Compared to the hellish Warhammer Universe Osiris had just escaped—a place with Warp Daemons constantly trying to devour souls, Orks madly craving war, cold and ruthless Necrons aiming to assimilate everything, and the Imperium of Man itself with its dark, oppressive, and fanatical atmosphere that viewed technology as heresy... this equally problematic cyberpunk world was practically "friendly"!
At least here, humans were still the dominant species (though perhaps heavily augmented). At least here there were no whispers of Chaos directly corrupting his brain, and at least here he could roughly understand the technology tree and use it freely without being labeled a heretic!
Most importantly, there was cola, internet, and a relatively "normal" urban and social structure!
"Buddy, re-evaluate the environment." His voice was once again filled with pleasure and lightness.
**Evaluation revised: Based on currently observable data. Environmental parameters: Stable, but with radioactive contamination and extreme weather. Indigenous lifeforms: Moderate threat from mutated species, predictable behavior patterns.
Technological traces: Confirmed characteristics of a late Information Age to large-scale augmented civilization. Detected attempts at long-range communication and energy signals, but network architecture is highly fragmented. No signs of Warp contamination, Ork spore clouds, Xenos hive signals, or large-scale warfare detected.
Overall assessment: The current area's survival environment is harsh but not a continuous combat zone; survival probability is significantly higher compared to most extreme environment templates in the database.**
"Exactly." Osiris gently patted the servo-skull's metallic cranium, his movements almost lighthearted.
"Energy levels are low, but this isn't a front-line battlefield. The network is fragmented, but there are always nodes available. There are mutated monsters, but they're a million times easier to deal with than genestealers."
A sense of loss remained, as he couldn't return to his true home. But more than that, there was a huge sense of relief and... a desire for challenge.
"Alright," he told himself, beginning to scan the repair shop for anything usable. "First step, find myself a reliable power source, then modify this place to at least set up a lab."
This world was terrible, but for him, it might be a place where he could start anew, and even... live quite well.
His boot soles trod on the weathered concrete ground with an almost silent softness, only a faint crunch breaking the stillness as he stepped over gravel.
Osiris walked down the streets of the abandoned town, like a red phantom from another time.
The servo-skull on his shoulder rotated steadily, its hollow eye sockets flickering with faint scanning beams, overlaying constructed architectural wireframes and real-time biological heat signatures like a translucent veil onto his optical sensor's field of view.
The air was filled with dust, ozone, and an indescribable, rusty scent of metal slowly dying.
The radiation index was still high, but for his reinforced respiration filtration system and internal circulation, it was just one of many environmental parameters to be recorded.
Absolute silence enveloped the area, broken only by the wind, the eternal master of this land, tirelessly weaving through dilapidated doorways and empty window frames, playing a hollow and desolate elegy.
Following the low-intensity biological signal clusters marked by the servo-skull, he first headed towards a half-collapsed canopy garage.
As he approached the twisted remains of the roll-up door, a hoarse and threatening hissing sound came from the depths of the shadows.
Immediately after, several hideous creatures lunged out, their skin covered with thick, tumor-like keratinous growths, their eyes degenerated into cloudy white membranes, and their bared fangs gleamed with an unhealthy yellow, clearly products of severe radiation mutation.
"Inefficient evolution, an ugly form twisted purely for survival," Osiris calmly assessed, his tone carrying a hint of the Tech-Priest's characteristic scrutiny of lesser creations. He didn't even consider using any energy-consuming weapon systems.
With a slight mental command, two slender yet incredibly tough his mechadendrites tipped with precision tools shot out from beneath his robe like lurking vipers!
Whoosh! Whoosh!
With two soft sounds, the sharp probes or manipulators at the tips of the tendrils precisely pierced the skulls of the two mutated weasels charging at the front.
Another one, attempting to attack his lower leg from the side, was casually and precisely pinned by his ceramite-reinforced foot. A slight exertion of force produced an unpleasant sound of shattering bone.
The last one was more cunning, trying to circle around using discarded materials for cover, unaware that all its movements had long been captured by the servo-skull's omnidirectional sensors.
The skull's mandible opened and closed, emitting an extremely faint, directed electrical pulse, not for lethal damage, but precisely striking the empty ground in front of its nose, scattering a small burst of sparks and a scent of scorching.
The moment the mutated creature recoiled in fright, another Mechadendrite, lying in wait, extended like a spear, ending its suffering.
"Threat neutralized. Biological tissue has weak corrosive and radioactive properties; isolation is recommended for subsequent handling." He calmly assessed, skillfully flicking off the viscous blood from the tendrils as if merely performing a routine instrument cleaning.
Having dealt with these minor annoyances, he was able to examine the garage more closely. The space was small, about forty square meters, but the main structure was surprisingly intact, not completely buried by sand.
A heavy metal workbench, though covered in rust, was still sturdy. In the corner, there was a pile of rusty tools and several metal boxes of unknown purpose, and even an old vehicle lift with a completely failed hydraulic system.
"Compact space, structural integrity assessed as good, basic tools available... Not bad. With some tidying up, it can serve as a suitable temporary workshop and shelter." He satisfactorily marked this location as a core resource point.
Continuing to explore towards the town center, in a shop with a damaged facade and a missing sign, he encountered the second "resident."
An old disc-shaped cleaning robot, its once smooth white casing now covered in dents, scratches, and reddish-brown rust.
Its optical sensors were murky, flickering with unstable red light, as it meaninglessly repeated fragmented electronic sounds of
*Clean—ing—Mode—Acti—vated—... Error— —* while its top cleaning brush spun at high speed like a headless chicken, abruptly ramming towards Osiris.
Clearly, its underlying logic circuits were damaged, causing it to identify any moving object as an obstacle to be cleared.
"Oh? After all these years, it's still executing its initial directive? This persistence is... somewhat touching, even if its logic is utterly corrupted." Osiris easily sidestepped the erratic charge.
For such low-tech autonomous machines, physical destruction was the last resort.
A data probe quietly extended from his wrist, lightning-fast, connecting to a maintenance port exposed on the robot's back due to shell damage.
"Forcing core directive override. Executing: Deep Sleep Protocol. May your circuits find peace."
The robot's frantic movements instantly froze, its red optical sensors flickered a few times, then finally extinguished completely, and its groaning motors quieted, turning into a truly silent pile of scrap metal.
"Servo units, sensors, and parts of the alloy framework may be salvageable." He made a note, adhering to the principle of maximizing utility.
Osiris returned to the garage, which now bore his insignia, a faint red glow painted by the servo-skull—as a temporary claim marker. He set the disabled cleaning robot near the workbench for later disassembly, then turned his attention to the largest, most pressing problem after energy: mobility.
"A static base of operations in this exposed location is a tactical liability. Rapid relocation is essential," he calculated.
He lifted his optical sensors to the skeletal vehicles resting on the dead lifts. One, in particular, caught his full attention.
It was a utility platform, a large, heavily armored transport, perhaps once owned by one of the defunct corporations listed on the sign. Its tires were fused to the rims, its power train was a rusted disaster, and its original internal electronics were long gone or fried.
However, its chassis was robust—a solid platform he could build upon.
"Target vehicle identified: Robust utility class, chassis integrity 78%, suitable for conversion into a mobile power relay and laboratory," he stated, his vocalizer gaining a crisp quality.
The most challenging task would be repairing the power plant and replacing the primary logic core. This required a massive infusion of energy and materials, both of which were currently scarce.
He needed to find a powerful vehicle reactor and a suitable replacement for the onboard computer.
The first step was a thorough structural and electrical analysis of the vehicle.
His mechadendrites extended, covering the vehicle in a shimmering net of sensor probes, mapping every cable, every metal fatigue point, and every dead circuit.