Bio-Forge

After giving Old John his orders, Rovi returned to the Supervisor's office at the top of the tower.

The heaviness in his heart hadn't lifted after his "undercover visit."

This world's rot ran deep, right down to the bone.

He'd just saved three women with an iron fist. Perhaps he could save thirty, but he couldn't save everyone.

Not unless he could completely change the conditions people lived in.

Or establish a system that could run on its own, even in the darkness.

"Advisor."

Priest Alpha stood before the Holographic Map, though he wasn't looking at it.

His cybernetically enhanced red optical eye was fixed on the Dataslate in his hand, flickering at an astonishing rate.

That meant his core processor was running at an extremely high load, on the verge of overheating.

"What is it? Is that vehicle fixed?"

Rovi took off his dust-covered coat, sank back into his chair, and wearily rubbed his brow.

"Fixed? No. 'Evolved' might be a more accurate description. Though this evolution is a blasphemous beauty, fraught with deadly danger."

Priest Alpha's Mechanical Tentacles trembled with excitement as he projected a series of microscopic images into the air.

In the images, dark-purple metal cells were ravenously devouring and tearing into a pale chitinous structure.

But the next moment, the torn chitin rapidly reassembled into a harder crystal, which in turn pierced the metal cells.

"The Wall of Gluttony's activity is out of control."

Priest Alpha's voice carried a strange mixture of fear and fervor.

"Before, it was merely the product of Plague Power infecting metal, a manifestation of the endless cycle of 'decay and rebirth.'"

"But this time, it absorbed the Genestealer's biological matter. The Tyranids represent the ultimate in adaptation and evolution."

"These two forces have erupted into a fierce war on the microscopic level."

Priest Alpha pointed at the cells, which kept appearing and vanishing, and spoke rapidly:

"Plague Power is trying to corrupt the Tyranid cells, dragging them into eternal stagnation. The Tyranid biomass, meanwhile, is trying to analyze the plague, evolving to become immune to it and consume its foe."

"And the result?"

"They've reached a terrifying dynamic equilibrium." The Priest's voice grew low. "Neither can destroy the other, so they've started seeking more energy to sustain the conflict."

"That means ordinary Walking Dead corpses and low-calorie rotten flesh can no longer meet its maintenance needs. Its metal cells are shrinking from energy depletion."

"If it isn't given high-energy organic matter, it'll turn on its vehicle to get energy—or even digest the living people in the cab."

Rovi fell silent for a moment, lightly tapping his fingers on the desk.

"That doesn't make sense, Alpha." Rovi's gaze sharpened. "If this were just a war of attrition, the structure would've collapsed already. The fact that it can still hold its shape means these two forces have produced a new mechanism while fighting each other."

Rovi stood and walked over to the projection.

"Plague Power gave the metal the trait of 'undeath,' allowing it to repair itself even when damaged. The Tyranid genes gave it the ability to 'adapt,' letting it adjust its structure in response to different kinds of damage."

Then Rovi fell silent again.

After a moment, as if an auditor had spotted a discrepancy in the books, he put forward a bold theory:

"Could the Wall of Gluttony have become a Bio-Forge? Maybe what it lacks isn't energy, but 'fuel.'"

"Does it need the heat from burning high-energy organic matter to suppress the conflict between these two forces, forcibly forging them into a new alloy?"

At that, Priest Alpha shuddered.

It was as if lightning had pierced his logic circuits.

"A Bio-Forge... using heat to suppress the conflict... forging chaotic disorder and greedy evolution into ordered machinery..."

The Priest began to mutter to himself, as he habitually did, his Mechanical Tentacles whipping wildly through the air as if performing some sacred calculation.

"Praise the Omnissiah! If this theory holds, we will no longer be passive caretakers. We will be blacksmiths with hammers in hand!"

Watching the Priest fall into a state of fervor, Rovi didn't smile.

He went to Alpha and pressed a hand against the Priest's still-trembling mechanical arm, forcibly interrupting his calculations.

"Alpha." Rovi's expression was unusually grave. "Do you know what this means?"

The Priest froze. The red light in his augmetic eye gradually steadied.

"It means that the path you're about to take is one even the Dark Mechanicum has never walked. And even if they have, no one has ever made it back alive."

Rovi warned him solemnly:

"You're trying to use mortal wisdom to harness the curse of gods and the nightmares of the universe. This road is bound to be extremely dangerous, and filled with a loneliness no one else will understand."

"Once you're exposed, the Fabricator General on Mars will personally order you dismantled for parts. Your name will be carved into history's pillar of shame, and the world will curse you."

"You could even be forsaken by the Machine God."

This time, Priest Alpha remained silent for a long while.

He lowered his gaze to his hands, cast from steel, and only after a long moment did he speak.

"Advisor, the first time I saw metal growing like flesh on that Harvester, I knew there was no going back."

The Priest raised his head. His voice had regained its usual composure, and he spoke solemnly:

"Truth is often hidden in the deepest heresy."

"If protecting this Granary, protecting the lifeblood of the Imperium, means someone has to leap into the abyss to steal the spark, then... why shouldn't it be me?"

He extended a Mechanical Tentacle and gently clasped Rovi's hand.

The touch of cold metal came, yet it gave Rovi a warmth he'd never felt before.

"I have a request, Rovi."

It was the first time the Priest had called him by name instead of using the title "Advisor."

"You already know that the highest protocol written into my logic core is called 'loyalty.'"

"But I am also made of flesh and blood. My brain could still be corrupted by whispers from the Warp."

Priest Alpha pointed to the interface socket at the back of his head, where a blue light flickered.

"If one day, my hunger for power exceeds my reverence for the truth..."

"If the forces of darkness overwhelm my loyalty to the Emperor, and the self-destruct device in my body fails..."

The Priest pleaded, his voice almost humble:

"Please, you must kill me with your own hands. Don't hesitate. Don't show mercy. Use your Boltgun to blow my logic core to pieces, along with this head."

"I don't want to become one of those monsters that only ooze pus and praise decay. I want... to die cleanly, as a human being."

Rovi gazed at the face that was half flesh and half steel, and remained silent for a long time.

He didn't offer cheap comfort like, "That day will never come."

In this world, promises were as flimsy as scraps of paper. Death was the only thing that lasted forever.

Rovi simply rested his hand on the Boltgun holster at his waist, his fingers lightly rubbing the rough leather, and said gravely:

"I promise, Alpha."

It was a promise from one man to another.

And a vow from one madman to another.

At those words, the remaining corner of Priest Alpha's mouth, on his face stained with Machine Oil, stiffly pulled upward.

"Zz... zzz... ha—ha—"

The intermittent grinding of gears came from his Voice Unit.

Rovi didn't know if Alpha had kept an emotional module called "laughter" when he underwent the Adeptus Mechanicus modifications and had his so-called "weak emotions" removed.

But that strange, static-laced sound really did sound happy.

After the "laughter" stopped, Priest Alpha swiftly returned to his cold, technical self.

"Also, Advisor, according to my calculations, our fertilizer reserves will run out next month as heating is restored and the population grows."

"Without fertilizer, output from the fungal greenhouses will plummet. Then we won't even have Green Soup to drink."

They had fuel, but now another shortage had emerged.

It was a vicious cycle.

Rovi walked over to the map. His gaze passed beyond the boundaries of Granary Seven, crossed the dangerous swampland, and finally settled on a red dot.

Granary Nine.

"Kais, pull up the data on Granary Nine."

The holographic projection shifted, revealing a sprawling industrial complex.

"Granary Nine, a seed and fertilizer production facility," Kais Server explained in its electronic voice. "It is also Fertility II's largest primary processing center for Corpse Starch."

"Because the local population is small, it has a small Orbital Elevator Receiving Station, which handles deliveries of 'organic waste'—that is, corpses—from the Hive Cities outside, as well as high-energy organic residue from the Promethium Refinery."

Rovi's eyes narrowed.

High-energy organic residue.

Corpse Starch.

Fertilizer.

Those were the three things he needed most right now.

To feed the greedy Wall of Gluttony.

To keep the land producing food.

To preserve the fragile prosperity they'd just established.

Granary Nine was a strategic point they had to seize.

"What is the situation there now?" Rovi asked.

"Very strange," Kais Server replied. "According to remote Thermal Imaging scans, there are no large concentrations of living beings in Granary Nine. Unlike Granary Four, it isn't crawling with Walking Dead."

"But?" Rovi caught the implication.

"But the temperature there is abnormally high."

Kais brought up a heat map. The entire Granary Nine region glowed a brilliant deep red.

"The temperature in the central area exceeds eighty degrees Celsius at its highest, and it's extremely stable."

"It's like..." Kais Server seemed to be searching for the right word.

"Like a giant oven?" Rovi supplied.

"Yes, Advisor. An oven... baking something."