Nolan spent the better part of an hour conducting an exhaustive search throughout the entire equipment room and material storage areas. He moved methodically from rack to rack, shelf to shelf, his hands touching items while his simulator interface scanned each one invisibly.
Eventually, his investigation led him back into the foundry workshop. Heat struck him immediately upon entry, a wall of temperature that made sweat bead on his skin within seconds. The atmosphere carried equal intensity, charged with the ongoing argument between Raditus and the ancient machine spirit housed within the power fist. Their debate crackled through the air like static electricity, mechanical voices rising and falling in technical dispute.
Nolan navigated carefully through the workspace, using the simulator page that remained mercifully invisible to everyone else, scanning everything his eyes landed upon one by one.
His somewhat furtive behavior naturally aroused curiosity. Raditus paused mid-argument long enough to flash its eye-lenses in Nolan's direction, mechanical suspicion evident. David offered cordial inquiries about whether Nolan required assistance, concern threading through its synthesized voice.
Despite the thoroughness of his search, the simulator stubbornly refused to trigger any new prompts.
Nolan frowned, his fingers rising unconsciously to knead at his chin in repetitive motion. His mind worked through the problem systematically, applying the rules he'd gradually deduced through observation and experimentation.
Either everything he currently possessed fell under similar enough conceptual categories that the simulator no longer deemed them worthy of extraction, or he simply hadn't examined carefully enough and had overlooked some inconspicuous item that met the mysterious criteria.
Regardless, his original plan to unlock the simulator's new functions in a single determined push clearly wouldn't succeed today.
He made a mental note for future reference. When collecting loot or acquisitions from battlefields and defeated enemies, the rarer and more bizarre the items appeared, the more attention he should pay them. Uniqueness seemed to matter.
Nolan returned to the brightly lit base hall, his expression settled back into calm composure. He lowered himself into his familiar seat beside the metal round table, reaching for one of the Imperial texts he'd been working through.
He flipped through pages for a while, though this particular volume focused less on proper historical records and more on the colorful exploits of Rogue Traders and their various romantic entanglements throughout the galaxy. The prose verged on scandalous in places, certainly not what one might expect from official Imperial documentation.
After several minutes, Nolan drew a deep breath and suddenly closed the book in his palm with a soft thump. He stood, decision crystallizing in his mind.
He walked toward his private lounge with purposeful strides. Perhaps conducting the next simulation ahead of schedule would yield something new, something to compensate for his current frustration and lift his mood.
Once inside the lounge, Nolan took his time with a careful, thorough bath. Hot water sluiced away the day's accumulated tension, steam rising around him in cleansing clouds. He dried himself methodically, then approached his small ritual space wearing a solemn expression.
He selected a stick of incense, lighting it with steady hands before inserting it into the water cup positioned before him. Wisps of faint green smoke began rising gradually, curling upward in delicate spirals. The scent filled his nostrils, earthy and grounding.
Nolan closed his eyes, his breathing slowing to a measured rhythm. As had become his custom, he offered silent prayers to the Emperor, words forming in his mind with genuine reverence.
[Simulation starting...]
[Current Identity: Bloodclaw, Space Wolf (Warp ???)]
[Please select your identity first]
[If you refuse, you will descend randomly]
[Identity selection has been refused]
[Simulation starting...]
[You have descended into the Warhammer universe]
[Location: Unknown]
[You have successfully descended into the middle cabin of a Cobra-class destroyer.]
[You slowly opened your tightly closed eyes.]
[You find yourself in a dimly lit private cabin.]
[Right in front of you, an Ogryn who is several times larger than a normal person is sticking out his fat posterior, almost half exposed, as he cleans up garbage in the corner of the room.]
[You blinked your dry eyes.]
[You subconsciously raised a heavy hand wrapped in cold metal.]
[You unexpectedly discovered that you were wearing force feedback power armor.]
["Hmm? Boss, are you finally awake? Don't worry, I'll be done cleaning up here soon." The Ogryn noticed the movement behind him, turning his round head that appeared almost entirely composed of thick flesh. The words came out slurred and awkward, his massive jaw struggling with proper pronunciation.]
[You blinked your dry eyes again, but didn't speak immediately.]
[You turned your gaze toward him, studying the creature carefully.]
[The Ogryn, clumsy but earnestly committed to his cleaning task, wore a set of heavy carapace armor that covered most of his powerful body. The plates looked well-maintained despite obvious wear from combat.]
[Beneath the carapace armor, he wore what had once been white but was now a faded red and black robe. Despite being stretched over his massive frame, the fabric remained relatively clean.]
[The robe's hem bore a faint golden Inquisitorial logo, clearly visible even in the cabin's dim lighting.]
["An 'I' with three horizontal bars, and a skull as decorative symbol. The Ordos Hereticus... the Inquisition?" You widened your perpetually aching eyes slightly, muttering the observation to yourself. "This time it seems I'm an Inquisitor."]
["Boss? Why are you sick again? I told you there was something wrong with those little tech-priests and their mechanical transformation procedures..." The Ogryn abandoned his cleaning, his fat belly shaking with each ponderous step as he approached.]
[His nearly three-meter frame slowly lowered into a squat, bringing his face closer to your level. He stared at you with a pair of mismatched eyes, one noticeably larger than the other, both possessing the dull glaze common to his kind.]
[You blinked your dry eyes that refused to secrete proper lubricating fluid, finding yourself locked in an uncomfortable staring contest.]
[Time crawled forward. Just as you gathered yourself to ask questions about your current situation, the Ogryn's thick lips suddenly moved.]
[He began reciting information in a stumbling, rehearsed manner:]
["Boss, you are an Inquisitor serving the Inquisition of the Imperium of Man. Your dream is to serve the Emperor loyally until your final day."]
["I am your deputy and bodyguard. I'm a smart guy among Ogryns. My name is Chunkus Maximus. We're on a large ship, a Cobra-class destroyer, and we're heading to a planet where angels are stationed. We have an investigation mission to... to slap someone's face."]
[His brow furrowed with concentration as he continued. "You said you like to eat meat and don't like fish. Of course, I don't care what kind of food it is. Meat is naturally best, but I'll eat anything."]
[You narrowed your eyes slightly.]
[You opened your mouth to interrupt Chunkus's slurred chatter, hoping to guide the conversation toward more useful information.]
[But the Ogryn, having entered full recitation mode, gave you absolutely no opportunity to interject. The words poured forth in an unstoppable stream.]
["Boss, you usually like using an ancient flamethrower to deal with heretic enemies. I heard it was the only relic your old lover from the Battle Sisters left you. You always complain to me that the superiors won't give you a promotion even though you're such a diligent Inquisitor. But I heard another story from others. You haven't been promoted for so many years because you offended a Grand Inquisitor."]
[Chunkus's ugly face scrunched with what might have been concern. "In my opinion, why don't you just follow her? She may be a little older, but at least you'd get a promotion that way."]
["Oh, and boss, you should have fulfilled that power weapon you promised me last time, right? I like the sledgehammer I'm using now, but I've already told all the other Ogryns about getting a power weapon. If you don't give it to me, how can I lead the entire Ogryn team in the future?"]
[You listened with growing numbness to the continuous chatter flowing from Chunkus.]
[You sighed, the sound escaping before you could suppress it.]
[You raised a heavy hand wrapped in cold metal and slapped it against the top of your head, which had begun throbbing with violent intensity.]
[You unexpectedly heard a crisp metallic collision ring out from the impact.]
[Concern spiked through you. You quickly rose from the metal bed in the private cabin, driving your power armor past the blank-looking Chunkus with surprising urgency.]
[You crossed to a clean mirror mounted on the cabin wall.]
[You stared at your reflection. The upper half of your skull had been replaced entirely with shining silver metal, the augmentation covering from approximately eyebrow level upward. The craftsmanship appeared functional rather than decorative, all exposed mechanisms and obvious repairs.]
[You couldn't help the sharp intake of breath.]
["Boss, why don't we find a chance to let a knowledgeable medical sister examine the situation? Ever since you went through mechanical transformation to repair your near-death injuries, your time disorientation and memory loss are getting worse and worse."]
[The massive form of Chunkus slowly rose from the metal floor. A hint of genuine worry appeared on his fat, ugly face, creasing the thick flesh into concerned wrinkles.]
[You rolled your dry eyeballs in their sockets, attempting and failing to generate tears for lubrication. A faint smile slowly formed at the corners of your mouth despite the discomfort.]
[You turned around, offering reassurance to the worried Ogryn.]
[You hesitated for a moment, then continued by asking him about the specific details of your current Inquisitor mission.]
[Chunkus's sorrow proved fleeting. He seemed to notice you'd returned to something approaching normal behavior.]
[An unusually innocent smile spread across his fat, ugly face, transforming his features into something almost endearing despite their grotesque proportions.]
[Chunkus quickly settled himself on the metal floor with a heavy thud. He cracked his thick knuckles one by one, the sound like breaking branches, then stumbled his way through another explanation.]
[You pieced together the full situation through his simple description combined with your own understanding of Inquisitorial procedures.]
[An Astartes Chapter named the "Seekers of Truth" had repeatedly rejected transfer orders from the Inquisition.]
[Furthermore, they'd explicitly stated they would not carry out any counter-insurgency missions assigned by the Inquisition.]
[For most Astartes Chapters, particularly those with clear Founding Legion backgrounds, such defiance wouldn't constitute a major crisis.]
[If the Inquisition possessed sufficient courage, they could simply bring Imperial troops directly to the Chapter's doorstep and discover who would suffer greater losses in the resulting conflict.]
[However, the Seekers of Truth Chapter represented a significant exception to this pattern.]
[Not only was their founding background unclear and undocumented, but their total number of Astartes barely exceeded two hundred warriors.]
[More critically, the Seekers of Truth Chapter had functioned as an Astartes force serving the Inquisition directly for an extended period.]
[For a thousand years, they had completed countless difficult tasks assigned by the Inquisition. Even when the entire Chapter suffered several terrifying crises and catastrophic losses that brought them to the edge of complete annihilation, there had never been such blatant heresy as outright disobedience.]
[Therefore, several Grand Masters and Grand Inquisitors of the Inquisition had carefully discussed and studied the situation.]
[They had decided to grant the Seekers of Truth an opportunity to prove their continued loyalty, taking into consideration the Chapter's millennium of faithful service.]
[As the elite Inquisitor positioned closest to the Seekers of Truth' stationed planet, and possessing sufficient qualifications and experience, you had no choice but to undertake this investigation mission.]
[According to the final orders issued by the Inquisition, the terms were clear:]
[If you discovered any evidence of heresy or signs of rebellion during your investigation, you would be authorized to mobilize a complete squad of Battle Sisters and any Imperial Guard troops stationed in nearby star systems.]
[You would then personally assist the Seekers of Truth in washing away their shame, offering their final loyalty to the Emperor through purging fire.]
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