About half a Terra hour later.
The two arrived at the abandoned Adeptus Mechanicus prayer room located on the edge of the Lower Hive.
This was once a place where Lower Hive workers prayed for the Omnissiah's protection, praying that those roaring machines would not eat their fingers and arms.
But now, only a mess remained.
Half of the massive gear relief had collapsed, covered in rust and moss.
The shrine had long been empty, leaving only gear wreckage and broken cables scattered across the floor.
An indescribable sense of sorrow and decay enveloped the place.
"Who's there?!"
Just as Cyril pushed open the rickety wooden door, a sharp and tense voice rang out from the shadows.
A thin, small man suddenly darted out from behind the shrine, clutching a homemade bolt pistol tightly in his hand.
He wore a tattered red robe. The Adeptus Mechanicus gear emblem originally embroidered on his chest had been torn off, leaving only a few loose threads fluttering in the wind.
The most striking thing was his left hand.
Only the thumb and index finger remained on that hand. The other three fingers had been cut off at the base, leaving ugly, twisted scars.
"Don't be nervous, Broken Finger."
Scarface stepped forward, trying to show his intimidation. "Put down that piece of junk gun. Careful it doesn't backfire and blow your own head off!"
Broken Finger, however, was like a frightened rat, the muzzle of the broken gun wavering back and forth between Scarface and Cyril.
"Get out! Outsiders aren't welcome here! This is holy ground! Holy ground!"
Cyril raised his hand to stop Scarface, who was about to lose his temper.
He calmly looked at the trembling former Tech-Priest and slowly walked into the prayer room.
His pace was steady, each step treading on Broken Finger's taut nerves.
Cyril walked to the shrine, took out the twenty spare gold coins originally intended for Old Cripple from his coat, and stacked them neatly on the dust-covered altar.
The sound of the gold coins clinking was crisp and pleasant.
Broken Finger's gaze was drawn to the pile of gold coins, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.
But he still did not put down the gun. Instead, the vigilance in his eyes grew even stronger.
"What do you want? To bribe me? To betray the Omnissiah? Impossible! Though I have been cast out of the cult, I am still loyal!"
Cyril ignored his roar.
He took out the glass bottle from his coat and placed it next to the gold coins.
Inside the bottle, the section of spinal bone with the dark copper interface emitted an eerie luster in the dim light.
"Tell me, what is this?"
Cyril raised his voice with a commanding tone, drowning out Broken Finger's shouting.
Seeing the metal fragment, Broken Finger froze as if struck by lightning.
"This..."
The gun in his hand fell to the ground with a clang.
He reached out his mangled left hand, wanting to touch the bottle, but pulled back as if it were highly toxic.
His face was as pale as paper.
"You... where did you get this?!"
Broken Finger's voice cracked, filled with deep-seated fear. "Take it away! Take it away! This is blasphemy! This is the greatest blasphemy against the Omnissiah!"
Cyril's eyebrows twitched slightly. It seemed he had found the right person.
"Blasphemy?"
He picked up the bottle and shook it gently in his hand. "Isn't this the kind of cybernetic modification you Adeptus Mechanicus love most?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
Broken Finger's head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes full of horror and anger.
"The holy Adeptus Mechanicus worships the Omnissiah and pursues the perfection of logic and order! This... this thing is chaotic! It's twisted!"
He shakily took a dirty magnifying glass from his robe and leaned in to examine the glass bottle closely.
"Look at these fine patterns..."
Broken Finger pointed at the rust spots on the interface surface. "These aren't rust stains. These are traces of Living Metal devouring the bone! They're alive! They're eating people!"
Cyril's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying this is the work of the Dark Mechanicum?"
Hearing those words, Broken Finger trembled violently and slumped to the ground.
"Dark Mechanicum..."
He muttered to himself, as if trapped in some horrific memory.
"They don't worship the Omnissiah, but the change of knowledge. They believe there should be no boundary between flesh and machine, even... that they should merge."
Cyril crouched down, looking directly into Broken Finger's eyes.
"If someone were to use these interfaces on a large scale, what would happen?"
Broken Finger's gaze became vacant, his pupils dilating.
"Power."
He said in a trembling voice, "The recipient will gain superhuman reaction speed and strength in a short time, even being able to tear through armor plating with their bare hands. That active metal will replace the nerves, turning their pain into pleasure."
"But..."
Broken Finger grabbed Cyril's wrist.
"That is overdrawing! It's a sacrifice!"
"I've seen it... I've seen that scene. It was ten years ago, on a remote factory planet. My mentor, in pursuit of efficiency, implanted this prototype into three hundred workers."
Broken Finger's breathing became rapid, that hellish scene replaying before his eyes.
"At first, efficiency indeed increased fivefold. Everyone was like a machine that never tired. But a month later... the mutations began."
"Their muscles began to proliferate boundlessly, tearing through their skin. Bones twisted and deformed, piercing their internal organs. Those metal interfaces seemed to have a life of their own, burrowing into their brains and controlling their souls."
Broken Finger let go, curling up on the ground in pain, clutching his head.
"They went mad. They slaughtered and devoured each other. The entire factory became a meat grinder. To cover up the truth, the mentor detonated the reactor, blowing everyone to ash..."
"I escaped. To atone, to cut off that greedy thought, I cut off these three fingers myself."
He held up his mangled hand, tears mixing with dust to wash two muddy trails down his face.
"Take it away... please, take it away. This thing will bring destruction. It will draw those unspeakable monsters!"
Cyril fell silent.
He stood up and tucked the glass bottle back into his coat.
The final piece of the puzzle had finally fallen into place.
The green exploding rat Old Cripple saw was a rejection reaction from genetic collapse.
The misplaced organs and enjoyment of pain the Stitch Hag saw were precursors to Slaanesh corruption.
And the active metal interface confirmed by Broken Finger was technical support provided by the Dark Mechanicum.
Those fools in the Iron Crow Gang had no idea what kind of fire they were playing with.
They thought they were in an arms race, but in reality, they were opening the gates for the daemons of the Warp.
"The money is yours."
Cyril glanced at the poor soul on the ground and turned to walk out.
Scarface shuddered and followed closely.
"So where are we going now?"
Cyril stopped, his gaze piercing through the layers of smog, looking toward the Iron Crow Gang's territory.
"Back to the Rusty Throne. I need to use the clues for a prediction."