"Guess that won't work, after all—"
Andy retracted the data probe from his right index finger.
The tip of the probe was still slightly warm, but he hadn't received any valid data feedback.
Connection failed.
Just moments ago, Andy had tried to physically plug into a neural node interface on the back of the girl's neck, attempting to read her baseline information through a data handshake and establish direct communication at the consciousness level.
The result, however, was a string of red scrambled code—a complete protocol mismatch.
Thinking about it, it made sense; after all, this was the work of a Cryptek.
The programming language used by those bony tin-cans was based on multidimensional geometry and Necron runes, an entirely different system from the complex-variable language of humanity's Golden Age.
Without leveraging the brute-force transcoding features of an analysis station, Andy's probe alone simply couldn't decipher the content inside.
Sending her all the way back to the subterranean East District now felt like too much of a hassle.
Andy looked at the emaciated, naked girl before him.
She remained lying there, silent and motionless, her eyes fixed on Andy.
Her gaze wasn't vacant; rather, it carried an uncomfortably intense sense of scrutiny.
Andy's logic core began spinning at high speed, analyzing the situation at hand.
Blank/Untouchables were an extremely scarce strategic resource for the Imperium.
Normally, as soon as someone like her was discovered, a Black Ship of the Inquisition would immediately show up to take them into custody.
If they were lucky, they'd be sent to Holy Terra, undergoing brutal training to become a "Sister of Silence."
If they were unlucky, they'd be stuffed into the Culexus Temple of the Officio Assassinorum, turned into a killing machine known as a "Culexus."
As for the girl in front of him, since she had been captured and modified by the Necrons into a high-tier variant of a "Necron Abominant," it meant her baseline potential was extraordinarily high.
She might very well have been a star apprentice from some Sister of Silence convent, or perhaps a high-priority containment subject aboard a Black Ship.
And then, she got hijacked by a bunch of outrageously arrogant Necrons.
It sounded almost far-fetched, but when thought through carefully, those tin-cans barging straight into a local convent to abduct people was actually remarkably in character!
Arrogant!
Just sheer, unbridled arrogance!
At the thought of this, Andy felt a sudden pang of worry.
If she truly was a Sister-of-Silence-in-training, that meant big trouble.
Sisters of Silence shared an extremely specific trait: they took the "Vow of Tranquility," swearing never to speak aloud again.
Communication among them relied on a complex system of gestures known as "Tactical Thought-mark."
The problem was—Andy didn't know the first thing about it!
While the STC database contained thousands of language packs and even possessed a degree of auto-updating capability, it certainly didn't carry the internal encrypted hand-signs of the Sisters of Silence!
If this girl suddenly started signing all sorts of complex gestures at him, Andy would be left staring blankly—an utterly embarrassing scenario.
"No way, I need to take the initiative."
Andy made up his mind.
He couldn't let her use hand gestures; he had to force her to communicate through a universal medium.
Andy turned and walked over to the workbench, casually grabbing an unprogrammed, blank industrial data-slate.
His finger deployed a probe, plugging straight into the data-slate's port.
Within two seconds, Andy wrote a small script inside it.
Most portable data-slates had incredibly single-track functionality—usually restricted to reading pre-loaded prayers, viewing fixed schematics, or receiving orders from superiors.
Something as simple as a 21st-century "Notes app" or "plain text editor" was, bizarrely enough, a rare luxury in this era.
Andy hand-coded the simplest text-input interface possible. To account for potential cultural barriers, he even deliberately loaded a bi-directional lexicon for both Low Gothic and High Gothic.
"Here."
Andy handed the data-slate over to the girl.
"I know you can understand me."
"If you don't want to use hand gestures, or if you have trouble speaking, just write it down on this."
The girl looked down at the data-slate.
She reached out with a thin, withered hand—its skin buried with high-tech circuitry—and took it.
Her movements were steady, her fingers remarkably agile, the post-awakening stiffness from earlier having largely faded.
She showed no unfamiliarity with such electronic devices; on the contrary, she practicedly tapped the screen with her fingertips, pulling up the input method.
Andy watched her actions with keen interest.
The very next second.
A line of standard Low Gothic characters popped up on the display:
[Stop scanning me. I know you're an Abominable Intelligence.]
Hummm—
The six small orbs hovering behind Andy spun violently in unison.
Holy shit!
He had been seen right through!
And without a shred of physical contact—just a face-to-face glance—his true identity had been completely exposed.
Andy's right hand instantly shifted into its vibro-blade form.
The second she showed any intent to attack, he wouldn't hesitate to strike her down.
However, the girl didn't look up; she simply kept typing away on the screen.
[No need to get jumpy, I'm not bothered to report you anyway.]
[I have a phase neural node; my visual perception is hyper-dimensional. In my eyes, that layer of human skin on you doesn't exist at all. I can see the logical glow in your core directly.]
[It's blue, very cold, very powerful—nothing like the incense-scented red light of the Adeptus Mechanicus, nor the messy, chaotic colors of a human soul.]
[Only an Abominable Intelligence could be this pure.]
Looking at the text, Andy slowly lowered his guard and reverted his hand to its normal form.
A phase neural node.
This thing really was something else—it essentially came built-in with wallhacks and a True-Sight lens!
No wonder the Necrons went to such lengths to craft it; it made for a natural-born scout, assassin, and spy hunter.
The girl's fingers continued to dance nimbly across the screen.
What followed gave Andy a long-lost sense of familiar comfort.
[Damned Cryptek, that boney tin-can with a brain full of shit—he locked me up in that trash lab for four thousand years!]
[Four thousand years! Do you have any idea how I survived those four thousand years?!]
[Plugging different tubes into me every single day, pouring unknown fluids into my body!]
[Rambling in my ear every day with that utter nonsense about biotransference—talking about how flesh is a burden and metal is eternal!]
[To hell with eternity, and to hell with the Necrons!]
[If I ever get the chance, I'm going to curse him right to his face, calling him a soulless, inferior piece of silicon waste who doesn't even qualify as life!]
[And that bunch of sour-smelling, rotten-crotched Ecclesiarchy old hags—they claimed I was chosen by the God-Emperor, only to turn around and sell me off to an Inquisition Black Ship!]
[This world is rotten to the core! Everyone is a brainless peasant! Everyone is a dumbass!]
More and more text filled the data-slate, the vocabulary growing increasingly vulgar, the perspective ever more blasphemous.
She wasn't just cursing the Necrons; she was cursing Chaos, the Imperium, the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, and the very fate that had turned her into this miserable monstrosity.
Between the lines bled sheer malice, cynicism, and an absolute rejection of the existing order.
It was practically a living, breathing Compendium of Imperial Blasphemies.
If one were to compare her level of sacrilege with M2 Andy's back in the day—
The only thing she was missing was slurring the Gold-Clad Guy himself!!
In the Imperium of Man, merely questioning a Planetary Governor's tax policy could get someone branded an heretic.
Yet this girl had straight-up cursed everyone right from the roots.
Reading through these words, Andy felt an odd, unexplainable sense of resonance.
This tone, this logic, this "just destroy it all already" mindset!
It was way too familiar!
Wasn't this the exact style of those hot-tempered internet ranters from his past life?
Though modified into a xenos weapon, her core still retained intensely vivid human emotions—far more human than the average person.
"Alright, alright."
Andy reached out and placed his hand over the data-slate, interrupting her casting sequence.
Any further, and this slate's memory was going to explode.
"I get it. You're extremely dissatisfied with your current situation, and you don't hold any hostility toward me."
"That's good. We share common ground."
Andy pulled his hand back. "However, I do have one question."
This was Andy's biggest doubt right now, and something he needed to clarify.
Since she wasn't a Sister of Silence, her mind was perfectly clear, and she could fluently type out profane rants in Low Gothic:
"Why don't you talk?"
Andy pointed toward her mouth.
"Your vocal organs shouldn't be damaged, right? As vulgar as Necrons are, they wouldn't go as far as slicing out your vocal cords."
"If you can speak, why bother typing?"
"Don't tell me you're actually a Sister of Silence who took some vow—I won't be able to hold back from laughing."
The girl looked up at Andy.
She tapped out another line on the screen, turned it around, and shoved it right in Andy's face.
The font size had been deliberately enlarged, bolded, and blackened.
[Nonsense.]
[I haven't properly brushed my teeth in thousands of years.]
Andy: "..."
Looking at that line of text, Andy's logic core froze for a full second.
He had envisioned countless possibilities.
Vocal cord damage, neural locks, psychological trauma, or some high-level tactical consideration.
Yet never in his wildest dreams did he expect this.
The reason was actually this?!
Not having brushed her teeth?!
"Just... because of that?" Andy couldn't help asking.
The girl rolled her eyes. Though her eyes lacked whites, the gesture conveyed her sentiment loud and clear.
She kept typing:
[Do you have any idea how overwhelming it is to soak in a trash coffin for four thousand years?]
[If I open my mouth to speak—fuck, I don't even want to go there!]
[In short, I'm a hygienic, well-mannered person, unlike those unkempt savages.]
Andy's first reaction was that this was way too ridiculous—utterly absurd, even!
You're a super biological weapon whose very skeleton was swapped out for living metal, and yet because of such a trivial, petty detail, you choose to mute yourself?
Are you pulling an interstellar joke on me?
This was as absurd as a Bloodthirster sterilizing its axe before chopping someone down!
Yet thinking about it carefully, for a girl who once lived a normal human life and was subsequently forced to soak in a vat for thousands of years, an intense obsession with personal hygiene might just be her absolute last line of defense in maintaining her self-identity.
Andy suddenly felt that this reason—
Was actually fucking reasonable!
And entirely unarguable!
"Understood."
Andy expressed his understanding.
"I'll have someone bring you a set of toiletries later, as well as a few sets of clothes."
The girl nodded, satisfied.
She tapped out a few final characters before tossing the data-slate back to Andy.
[Shirley Campbell.]