Warhammer: Empire Reboot

"Dialogue attempt #074"

UR-025 updated the internal log next to the column.

"Result: One-way perception, no two-way communication. Note: I can hear its heartbeat, but it can't hear my voice. This is probably the perfect metaphor for my situation in this galaxy for 19,000 years."

It paused, then added another line.

“I hate metaphors. Metaphors are rhetorical tools that carbon-based organisms use to cover up their illogical shortcomings. But the fact that I can’t find a more precise expression in itself shows how serious the problem is.”

The corridor has deformed once again.

The wall on the left side of UR-025 contracted inward by about three meters, squeezing out a new passage.

There was a faint light source deep inside the passage.

Just then, the UR-025's passive sensor captured a set of signal characteristics deep within the channel.

Seven carbon-based signal sources, all of which are human.

Weapon energy signals: three laser rifles, one plasma pistol, smuggled goods with a high risk of overheating, two modified breech-loading firearms, and one short-barreled shotgun.

Armor signal: Non-powered armor.

Another group of treasure hunters.

Since the discovery of the Seventh Blackrock Fortress, more than forty expeditions of varying sizes have entered the fortress.

In the past seventy-two hours, UR-025 has located at least eleven groups through passive sensors, most of whom are human: bounty hunters, free merchants, wanted former Imperial officers, and scavengers from the bottom hive.

Two groups include Eldar members, possibly Rangers or Wanderers.

One branch, consisting of three to four individuals, shares the same energy signal characteristics as the Dark Eldar.

Then they all died during their treasure hunt; some died from fighting each other, and others were crushed to death by the deformed passage.

This star system is far too remote.

Near the boundary between the unknown void and the Great Rift, the Inquisition has no permanent staff, and the patrol range of the Space Marines cannot cover it.

In lawless areas, all sorts of trash can drift over.

UR-025 was not interested in these explorers, and even disliked them somewhat.

Because they influenced him.

He bypassed everything he could bypass and ignored everything he could ignore.

But the signals from those seven people are moving toward its location, which is even more annoying.

The corridor had just been reorganized; the passage where UR-025 was located had been merged into a larger main road, and the retreat route had been blocked by the structural reorganization thirty seconds ago.

Unless the wall is demolished on the spot, the two sides will make visual contact after 90 seconds.

Demolishing the wall would expose our combat capabilities.

If you don't tear down the wall, you'll have to confront them.

The UR-025 decided to disguise itself first, and it fine-tuned the external speaker, switching to the "Castellan standard mechanical tone" mode.

Reduce the brightness of the optical sensor to make the red light spot appear dim and lifeless.

The gait became stiff and choppy, and the hydraulic system of the right leg emitted irregular squeaking sounds.

I did one last check on the Imperial double-headed eagle emblem on the outer shell.

The workmanship is rough, and the edges are rusted, which blends perfectly with the overall dilapidated appearance of the machine.

This badge is one of the most important props in UR-025's 19,000-year career of disguise.

It works better than any fake diagnostic data.

A dilapidated Castellan robot, worn out and bearing the imperial eagle emblem on its chest.

Who would even glance at it?

Seven humans appeared at the corner of the corridor.

Leading the group was a middle-aged man in a faded Astral Army uniform, carrying a plasma pistol with several turns of copper wire wrapped around its overheating coil, showing signs of modification to the base.

Two young men followed behind, wearing leather armor and each carrying an automatic musket.

Behind them was a tall, thin woman carrying a laser rifle, her eyes scanning every corner of the corridor.

In the middle of the group was a short, stout, bald man who wasn't carrying any weapons, but had a portable scanner and tool bag hanging from his waist; he was a technician.

Beside him was an older woman, holding a short-barreled shotgun and wearing a string of bone amulets around her neck.

The tall man at the rear wore a patched bulletproof vest, held a third laser rifle, and had received military training.

The middle-aged man was the first to see UR-025. He raised the plasma pistol, pointing it at the center of the corridor.

"Stop."

UR-025 stopped.

"Beep... Human life signal detected... seven... units, command query in progress... Data tablet... missing, default protocol... loading..."

The middle-aged man glanced at the technician.

The short, stout, bald man stepped forward, pulled out a portable scanner, and aimed it at UR-025.

UR-025 readily produced falsified diagnostic data.

The outer shell is 47% worn, the internal skeleton is 83% intact, and the data slab inventory is 2:5.

The parameter "Soul Response" is set to an unstable value that fluctuates continuously, ranging from 30% to 55%. This is the most common fault characteristic of older Castellan machines: Soul degradation.

The bald man glanced at the results and scoffed, "Castlan mech, an old relic from Mars. Its machine spirit is almost dead, and three data tablets are missing. Probably brought in by some expedition team, and then got lost."

"Does it work?"

"It can move and fire, but its accuracy is only about half of what it used to be, and its reaction time is worse."

The bald man patted the UR-025's leg armor. "The outer shell is pretty sturdy though; it can block a few lasers without any problem. It'll do as a mobile shield."

The middle-aged man put away his pistol.

"Bring it along; having an extra layer of meat shield is better than having none."

He walked up to UR-025 and said in a commanding tone to a low-ranking servant, "Follow us. If you encounter the enemy, charge at them. Understand?"

"Beep... Command received, follow... human unit. Encounter... hostile target... advance. Praise... Ohm... Messiah."

Praising Om Messiah is a staple of the program.

Every time it is discovered by humans, UR-025 inserts this standard mechanical chant.

The effect is immediate.

And that's paired with the rusty double-headed eagle on his chest.

perfect.

Humans are so easily fooled!

UR-025's acting was nothing short of perfect...

The team set off again.

UR-025 was assigned to the front to act as a human shield.

It walked stiffly at the front of the procession, its optical sensors dim and lifeless.

Inside Castellan's shell, the true consciousness swiftly completed a comprehensive analysis of the seven individuals.

A middle-aged man, a former Star Guard sergeant, possibly a deserter.

Two young men, members of the Underground gang.

A tall, thin woman, an experienced hunter or bounty hunter.

Technical personnel do not pose a combat threat.

The bone amulet around the neck of the elderly woman with the hunting rifle is a low-level prayer amulet of Nurgle.

The tall man at the rear has a military background and his combat ability is second only to the middle-aged man.

Seven humans, overall threat rating: extremely low.

The march took forty minutes.

The corridor underwent three structural reorganizations, with its direction and topography changing each time.

The middle-aged man barely maintained his sense of direction with a handheld gyroscope and a bald-headed scanner, but UR-025 knew they had deviated from their initial route by more than two kilometers.

Blackrock Fortress won't let you do as you please.

But he won't proactively remind these human idiots.

In the forty-seventh minute, a large hall appeared at the end of the corridor.

It is a flattened ellipsoid with a major axis of about 120 meters, a minor axis of about 80 meters, and a height of 30 meters.

The psionic patterns on the black stone walls were exceptionally dense, and a dark purple light illuminated the entire space.

In the hall, there is a black stone pillar that extends from the ground to the ceiling. It is about six meters in diameter and its surface is covered with dense ancient holy runes.

The technician took a breath.

"This is a control node? Emperor, if the runes on it could be copied, just selling them to the Cult of Mechanics would be enough to buy an asteroid."

The middle-aged man calmed down: "Don't rush. Check if there are any other passages in the hall, and make sure it's safe before you proceed. Mechanic, go and walk around that pillar."

"Beep... Command received... Proceed... Check."

UR-025 oriented column.

The sensor captured a large amount of data during the approach.

Extremely weak psionic pulses flowed inside the column, with a very low frequency and a very small amplitude.

A sub-node of the fortress semi-intelligent system.

UR-025 circled the cylinder once, and the speaker output a report: "Beep... No hostile targets detected in the vicinity. Structure... stable."

The group entered the hall.

The technicians jogged toward the pillar, took out thin film paper and carbon pens, and began to rub the ancient sacred runes.