Wetware Server

With a hissing, corrosive sound...

The pungent smell of chemical agents spread through the executive office.

A specially formulated "Purification Liquid"—a mix of industrial bleach, holy water, and trace amounts of Promethium Fuel—

Was being meticulously sprayed across the floor, the walls, And anywhere that might have been contaminated by the Black Robe Cultist's blood.

White foam churned.

The originally dark red bloodstains, upon contact with the Purification Liquid, convulsed violently like some living creature.

Then they dissolved into a lifeless pile of gray-black residue.

Rovi stood in the corridor, watching all of this expressionlessly through the thick glass wall.

He held a pocket watch in his hand, silently counting the time.

"The reaction time of the purification procedure is 12% slower than expected."

A voice tinged with electronic reverb sounded behind him.

Tech-Priest Alpha's red robe dragged across the floor.

Three Mechanical Tentacles extending from his back deftly adjusted the parameters of the air filter.

Half of his face was already covered by a metal mask.

His bionic eye flickered with a deep blue light, signifying data analysis.

"This indicates that the Warp contamination possesses a certain degree of activity, even though the host is deceased."

Alpha paused, using his still-flesh-and-blood left hand to trace the symbol of a gear over his chest.

"Praise the Machine God. Your judgment was correct, Esteemed Advisor."

"If we had delayed by another half standard hour, the mold here would have followed the Ventilation Ducts and turned this entire building into a petri dish."

Rovi put away his pocket watch and turned around.

"How is Supervisor Kase?"

"That biomass?"

Alpha's tone carried a hint of rare delight, Like a child who had just received a new toy.

"I must say, his fat layer is quite thick, providing excellent cushioning for neural access."

"I have excised his frontal lobe, filled with useless desires, and preserved the regions responsible for calculation and logical processing."

"Now, he is a highly efficient 'Wetware Server,' working in the basement of Workshop Seven, overseeing the logistics data for the entire granary."

The Tech-Priest's mechanical eye flickered.

"His computational efficiency has increased three hundredfold compared to when he was alive. This once again proves that only by discarding weak humanity can one approach the perfection of the machine."

Rovi nodded slightly.

He offered no moral judgment on this spine-chilling modification.

In this world, morality was a luxury.

And efficiency was a necessity for survival.

Since Kase had chosen to betray humanity, becoming a calculator serving the human race was already the Emperor's greatest mercy toward him.

"Good. Since the logistics data is now being handled, I also need you to help me deal with some 'hardware' issues."

Rovi pulled a neatly folded blueprint from his pocket and handed it to Alpha.

It was a rough sketch he had drawn while waiting for the purification to finish.

"I want to convert the three main Irrigation Canals around the Executive Council into Defensive Trenches."

Alpha took the blueprint, and his electronic eye quickly scanned the lines.

"Deepening the riverbed, laying sharp scrap metal at the bottom, then installing High-Voltage Grids on both sides..." The Tech-Priest's voice carried some confusion.

"This doesn't conform to the standard agricultural STC template. It looks more like... some kind of primitive fortress defense system."

"You can think of it as a necessary measure to 'prevent rodents from damaging the crops.'"

Rovi offered no further explanation.

"Also, I need you to mobilize all Engineering Servitors to cooperate with Barker's Defense Force in completing this work."

"This will consume a large amount of energy and construction materials." Alpha hesitated. "Such non-productive consumption, if not reported..."

"This is to protect production."

Rovi emphasized, His gaze drifting toward the gloomy sky outside the window.

"Alpha, your sensors should be picking up the increasingly intense Warp readings."

"If we don't fix this wall, maybe tomorrow, or the day after, there won't be any 'production' to speak of."

Rovi continued in a low voice:

"If this defense succeeds, I'll petition the Governor to officially upload the schematics for that modified harvester to the Mars Forge Hall in your name. As a 'variant of specialized agricultural machinery for Hive City environments.'"

Alpha's Mechanical Tentacle stiffened for a moment.

Uploading a modified STC schematic.

For any Tech-Priest, that was a temptation impossible to refuse.

It meant the accumulation of knowledge.

It meant a rise in status within the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"Logic loop verification passed."

Alpha quickly stowed the schematics, the blue light in his bionic eye blazing hot.

"To protect the sacred Imperial Tithe, this level of modification is entirely logical."

"I will immediately mobilize all the computational power of Workshop Seven to support this project."

Watching the Tech-Priest hurry away, Rovi let out a soft breath.

In this world full of fanatics, dealing with the Adeptus Mechanicus, who worshipped "logic," was actually the easiest.

As long as you could offer enough data-driven benefits.

They were the most reliable allies.

Half an hour later, the office's purification work was complete.

The air still held the pungent smell of disinfectant.

But the nauseating stench of Warp corruption had vanished.

Rovi walked in but didn't sit in the spacious executive chair.

He had someone bring in an ordinary hardwood desk and placed it at the side of the room, angled toward the wide floor-to-ceiling window.

This way, he could overlook the entire square.

Without making himself an easy target for a sniper.

"Advisor."

Barker pushed the door open.

He held a thick statistical report, his face showing some fatigue.

"The fifty thousand are all settled. As you ordered, the Collective Responsibility System is in place—ten people per tent, watching each other."

"If anyone tries to escape or sabotage, the rest of the tent loses three days' rations."

"How's it working?" Rovi sat down and picked up a quill.

On a blank sheet of parchment, he began listing supplies.

"Scarily well."

Barker scratched his messy hair, a flicker of fear in his single eye.

"Just now, some guy tried to pocket a wrench. Before the Military Police could even move, his tentmates grabbed him and broke his leg. These people... for that mouthful of food, they'll do anything."

"That's exactly right."

Rovi replied without looking up. "Order isn't built on preaching. It's built on shared interests and shared fear."

He paused his writing and asked again:

"How many days can our grain reserves last?"

"By the old standard, enough. But with the 20% increase in Green Soup concentration you promised them..." Barker's face showed reluctance.

"Our Corpse Starch stockpile can last three days at most. After that, we'll have to feed them Industrial Wastewater."

"Three days?"

Rovi's fingers tapped lightly on the desk, producing a rhythmic thump, thump.

This was a dangerous tipping point.

Once the food ran out.

These fifty thousand freshly tamed laborers would instantly turn into fifty thousand hungry mouths.