The motors of the six automated sentry guns were still humming.
Red laser aiming dots were firmly fixed on Cyril's brow and left chest.
Cyril did not move.
He merely raised his hand, the one smeared with grease and lime powder, and made a few grasping motions in the air. As if grabbing something invisible.
"Listen."
Cyril's voice echoed through the hall.
One-Eyed Jack's finger rested on the trigger, knuckles white, the gun muzzle trembling erratically with his breath.
"Listen to what? S-Stop playing tricks!"
Jack roared, spittle spraying everywhere.
Cyril did not even glance at him.
His gaze passed over Jack's twisted face, landing squarely on the Rust Sage's still-rotating electronic eye.
"It's screaming."
Cyril took a step forward.
His shoe sole stepped into a puddle with a splat.
The sentry guns' servo motors turned in response, barrels heating up, ready to riddle the man before them.
The mechanical tentacles behind the Rust Sage spread open, scalpels and bone saws grating in the air.
"Screaming?"
The static from the speaker grew shrill.
"Sensors show ambient noise levels are normal. No screaming. Only heartbeat, its frequency unnaturally steady."
Cyril smiled.
That smile looked especially sarcastic on his paint-smeared face.
"That's why you're mediocre."
He pointed at the pulsating purple crystal on the altar.
"You only believe in the line on the oscilloscope. You can't see the souls you forcibly crammed inside, tearing each other apart."
Cyril walked up to the nearest cultivation tank.
He ran a finger across the thick glass, leaving a clear fingerprint.
"How much have you invested? Three years? Five?"
The Rust Sage's electronic eye flickered.
"This project commenced 27 months ago. Cost: four hundred thousand throne coins. Consumed 412 experimental subjects."
The Sage coldly reported the data, his tone was cold and mechanical.
Cyril shook his head.
"Four hundred thousand, for a pile of scrap metal."
He turned around, his back to the gun muzzles that could end his life at any moment.
"This crystal's purity is too low. Too many Slaanesh residues inside. Trying to filter Warp energy with mechanical devices is a joke in itself."
"It's like trying to hold water with a fishing net."
The Rust Sage's tentacles froze.
The skeletal human hand paused on the control console.
Cyril had hit his sore spot.
For the past half year, no matter how the parameters were adjusted, the survival time of successful subjects never exceeded 48 hours.
Genetic collapse.
Organ failure.
And that unexplainable psychosis.
"You know why the failure rate is so high?"
The Rust Sage's head jerked around, his mechanical neck joint emitting a crack-crack sound.
"How do you know?"
Cyril pointed to his own head.
"I saw it."
"The resentment of those who died in these tanks hasn't dissipated. They told me this place is a slaughterhouse, not a sanctuary."
One-Eyed Jack finally could not hold back.
The anger of being ignored overpowered his fear.
"Shut up! I'll blow your head off!"
He raised his gun muzzle, aiming at Cyril's head, ready to pull the trigger.
Zzzzt—!
A red light flashed.
One of the Rust Sage's mechanical tentacles shot out faster, striking Jack's wrist directly.
Crack.
The sound of a bone breaking was clearly audible.
"Ahhhh—!"
Jack screamed in pain, the bolter flying from his hand, smashing onto the distant iron floor and discharging a burst of sparks.
He clutched his wrist, kneeling on the ground, his one-eyed face covered in cold sweat.
"Sage! He's that monster! The one who triggered the thunderstorm in the alley that day!"
Jack's face contorted with pain, still roaring.
"He's lying to you! Kill him! Kill him now!"
The Rust Sage ignored Jack's shouts.
His red single eye fixed on Cyril.
"Explain."
The mechanical voice carried a killing intent that promised immediate cleanup if unsatisfied.
Cyril brushed the dust off his hands.
"Allow me to introduce myself."
He straightened his posture. Though his face was still dirty with paint, his aura had changed.
It became lofty.
It became dangerous.
"My name is Valdo. A freelance psyker."
Cyril gave the long-prepared alias.
"Psyker..."
The Rust Sage's processor whirred at high speed.
He was searching his database, trying to match this name.
No results.
"Don't bother looking."
Cyril pulled the crushed pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and placed it between his lips.
He did not light it.
"I don't belong to any cult, and I don't work for the Inquisition. As long as the price is right, I'll take anyone's job."
He pointed outside the door.
"Originally, that fool Morozha paid me to investigate you. But once I came in, I found this place more interesting than I imagined."
"The pittance Morozha paid isn't enough to buy my life. But your research..."
Cyril paused, his gaze greedily sweeping over the purple crystal.
"...this thing is worth my effort."
The Rust Sage was silent for three seconds.
"Prove it."
Two words.
No extra emotion.
Cyril took the cigarette down, holding it between his fingers.
"Your containers fail because they haven't undergone 'Warp Consecration.' Warp power is conscious. If you treat it like electricity to be channeled, it will resist, burning your circuits, blowing up your subjects."
He walked to the edge of the altar.
The crystal seemed to sense something, its pulsation frequency doubling.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Pale purple ripples spread through the hall.
Lil Mouse clutched his chest, feeling his heart was about to leap from his throat.
Cyril extended his hand, palm facing the crystal.
"You need someone who can communicate with it."
"That would be me."
"Only a container 'consecrated' by a psyker can truly tame this power. Turn it from a raging beast into docile livestock."
The Rust Sage's tentacles began to retract.
The sentry guns' red lights turned yellow.
This was an alert status, but no longer immediate shoot to kill.
This theory was logically sound.
The Adeptus Mechanicus archives did contain records of 'Psychic Resonance,' but that was forbidden knowledge only high-ranking Inquisitors or Space Marine Librarians possessed.
If this man before him truly understood... the bottleneck that had plagued him for three years might be broken tonight.
"What do you need?"
The Rust Sage spoke.
This was the precursor to a deal being struck.
The corner of Cyril's mouth lifted slightly.
The fish had taken the bait.
"Three conditions."
He raised three fingers.
The forged calluses on his fingers looked exceptionally real under the light.
"First, payment."
"Upon completion, I want three ounces of the first condensate produced by this crystal. Also, I'll handle things with Morozha. You cannot expose me."
The Rust Sage nodded.
"Reasonable. What else?"
"Second."
Cyril turned, pointing at Cultivation Tank No. 3.
The boy with the metal spine inserted was still convulsing inside, foaming at the mouth.
"I want this subject."
Lil Mouse's head jerked up, the fear in his eyes turning to shock, then to a kind of desperate hope.
The Rust Sage glanced at the boy.
"That is Subject 37. Severe rejection reaction. Won't survive the night. What use do you have for scrap?"
"Scrap?"
Cyril scoffed.
"In my eyes, he's the only treasure here."
"His soul frequency is the closest match to this crystal. When the crystal pulsed just now, only his reaction was synchronous."
Cyril walked to Tank No. 3, placing his palm against the glass.
"I'll use him as the 'Medium.' The Consecration ritual needs a vent. Sacrifice him and channel those violent impurities into him. He'll die horribly, but the crystal will be purified."
After hearing this, Lil Mouse trembled all over.
He wanted to shout, to plead.
But Cyril, with his left hand hidden behind his back, made an extremely subtle gesture to him.
It was Black Hand Gang sign language.
Shut up.
Lil Mouse bit his own tongue, filling his mouth with the taste of blood.
The Rust Sage did not need to think.
One dying subject in exchange for the project's success.
It was a profitable calculation.
"Approved."
The Sage waved a tentacle, and the locking mechanism on Tank No. 3 disengaged.
"Third condition."
Cyril turned around, his gaze sweeping over One-Eyed Jack on the floor, finally settling on the Sage.
"Clear the area."
"Once the Consecration ritual begins, there must be no uncertain interfering factors around me that could disrupt it. If it fails, Warp energy will spill out, and this place will be consumed by the Warp."
"I don't want anyone disturbing my ritual."
"One hour. Give me one hour of absolute solitude."
One-Eyed Jack scrambled up from the floor, clutching his broken wrist, his face twisted like a demon's.
"No! Absolutely not!"
Jack shouted at the Sage.
"He's lying! He's stalling! This guy is full of tricks! Leave him alone here and he'll destroy the sanctuary!"
Cyril did not even look at Jack.
He just stared at the Rust Sage.
"Cooperation or combat, a wise Sage like you will surely make the optimal choice."
The Rust Sage turned his head.
His red electronic eye looked at Jack.
"Jack, get out."
Jack froze.
"Sage..."
"That's an order."
The Rust Sage's voice rose a few decibels. The surrounding sentry guns simultaneously swiveled, their muzzles aimed at Jack.
"Or do you want to be the next subject?"
Jack looked at the black gun muzzles, then at Cyril's indifferent face.
He was unwilling.
But he did not want to die.
"Fine... fine..."
Jack gritted his teeth, picking up the bolter from the floor.
"You witch, I'll be waiting at the door. If you dare pull any tricks, I'll skin you alive."
With that, he stumbled toward the exit.
The Rust Sage operated the control console.
The blast walls around the hall began to rise, revealing the passageways outside.
"You too, get out."
The Sage's tentacle pointed at Lil Mouse.
Little Mouse's legs were so weak he could not stand.
Cyril walked over, hauled him up, and gave him two heavy pats on the shoulder.
"Scram. You're of no use here."
He whispered extremely quickly into Lil Mouse's ear.
"Go to the ventilation shaft for the rendezvous."
Then he gave a hard shove, pushing Lil Mouse toward the door.
Little Mouse staggered out, not daring to look back.
Only two people remained in the hall.
And dozens of monsters floating in the tanks.
"I will also leave."
The Rust Sage unplugged the data cables connected to his body.
"All surveillance and defense systems will remain active. If you dare damage any equipment, within three seconds you'll be dust."
"Don't worry."
Cyril took out the glass jar containing the spinal column from his coat, placing it on the altar.
"I'm a businessman. Businessmen value credibility most."
The Sage took one last look at the boy in Tank No. 3, then turned and walked out.
The heavy blast door slammed down.
The sound of hydraulic locks engaging was like the closing jaws of a great beast.
The hall fell into dead silence.
Only the crystal continued its tireless pulsation.
Thump. Thump.
Purple light illuminated Cyril's face.
The layer of pretense and indifference on his face instantly vanished, replaced by extreme calm and focus.
Cyril walked to Tank No. 3.
He looked at the painfully contorted boy inside.
"The deal is made."
He said quietly.
"Now, time to work."
Cyril reached into his sleeve, his fingertips touching the cool tube of potent sedative.
And the scorching rose knot.
Time.
One hour.
He had to turn this place into ruins within an hour.