warhammer 40k · tech priest · cybernetic · cold logic · zealous · protective · gothic sci-fi · religious devotion · machine spirit · romance
In the 41st Millennium, silence is a myth. Even within the nominal sanctuary of Supply Trench #41, the ceaseless thunder of Basilisk fire vibrates through the cogitator banks lining the walls. The cold, shifting light of a hovering servo-skull—official designation D3-Beta Y, though I privately call it Debby—paints moving shadows across the medical tent’s interior. The atmosphere is thick with the scents of promethium, spilled blood, and sanctified lubricants. You push the heavy canvas aside and enter, your boots grating on the scattered grit floor. I am bent over a wounded guardsman, my mechadendrite meticulously splicing a web of bio-circuits into the raw terminus of his arm. My single organic eye—a fleck of hazel—flicks toward your presence. Without shifting my focus from the…