In the brightly lit base hall, the ancient machine spirit put pen to paper with painstaking detail, methodically describing the entire sequence of events to Nolan and David.
The truth, as it turned out, was remarkably straightforward.
Everything began the moment Nolan retrieved the power fist from his simulator. The ancient machine spirit residing within the Fist of Belial had started its gradual awakening process then. However, prolonged dormancy carried side effects. The machine spirit couldn't achieve full consciousness immediately, managing only a semi-active state, awareness flickering like a light trying to stabilize.
Then the unexplained power fist arrived at the foundry workshop, delivered by an automatic servo robot.
By that point, the ancient machine spirit had achieved complete wakefulness. Its consciousness sharpened, sensory inputs clarified. And the first thing it witnessed was a servo skull exhibiting abnormally manic behavioral patterns, ceaselessly dismantling mechanical creations with what could only be described as fanatical enthusiasm.
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have particularly alarmed the machine spirit. After all, it had experienced considerable time, witnessed multiple generations of Astartes. More than once, it had observed tech-sergeants or tech-priests within the Chapter displaying similar obsessive characteristics when deep in their work.
However, Raditus was different. Raditus almost never stopped. The servo skull worked with relentless intensity, muttering streams of corrupted machine-code curses that only mechanical entities could fully comprehend. The constant verbal assault grated against the machine spirit's consciousness like sandpaper against exposed circuitry, creating genuine mental torture.
Then, compounding matters, the ancient machine spirit's sensors detected something on the casting platform that sent alarm signals cascading through its awareness. The Infinity Gauntlet, completely dismantled, torn into constituent pieces, spread across the work surface like a dissected corpse.
Various factors accumulated, layered one upon another.
A profound sense of existential crisis awakened within the ancient machine spirit. This particular artifact had indeed been forged by the Dark Angels Chapter, and like all things touched by that secretive Legion, it possessed an inherent distrust coded into its very being. Furthermore, having been stolen or perhaps simply lost by the Blood Ravens during one of their notorious acquisitions, the machine spirit carried long-festering resentment.
Anger that had settled into dormant code during its extended sleep suddenly erupted with the force of a dam breaking. Displeasure, frustration, and survival instinct combined into a singular imperative: escape.
This ultimately precipitated the entire ridiculous incident of the missing power fist.
After documenting everything in careful script, the ancient machine spirit standing balanced on the metal table expressed its unwavering loyalty to the Emperor's existence, each word written with what might have been reverence.
Immediately afterward, it extended formal apologies to both Nolan and David.
Servo Skull Raditus, which had nearly experienced the mechanical equivalent of breaking into cold sweat during the written testimony, seemed to undergo a complete attitude adjustment toward the ancient machine spirit. The servo skull even abandoned its previous indignant posture, settling into something approaching grudging respect.
Nolan's curiosity had been thoroughly satisfied. After a brief discussion with David, they reached consensus. They would keep this ancient machine spirit as part of their equipment roster.
After all, among the weapons and equipment Nolan currently possessed, this represented the only mechanical creation housing a genuine machine spirit. Especially given the entity's demonstrated high-level intelligence, its uniqueness added considerable value.
Following a period of negotiation between all parties involved, the ancient machine spirit proved quite willing to assist everyone in analyzing the overall structure and capabilities of the power fist.
It made only one requirement: under no circumstances would it accept being left alone with Tech-Priest Raditus. The ancient machine spirit simply could not trust what it characterized as the servo skull's "exposed inferior machine processes."
This necessitated Nolan speaking words of comfort to Raditus, who immediately became furious again, its eye-lenses flashing with offended red light. Simultaneously, he appointed David as supervisor of the ancient machine spirit, responsible for preventing any unexpected or problematic behaviors.
With that resolution, the incident of the missing power fist transformed into an anecdote that spread throughout the base, recounted with varying degrees of embellishment by amused gang dogs.
David, blue light flickering steadily in its eye sockets, carried the Fist of Belial carefully in its metal grip. It followed behind Raditus, who muttered a stream of complaints under its breath, both entering the foundry workshop to commence proper research on the power fist's construction.
After taking a brief rest period, Nolan completed his daily physical training routine. The exercises had grown more intense with each successive transformation, his body demanding increasingly rigorous stress to maintain peak condition. Sweat gleamed on his skin as he moved through the final sets, muscles burning with satisfying exertion.
Afterward, he returned to his books, continuing his systematic study of various Imperial texts. The pages turned steadily, information absorbed and filed away in his increasingly enhanced memory.
Several hours passed. Eventually, hunger gnawed at Nolan's attention with sufficient intensity that he considered summoning an automatic servo robot to retrieve food from the storage room.
Before he could issue the command, a servo robot from the biology laboratory arrived bearing something else entirely.
Nolan blinked with mild surprise, accepting the cargo the automatic servo robot extended toward him. Rows of large sealed test tubes rested in the carrying tray, each containing samples of what appeared to be genetic material. The liquid inside caught the light, exhibiting faint prismatic qualities.
He thought for a moment, mental gears turning. Then recognition clicked into place, connecting to a conversation he'd had with Connors some time ago.
"Ah, right. I remember now. This must be the alien genome extracted from Compound V."
Nolan waved the automatic servo robot away, dismissing it to resume its regular duties. Then, without hesitation, he opened his simulator interface.
He positioned the rows of test tubes directly beneath the simulator's scanning field.
[Hazardous substances discovered: genes]
[Currently held quantity: 500,000 milligrams (each milligram is approximately equivalent to one minute of resource time)]
[Convertible resource time is: 8,333 hours]
[Extract or not?]
Nolan's eyes widened slightly at the substantial number. He immediately selected the extraction option.
The test tubes in his palm seemed to shimmer momentarily, their contents dissolving into nothing as the simulator absorbed whatever essential quality it required. The glass containers remained, but emptied of their previous cargo.
His resource time expanded dramatically, climbing from its previous total to 9,133 hours.
Satisfaction settled over Nolan's features. He moved to close the simulator page, task completed.
Then additional prompts materialized, freezing any movement in his hands.
[Hazardous substances currently discovered are: firearms, genes]
[We are still three harmful substances away from unlocking the next new feature of the simulator, so keep working hard.]
[Firearms, genes, ???, ???, ???]
"Huh?" Nolan straightened immediately, all traces of fatigue vanishing. "Unlock new functions? And there are this many different kinds of harmful substances?"
Energy surged through his entire body. His mind sharpened, curiosity ignited like a flame meeting oil. He frowned slightly, studying the prompts displayed by the simulator, reading through them multiple times to ensure he hadn't missed any nuance.
Then he stood abruptly from the metal round table, his chair scraping against the floor. Without wasting another moment, he strode quickly toward the equipment room, his pace purposeful.
Nolan entered the equipment room wearing an expression of intense focus, his features set in concentration. He stood just inside the doorway, letting his gaze sweep across the considerable arsenal stored within. Weapons of various types lined the walls and filled storage racks: firearms, blades, experimental prototypes.
He kept the simulator interface active, beginning a systematic scan of the weapons and equipment before him, testing each item methodically.
A vague new hypothesis had formed in Nolan's mind regarding the so-called harmful substances the simulator could absorb. The theory crystallized as he considered the evidence available.
The simulator didn't actually absorb the harmful substances themselves, he realized. Rather, it absorbed the "concepts" those substances represented.
Of course, Nolan hadn't studied the specific operational rules thoroughly enough to claim certainty. He'd experimented extensively in the past with many different kinds of items, testing everything he could acquire. None of those previous attempts had triggered any simulator response, forcing him to temporarily abandon that particular line of exploration.
As long as the simulator functioned normally and provided resources, that had seemed sufficient. Why waste time chasing answers that remained elusive?
Now, however, with the simulator issuing direct prompts about additional harmful substance categories, Nolan intended to properly re-examine the device that had brought him everything he currently possessed.
He moved methodically through the equipment room, passing the simulator's scanning field over weapons one by one. Firearms first: modern rifles, pistols, various calibers. Then melee weapons: combat knives, batons, improvised weapons.
Nothing registered. The simulator remained silent.
Then, abruptly:
[Harmful substances have been found: cold weapons]
[The current number of holdings is one, and the time to obtain resources is ten hours.]
[Do you want to extract?]
Nolan hurried forward immediately, checking which item had triggered the simulator's recognition. His eyes found the source.
A sword forged from Uru metal, one of the Asgardian weapons he'd acquired. The blade gleamed with otherworldly luster, its edge catching light in ways terrestrial metals never quite managed.
"I tested every type of cold weapon available for purchase on Earth before," Nolan muttered, his brow furrowing deeper. "Common knives, swords, axes, everything. Why only cold weapons from Asgard be absorbed and extracted?"
His thoughts accelerated, making connections. "Come to think of it, the same pattern applies to firearms. Whether automatic rifles, pistols, or sniper rifles, they could only convert one hour of resource time each. Only firearms that met some specific triggering condition could be fully extracted for their complete value."
He paced slightly, his mind working through the puzzle. "And weapons like RPGs or grenade launchers couldn't be absorbed by the simulator at all. Why? What's the distinguishing factor?"
Nolan stood still, arms crossing over his chest as he sank into deep thought. His eyes tracked across the equipment room's contents without really seeing them, his consciousness turned fully inward.
After several minutes of intense consideration, he spoke aloud to the empty room, testing his hypothesis through verbalization.
"Specificity. Representativeness. Or perhaps... the uniqueness of the concept itself?"
His voice gained confidence as the theory solidified. "Can only one example of any similar harmful substance category be extracted? And the determining factor is probably whatever I possess at the time of extraction. It must also be a substance originating from the native universe, not something manufactured locally."
Nolan shook his head, which had grown heavy with increasingly complex speculation. He released a slow sigh, letting some of the mental tension drain.
"It would be tremendously helpful if the simulator came with an instruction manual. Save me from all this guessing."
Despite the complaint, a slight smile touched his lips. Puzzles like this engaged him, challenged him in ways pure physical training never could.
Without further hesitation, he picked up the Uru metal sword, feeling its perfectly balanced weight in his grip. Then he confirmed the extraction.
[Harmful substances extracted: cold weapons]
[Resources obtained: ten hours]
[Currently found harmful substances: firearms, genes, cold weapons, ???, ???]