Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy military boots struck the metal floor in chaotic rhythm, creating an overlapping percussion that echoed through the base corridors. The gang dogs moved with eager efficiency, their faces lit with grins as they swept through each section. For them, hunting down a mechanical creature attempting escape was a refreshing change from their usual duties, almost entertaining in its novelty.
The automatic servo robots rolled alongside them, mechanical tentacles waving through the air like probing fingers. Internal scanning equipment hummed to life within their metal shells, emitting soft clicks and whirs as sensor arrays swept the environment. They moved with the methodical patience of cats stalking mice, exploring every inch of ground, every corner, every potential hiding place.
In the brightly lit base hall, Nolan stood beside the metal round table, arms folded across his broad chest. The earlier frustration had drained from his expression, replaced by the calm, steady composure that usually defined him. Only his eyes betrayed continued focus, narrowed slightly as they tracked the constant stream of base surveillance images being projected from his eye sockets toward David.
The images flickered and changed, showing different angles of the search in progress, gang dogs peering behind storage crates, servo robots scanning ventilation shafts.
"My lord," David reported, its voice carrying clearly through the quiet hall, "Raditus believes atonement is necessary for this incident. It has assumed command of an automatic servo robot team and rejoined the search effort. Currently, they are working upward from the bottom of the underground base, specifically the newly developed fifth floor. The gang dogs are leading their assigned servo robots in a downward search from the first floor."
"Good, I see." Nolan blinked slowly, drawing a measured breath. He turned his head toward David, his tone matter-of-fact. "Tell everyone to exercise caution. A power fist alone may not pose significant threat, but the ancient machine spirit inhabiting it is another matter entirely."
He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. "My 'miracle' indicated the item was produced by the Blood Ravens. However, I'm now questioning whether this power fist's true origin might trace back to the Dark Angels instead."
David offered no verbal response. It simply shifted its metal frame, the slight shake of its head conveying understanding. The blue light in its eye sockets flickered with subtle fluctuations, processing this additional variable.
Time crawled forward with agonizing slowness.
Nolan's stance gradually relaxed from its rigid vigilance. Eventually, he abandoned standing altogether, settling into a seat beside the metal round table with his book open before him. His eyes scanned the pages, though his attention remained partially divided, one ear always listening for updates.
The two search teams methodically cleared each level of the underground base, working toward their inevitable convergence point. Various clues collected by the servo robots painted an increasingly clear picture. Scrape marks here, displaced objects there, faint energy signatures detected by sensitive equipment.
The rogue power fist appeared to have doubled back toward the foundry, choosing concealment over continued flight. Likely it had discovered that escape from the sealed base was impossible, forcing it to adopt a different survival strategy.
Honestly, as the situation developed, Nolan found his initial annoyance transforming into genuine curiosity. The behavioral patterns of this ancient machine spirit fascinated him, raised questions about its programming, its experiences, its decision-making processes.
After multiple tense pursuits through narrow corridors and frantic interceptions at key chokepoints, the combined force finally cornered their quarry. The power fist attempted resistance, its metal fingers scraping against the floor as it tried to break free, but the automatic servo robots wrapped it thoroughly in mechanical tentacles, binding it completely.
Ten minutes later, Nolan stood once again in the base lobby, observing the thoroughly restrained power fist being deposited before him. He rose from his seat, offering sincere thanks to everyone who had participated in the search mission. Their hard work deserved recognition.
The gang dogs departed with bright smiles, clearly pleased with themselves, their voices carrying down the corridor as they recounted particularly exciting moments of the chase.
After they had gone completely, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. David, Raditus suspended in the air, and Nolan with slightly widened eyes all turned their attention simultaneously toward the metal round table's center.
The power fist lay there, bound in mechanical tentacles, silent and still.
Several automatic servo robots positioned themselves around the table's perimeter, maintaining alert postures to prevent any escape attempt. Their sensors remained active, watching, waiting.
Silence stretched between the three observers and their captured prize.
"So," Nolan finally spoke, his voice calm and measured as he stared at the dark green metal shell of the power fist. "Which warband forged you?"
The question hung in the air, clear and direct.
The power fist remained motionless on the metal table surface, giving no indication whatsoever of housing any sentient machine spirit. It appeared utterly ordinary, just another piece of equipment, inert and lifeless.
"Tsk." Nolan's lip curled with mild disdain. "Things from the Dark Angels are different, aren't they? You want to pretend you don't exist? Pretend you can't understand human speech?"
He raised his chin slightly, a sneer touching his features. His gaze flicked toward David, then snapped to the servo skull floating overhead.
"Tech-Priest Raditus! Dismantle it for me!"
"Lord Primarch! Observe and witness!"
The moment Nolan's command finished echoing, Raditus sprang into action. The servo skull's anti-gravity engine whined as two extremely short mechanical clamps extended from within its skull casing with sharp clicks. Without hesitation, it dove toward the power fist lying on the metal table, descending in a rapid attack trajectory.
The power fist, which had been lying completely still and lifeless, suddenly convulsed. Its five thick metal fingers splayed wide and jerked randomly, as if struck by electrical current. The entire massive assembly flipped itself over in one violent motion.
Five thick metal digits planted firmly against the metal tabletop, supporting the power fist's considerable weight like the limbs of some enormous mechanical insect. The dark green metal shell seemed to pulse with brighter, more intense metallic luster, catching and reflecting the overhead lights.
Raditus, which had been diving at full speed toward its target, abruptly reversed thrust. The anti-gravity engine screamed as the servo skull halted its small frame mid-air, pulling up sharply.
It reappeared at a safe distance from the metal table, rotating to face Nolan. Its mechanical voice carried notes of satisfaction.
"Lord Primarch, the traditional interrogation technique of alternating pressure works remarkably well, does it not? My performance just now was acceptable?"
"Well done, Raditus." Nolan's face split into a smile, approval clear in his tone.
Then his eyes slowly tracked back to the power fist, which remained standing on the metal table like some living creature, balanced on its fingertips. His expression settled into calm neutrality, but his voice carried an edge of steel.
"Ancient machine spirit. Tell me, why did you choose to flee? What is your specific origin and operational history? And if you dare demonstrate disloyalty..." He paused deliberately. "I will help you become loyal."
Perhaps it was Nolan's unmistakable threat that did it. Perhaps the combined silent scrutiny of David and Raditus proved too much pressure. Whatever the reason, the ancient machine spirit abandoned its pretense of dormancy.
The power fist began moving back and forth along the metal round table's surface, its metal fingers making soft scraping sounds against the metal. It appeared to be searching for something, scanning the tabletop with what might have been purpose.
Finally, it located paper and a pen that had been left piled among other materials.
One thick metal finger gripped the pen with surprising delicacy. Despite the power fist's size and obvious strength, it manipulated the writing instrument with careful precision. Words began appearing on the paper in Imperial Gothic script, each character formed slowly but legibly by the power fist's careful movements.
As more and more words accumulated on the page, Nolan leaned forward to read. David shifted position to observe as well.
Their eyes tracked across the growing text, absorbing whatever accusations or explanations the machine spirit was providing.
Then, simultaneously, both Nolan and David lifted their heads. Their gazes locked directly onto Raditus, floating innocently in the air above them.
The servo skull, which had been radiating self-satisfaction just moments before, suddenly jerked backward. Its anti-gravity engine kicked into overdrive, making it jump and dart erratically through the air like a panicked bird.
Even its mechanical voice seemed to carry unprecedented emotional intensity, rising in pitch and volume.
"It slanders me! I will sue it for defamation! This is complete slander!"
Raditus spun in agitated circles, its eye-lenses flashing with indignant red light.
"Lord Primarch! Do not listen to its malicious fabrications! None of this is true!"
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