Chapter 130: Return to Cyberpunk
Leaving the desolate surface of the Death World behind, Joric's frigate smoothly achieved orbit and descended onto the expanded landing pad of the ruin-outpost.
The exterior of the ancient ruin had been radically transformed, rebuilt into a fortified bastion worthy of the Omnissiah.
The natural rock face had been shaved flat and plated with thick sheets of adamantium-composite, riveted together and etched with continuous binary prayers and cog-sigils.
These defensive walls formed the embryonic shape of a fortress, with the dark muzzles of heavy bolters and multi-melta arrays visible within the firing ports.
Four automated macro-cannon turrets, modified from standard templates, stood like steel altars on the high ground.
Rigidly mounted to the earth, their multi-spectral sensor arrays swept the wasteland in a slow, relentless rotation, the Mechanicus sigil on their barrels clear even through the dust.
Any unauthorized life-sign entering their kill-zone would be met with a precisely calculated baptism of fire.
Inside the outpost, the corridors had been widened to sacred standards, large enough for light combat vehicles or Dreadnoughts to pass.
Arched ceilings were supported by cross-braced metal trusses, from which hung servo-skulls bearing censers, their low binary-hymns mixing with the hiss of the ventilation systems.
The walls were completely covered: one side with embedded heavy power conduits, their protective grilles leaking an ominous dark-red light; the other with dense bundles of data-cables constrained in metal troughs, indicator lights blinking like stars.
Red-robed Skitarii patrolled the corridors in perfect synchronization.
Their metal feet struck a unified rhythm on the deck plating, the cold light of their optics scanning from beneath their hoods.
Augmented mechanical arms gripped standard-issue lasguns or plasma weaponry, also inscribed with prayers.
The air smelled of incense, ozone, and metal-friction compounds—the unique, austere scent of a Mechanicus stronghold, blending absolute rationality with mysticism.
Joric's upgraded, bulkier dark-red form walked the corridor, his slight stoop suggesting the weight of a furnace on his back, his power-joints hissing with every step.
His crimson optical lenses swept over the construction, pausing for nothing.
These defenses and infrastructure improvements were expected, a testament to Ignis's executive capability, but they were not the focus of this trip.
Behind him followed the "new products" brought from Nexum.
They wore simple red apprentice robes, their heights and builds varying slightly based on their genetic templates, but their eyes held a newborn blankness and docility—the standard result of mass gene-conditioning and basic memory-imprinting.
During the voyage back from Nexum, Joric had utilized the time aboard the ship to subject them to preliminary conditioning and basic memory-imprinting.
They now possessed the most foundational knowledge and operational protocols of the Mechanicus system, theoretically meeting the entry-level standard for apprentices.
Though they still appeared raw, their movements stiff with programmed responses, their eyes holding a mix of awe for the strange environment and confusion about their purpose, Joric had no time to waste on the standard, lengthy training regimen.
For a Magos Explorator, training could be highly efficient.
He quickly configured a servo-skull, linking its database to a rigorous basic training protocol, and designated it as the temporary instructor and overseer for this batch of novices.
Thus, upon arrival, this batch of fresh human resources was immediately "dumped" into the section of the ruin converted into a laboratory.
Under the supervision of the hovering skull, its jaw clicking constantly with low binary prompts, they would begin, like a herded flock, to familiarize themselves with the environment, perform basic equipment maintenance and data organization, and simultaneously undergo forced, unquestionable further training.
Efficiency was the only standard required of them.
Joric himself did not delay, nor did he spare a second glance for the apprentices.
He proceeded directly to the main transit chamber, deep within the ruin, guarded by a squad of fully armed Skitarii.
The upgraded energy core pulsed with steady, powerful rhythm, and the Dimensional Sextant's light shone stable under carefully tuned parameters.
The structure of space was torn open, and the familiar, precisely controlled tearing sensation enveloped his heavy mechanical frame.
Moments later, the unique scent of the manufactorum—machine oil, coolant, and ozone—replaced the dust and sacred oil of the Death World.
He had returned. To the Cyberpunk world. To the desert manufactorum.
(Image: Legio Cybernetica)
While Joric was busy in the Warhammer universe with his ascension, negotiations, and ship planning, time in the Cyberpunk world had also quietly passed.
The calendar had flipped from 2075 to 2076. Night City remained the neon-drenched, treacherous hive it always was, seemingly unchanged on the surface.
However, for Maine's crew stationed at the Badlands bastion, this period was not stagnant. The team had gained two new faces.
First was a netrunner named Lucy.
This white-haired girl had arrived in Night City alone, with no support. To survive, she had been forced to make a living on the subway lines running beneath the city.
Using her considerable hacking skills, she quietly skimmed eddies from passengers' chip accounts.
During one operation, her detached demeanor—so out of place in her surroundings—and her raw but effective technique caught the eye of Rebecca, who happened to be on the same train, heading to a "job."
Rebecca, a product of the streets herself, knew the struggle of survival all too well.
Seeing Lucy looking like a wet cat, wary but unable to hide her desperation, a feeling akin to finding a stray animal in a dump welled up in Rebecca.
Without much thought, she walked up. No questions, no threats, just a somewhat bossy "invitation" that practically forced the silent girl back to the Badlands bastion.
After cautious probing and assessment by Maine and Dorio, they determined that while Lucy was quiet, had a European accent, and her background was a mystery, her hacking skills were solid, and her personality, once known, wasn't objectionable.
More importantly, with Sasha and Kiwi modified by the "Boss," their electronic warfare capabilities had transcended conventional hacking, shifting their focus to higher-level confrontations. The team genuinely needed a skilled hand to handle routine network tasks.
Thus, Lucy naturally stayed, becoming a member of the crew.
(End of Chapter)