[System Alert: Social Module Missing.]
[Suggested Strategy: Stay Silent.]
Looking at the three "Gear-heads" on the ground, their foreheads slamming rhythmically against the floor, Andy was actually panicking internally.
Right now, he was essentially a human soul trapped inside a tin can. If he opened his mouth and faltered, revealing that he didn't know a single word of those mystical, nonsensical prayers, these people would turn on him and draw their guns in an instant.
In the grim darkness of Warhammer 40K, ignorance is a virtue, and silence is a deterrent.
Thus, Andy controlled his heavy metallic body. He didn't even look down at them, simply retracting the leg he had used to kick the machine and standing there coldly.
The lead Tech-Priest, Gamma-9, peeked upward through his eyelids.
Within his highly cybernetic visual sensors, Andy's smooth metallic chassis—devoid of any hanging scriptures, scrolls, or purity seals—looked like the pinnacle of minimalist art.
In a split second, Gamma-9's brain fabricated a hundred-thousand-word backstory.
This style of zero decoration, this design of returning to one's roots... could it be a legendary "Ascetic School" Magos who had abandoned all red tape in pursuit of ultimate efficiency? Or perhaps an ancient prototype from the deep vaults beneath Holy Terra, a secret known only to the Custodes?
Whatever it was, that earth-shattering "Percussive Maintenance" kick earlier was undoubtedly a direct revelation from the Omnissiah. Only those closest to the Machine God could appease a Machine Spirit with such crude yet precise elegance.
Gamma-9's reverence deepened; he felt that every speck of rust on Andy radiated a divine glow.
Andy had no idea what the man was thinking; he just felt his metallic legs getting a bit stiff.
"Rise."
A synthesized monosyllable popped out of Andy's speaker.
As if receiving a divine pardon, Gamma-9 scurried to his feet along with his two subordinates.
"Archmagos, thank you for descending upon this forgotten wasteland," Gamma-9 said, his voice laced with obvious flattery. "Our refuge is nearby. It is the only place within ten kilometers where an air purification unit still functions. Perhaps it can offer some meager energy replenishment for your holy frame."
Andy noticed the battery warning in the top-right corner of his vision turn yellow.
Even an Iron Man needs to "eat." Although his internal fusion reactor was powerful, the initial startup had consumed a massive amount of energy. He desperately needed to swap fuel rods or plug into a high-voltage power source.
Andy gave a slight, stiff nod.
Overjoyed, Gamma-9 led the way.
The group navigated through the labyrinthine underhive pipes of Forge-7. The STC interface remained open in front of Andy's eyes.
It was pure torture.
To an Iron Man possessing a database from the Golden Age, everything around him was a glaring error. The streetlights along the path were wired in reverse, causing them to emit only 30% of their intended brightness. Structural support pillars in the walls had holes drilled into them randomly, leaving the integrity on the verge of collapse.
Even Gamma-9 himself was a joke.
The STC scan showed that the mechanical arm Gamma-9 had installed on himself was originally a gripper from an industrial auto-loader. He had crudely welded it to his shoulder; the neural interfaces weren't even aligned, and he was likely surviving on pure painkillers.
This was the state of technology in 40K: forcing incompatible pieces of junk together and praying they moved.
After walking for about twenty minutes, they reached a derelict geothermal power station. This was what Gamma-9 called their "refuge."
Hundreds of ragged civilians were huddled in the dim corners, the air thick with a nauseating, acidic stench. In the center of the hall, a massive machine was letting out a bone-wrenching screech.
The machine vibrated violently, spewing thick black smoke. Everyone around was coughing uncontrollably; some of the weaker ones were already coughing up blood.
Gamma-9 hurried to the machine, his face filled with sorrow.
"Archmagos, this is our final reliance—the Holy Air Purification Array," Gamma-9 said, stroking the scalding metallic shell. "Alas, its Machine Spirit has reached the twilight of its years and is sounding its death knell. No matter how much sacred oil we apply or how many fingers we sacrifice, it refuses to exhale fresh air."
Andy walked over. A red warning box instantly locked onto the machine.
[Equipment Name: Imperial Standard Type IV Environmental Cycler (Heavily Modified)]
[Fault Analysis: Missing intake valve, leading to pressure imbalance in the combustion chamber.]
"Machine Spirit reaching its twilight years"? Nonsense. The thing was just missing a part, causing it to run "dry." If it wasn't fixed soon, this machine would turn into a dirty bomb in five minutes and send everyone in the room to the afterlife.
Following the STC's guidance, Andy's gaze moved from the machine to Gamma-9. Specifically, to Gamma-9's battered mechanical arm.
At the elbow joint of that arm hung a polished, brass ring.
Noticing Andy's gaze, Gamma-9 proudly displayed the ring. "Archmagos, your gaze is as sharp as a torch. This is a holy relic I found deep within the ruins—surely a ring lost by some ancient, divine machine. I wear it and chant daily, hoping to catch a trace of the Omnissiah's breath."
Andy stared at the so-called "holy relic ring."
In terms of diameter, threading, and material, this thing was undeniably the missing intake valve for the air purifier in front of them.
These gear-heads had taken the machine apart, used the part as an amulet, and were now weeping over the incomplete machine, crying that the spirit was dying.
Andy's internal temperature surged. He felt his CPU fans spinning at maximum RPM.
He extended a cold metal finger and pointed at the "relic" on Gamma-9's arm.
"Give it to me."
Andy's voice was flat and emotionless.
Gamma-9 faltered, stroking the ring with reluctance. "Archmagos, this is—"
"I will not say it a second time."
The blue light in Andy's eyes flickered.
The pressure emanating from superior technology made Gamma-9 instantly recall the "elegance" of that earlier kick. He trembled, quickly detached the "relic," and handed it respectfully to Andy.