddled behind a pile of twisted scrap metal, cautiously poking his visual sensors out. Not far away, a massive roar made the ground tremble.
Three figures in red robes were circling a heavy crane that stood three stories tall. The crane's arm was frozen mid-air, and a crate of high-purity ore hanging from the hook was teetering precariously.
These men were Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
The lead priest held a smoking censer, wafting pungent fumes onto the crane's control panel while emitting grating binary noise through his voice modulator.
"Praise the Machine God! Pray, appease Thy wrath!" "01001001..."
Andy's head throbbed just watching it. Yet, this was the reality of Warhammer 40K. Humanity's tech tree hadn't just been broken; it had grown crooked. These members of the Mechanicus, who held all the technical knowledge, didn't understand the first thing about mechanical principles.
In their eyes, machines moved because a "Machine Spirit" resided within; machines broke because the spirit was displeased. Therefore, the process for "repairing" a machine wasn't checking circuits or replacing parts—it was burning incense, kowtowing, applying sacred oils, and chanting scripture to make the Machine Spirit happy.
Good grief, Andy thought. The crane clearly had a valve in its hydraulic pump jammed by debris. All they needed to do was clean the valve or give it a few hard whacks to loosen the blockage, and the machine would start right up.
But the three priests had no intention of actually getting their hands dirty.
The lead priest tossed his censer aside and turned, his glowing red cybernetic eyes locking onto several shivering servitors nearby.
"Ah, the Machine Spirit's fury cannot be quelled," the priest's processed voice rasped. "The ritual requires a sacrifice."
He raised a hand that had been modified into a hydraulic claw, pointing it at the scrawniest servitor. "Offer your filthy flesh to the Great Omnissiah. Perhaps it shall lubricate these sacred joints."
The servitor didn't even dare to resist. He simply collapsed to the ground in despair while the other servitors watched with numbness, as if this were perfectly normal.
Andy's logic processing module began screaming alarms.
[Warning: Extremely inefficient behavior detected.]
[Warning: Logical paradox detected.]
[Warning: Waste of resources.]
To Andy, this level of pure stupidity wasn't just annoying—it was a form of physiological torture. It was like a person with OCD being forced to watch someone shove a puzzle piece into the wrong slot and then super-gluing it shut.
The priest's hydraulic claw opened, ready to crush the servitor's neck.
If Andy didn't do something, not only would the servitor die, but the crane wouldn't be fixed, and several tons of ore would eventually come crashing down. According to the physics engine's calculations, the impact point happened to cover Andy's current hiding spot.
Since death was certain either way...
To hell with keeping a low profile.
Andy lunged out from the scrap heap. Although his Iron Man body was an engineering model, its power output was immense.
"Stop!"
He didn't even realize the sound he emitted was an electronically synthesized voice amplified through speakers.
The three priests froze. Before they could even react to the metal monster jumping out of the trash, Andy had already reached the crane.
Without sparing the priests a glance, he raised his heavy metal right leg and delivered a vicious kick to a rusted hydraulic valve at the base of the crane.
CLANG!
The impact was massive. The sheer kinetic energy instantly dislodged the jammed valve. A painful screech of metal-on-metal echoed from inside the crane, followed by the cessation of the black "malfunction smoke."
With the hiss of the hydraulic system re-pressurizing, the frozen arm lowered smoothly, placing the crate of ore safely on the ground.
The machine was fixed.
"Advanced Maintenance Techniques" from the Golden Age—physical persuasion.
Andy retracted his leg and stood still. His CPU temperature spiked instantly.
What had he just done?
He had "blasphemously" assaulted a sacred creation of the Omnissiah in broad daylight. Furthermore, his appearance didn't look like a legal citizen of the Imperium, nor did he look like a mindless servitor that only knew how to chant.
It's over, he thought. I'm going to be executed as a heretic.
Andy turned stiffly, his fists clenched, preparing for a baptism of bolter fire. He even began calculating the nearest escape route in the background.
The lead Tech-Priest turned around. His face, a mess of cables, was expressionless, but his hydraulic claw was clicking rhythmically. The two lower-ranking priests were so terrified they had forgotten the words to their binary prayers.
The silence was deathly.
Andy watched as the priest approached step by step, his red electronic eye scanning Andy's body.
"Look, let me explain," Andy's speakers crackled. "I was just passing by, and the machine—"
THUD.
A muffled sound interrupted Andy's defense.
The fierce-looking Tech-Priest's knees buckled, and he dropped straight onto the oil-stained ground. Immediately after, the two priests behind him followed suit, prostrating themselves with their foreheads slamming hard against the metal floor.
Andy's half-raised fist froze. "?"
The lead priest looked up tremblingly. His electronic eyes didn't show killing intent, but rather a near-frenzied state of worship and awe. He looked at Andy as if he were seeing his own father... no, as if he were seeing the Emperor leap off the Golden Throne to hand him candy.
"This... this is the legendary..." The priest's voice cracked with excitement. "The Sacred... Percussive Maintenance Ritual?"
"You... you actually perceive the Machine Spirit's unique psychological preferences?!"
"Praise the Omnissiah! You must be the God-Chosen sent to the world of man by the Machine God Himself!"
Looking at the three "Gear-heads" frantically kowtowing to him, Andy's background logic module overloaded once again.
Wait, what?