As my pickaxe strikes the rockface, I can still feel my worn-out elbow bones grinding against each other - like sandpaper against sandpaper, even after upping my dose of Forza. The drug pumped through the filthy tubes jammed up what was left of my nose, thick as engine grease and burning twice as bad. The pain dulled, but never enough. Never enough to forget where I was. Upping my dose might do it, or changing its old tubes, if I could afford it. Just needed to break a bit more rock. Fill a few more carts.

It's darker than a heretic's soul down here, but that's how we like it. Less light means more promethium to pocket. Old tradition since Cheekbones' time. The Deacon hardly ever comes down this deep, and the Servitor assigned to our level is more machine than man now - lost his mind years back along with control of his nethers, like most. Even through my scarred-up nostrils and the tubes, I can still smell the shit and piss caked into his body hair from twenty paces.

"Hey, new blood," I whisper to the fresh meat they've dropped in our section. Poor bastard's shaking so bad he can barely hold his pick. "See how we're working with just half-lamps? That ain't official. We skim the fuel and split it end of shift. Keep your mouth shut about it and you'll get your cut, 'kay?"

A miner tradition since Cheekbones' times.

The new one nods, eyes wide. Most don't last more than a year or two down here. I've survived twenty-one.

"Thanks," he mutters, voice breaking like he's still a youngling. "They said we'd be dead in two weeks."

"Listen to me and you might make three," I jest. My oversized fake-teeth awkwardly click when I speak - I managed to afford ones after my originals rotted from years of mine water and cheap sugarcheese. Between these chompers and the goggles I've saved up three years for, the others call me "Teeth", "Googles", "Pansy", "Wanker"...

The shaft-leader yells: "Quota's up another ten percent. Emperor wants more ore for His guns!"

Everyone groans, but what can we do? The servitor-hauler, me and this month's group of six other Forza-sniffers get into the rusty elevator and the arguing begins. As usual, I get the worst spot - alone, in the farthest corner with more rock than ore. Good. When time comes to negotiate promethium shares, the bigger miners always shout me down. Braga and Skull-Face, both built like void-haulers, pound their picks against the wall to drown me out. Good.

"Three shares for us, one for Goggles!" Braga laughs, showing off black gums.

I don't argue. Not worth the trouble. I just grab my pick and lamp and shuffle off to my section. They think I've gotten the worst by leaving me out without a partner, but I've buried enough "partners" who claimed my work as theirs. Besides, when I return with my quota filled, nobody can argue I didn't earn my keep.

"Off to stroke your little lasgun?" Skull-Face calls after me, and the others laugh.

Let them joke. They don't know what I really do out there in the darkness. They don't know I've memorized every tunnel, every weakness in the rock that could bring tons of stone down on your head if you hit wrong. They don't know I've learned bits of the Omnissiah's lessons that could maybe do something about that servitor that's oozing yellow out of holes it shouldn't, like the Ritual of Lectro-Reincarnation (hah, like they could ever even pronounce that). But I'd never spill it. More skills just means more unpaid work here in the Hole. But I'm great. I'm special. I can read. Add numbers. I'm special. Reminding myself of that keeps me going. I tell it to myself every time I need to endure. Every time I'm beaten up. Laughed at. Urinated on.

I am special.

Every few weeks, or about every month, they shuffle the crews around. "Keep production fresh," the shaft-leader claims, but I know better. It's so we don't get friendly, don't start whispering about things like Cheekbones did before his famous uprising. Smart move on their part. Means I'm always working with strangers until meal-time.

But I saw Cheekbones once, before they took him. Had a house up-level with actual windows. Had eight girls with clean faces and all their teeth. Had meat that wasn't corpse-starch. Had goggles.

That's where I'm headed. Up there with the real folk or down in a rock collapse - either way's a win. Until then, I'll keep swinging this pick, feeling my bones grind, breathing through these scarred nostrils, and pocketing every drop of promethium I can get away with.

My dose is wearing off now. Pain's coming back like knives in the joints. I make a stiff sniff for some more fire in my nose. The pain numbs.

Alone, I hack my pickaxe at a new vein, carefully carving out a glittering shard of... something. I've been finding these black rocks for days now, haven't been telling anyone, haven't been putting it into minecart. A few even look like hands. Even got one that almost looks like a real person's skull, no joke. It looks amazing. And creepy. I'm thinking they're bones of our forefathers, swallowed by the earth to turn into stone, or something. Been pulling some of these out of other people's piles of dirt too, they don't seem to notice. Just another rock for them. These are for me. For Forza. For getting out of here. I should have a good nine days before we get shuffled again, so I'm collecting as many of these pretty things as I can. Should be worth a lot. Must be worth a lot.

---

The rusty bell yells. End of shift. I slip the black rocks deeper into my filth-encrusted pockets before dumping my regular haul into the communal cart. Braga and Skull-Face do the same, sweat-soaked and grunting, their quota barely met. The new blood looks half-dead already. The servitor bleeds more brown-yellow as it pushes the cart into the elevator. Ancient metal groans under our weight, cables stretching as we ascend through kilometers of rock.

The blazing furnace-processors of the Central Hall blinds us temporarily. Hundreds of miners shuffle toward the processing belts, heads down, backs bent. Since Cheekbones, they've tripled the guards - helmeted bastards with shock-mauls and auto-stubbers waiting at every exit. They're eager for any excuse.

"Quota processing for Group Epsilon-19," drones the officer, a pale man with more machine parts than flesh showing below his uniform collar. His mechadendrite scanner hovers over our cart.

I watch the numbers scroll across his data-slate, barely breathing until he grunts approval and stamps our work-cards and hands us our coins. Another day survived.

The marketplace reeks of unwashed bodies, rancid cooking oil, and spilled Forza. I push through the crowd, keeping my coins, rocks, and soda bottles of Promethium tight against me.

I settle against the usual cold stone under the staircase up to one of the old, broken machine rooms that still had that giant hole that Cheekbones blew into it, waiting for the usuals to show up. Not expecting much. Friends are luxury items down here, and luxury don't last long in The Hole.

---

You reminisce on a few past encounters with your closer acquaintances - but who of them are you waiting to meet up with? Who could you possibly call... "friends"? Choose two of the acquaintances below.

>Fatima, medicae, eternal victim
She's arranging medical supplies with trembling fingers when I approach. Three miners fidget behind me, their black hands already fishing their pockets for extra coins.

"P-please forgive m-me," she stutters, performance already in full swing. "I-I-I'm not sure I c-can help you today." Her eyes dart nervously to the side. "M-my supplier was caught by the Arbites."

Right. Of course. Something always happens. I slide six coins across her table. Only then do her eyes widen - a real reaction breaking through the act.

"P-perhaps I could make an exception," she whispers, deliberately fumbling with the Forza vials.

I steady her hands with mine, and fake a smile. Playing her pointless game. Always the same.

>Twitch, fellow miner, ambitious boast
He bounces over to me, his pale-blue eyes wide as ore-plates. Morning dose already kicking in hard.

"Goggles! You beautiful bastard!" His voice cracks, eyes around us turn our way. Guard at the corner fingers his shock-maul.

"Got myself triple quota yesterday - triple!" Fresh bloodstains are on his nose-tubes. Left eyelid spasms wildly. "Celebrating at Mama Mira's tonight." His voice stinks of cheap happydolly. "Got enough for a whole night with the redhead. Yep, that one - oh baby!"

I nod. Know the routine. By midnight he'll be face-down in some drainage ditch, robbed of whatever coins he didn't already pump into his veins.

(Still one more post left)

>Helmet, child miner, quiet spy
The kid huddles in the corner. Oversized helmet tilted forward, concealing his face. Small fingers wrap something in dirty cloth. Notices me watching. Quickly tucks it away.

"D-didn't think you'd come today," he mutters. Eyes scan the marketplace. Always watching. Always counting exits.

I break my nutri-bar in half. I hand it over. He takes it with a nod.

"There's a new mine, Level Gamma," he whispers after sixty seconds of silence. "Less guards. New project."

Most I've heard him speak in weeks.

>Butthole Mary, awkward printer, novice merchant
The massive woman hunches at her usual spot. Fat fingers with warts like small promethium blisters arrange smut-books behind a crate of stolen smoke-sticks.

"Got anything new?" I slide two coins across her makeshift counter.

"Oh! Yes-yes-yes!" Her typical snorting laugh erupts as she fumbles beneath her stall. "Just finished this one, about a hive-worker getting with a lady with some-" voice drops, snorts, gestures two circles in front of her chest, "- really big ones!"

I thumb through pages of crude illustrations. She keeps looking over her shoulder. She's been in The Hole for two months already and she still jumps at everything.

"Family still wanted?" I pocket the book.

"Emperor's teeth, yes." Another nervous snort. Her fingers fiddle with her broken glasses. They got their names and faces on the bounty-boards. Heretics. "Got some real food too now! Not just corpse-starch. Interested?"

>Fourty-Nine, failing servitor
I find him in his usual corner. His mechanical arms dance in rhythmic spasms, he is sorting some rocks with inhuman speed. Then he mixes them. Repeats.

Somewhere in deep in there, his mind is free. He has never tattled on any one of us. He's different.

"Got what you were looking for." I place the jug of Forza where he can see it.

His hairy face twists into something between gratitude and agony. "Th-thanks... calculations indicate... bowel evacuation imminent..." his voice shifts between his natural bass and metallic drone mid-sentence.

The smell hits first. Then the sound. I don't flinch anymore. I help position him over the waste grate while some passing miners pretend to not see anything. I clean him with a rag someone else must've left exactly for this. He can't reach anymore. His rotting half-brain won't let him. For a moment, his vacant eyes meets mine.

"Eighteen percent increase in phosphorous content," he states flatly. He returns to sorting rocks as if nothing happened.

>>6226089
>Twitch
>Helmet

>>6226089
>Fatima
>Helmet

>>6226088
>Twitch, fellow miner, ambitious boast
>Helmet, child miner, quiet spy
Muscle and knowledge. We can handle the rest.

>>6226088
>>6226089
"The child spies for us and trades in secrets. The nurse wields lies and knowledge. They would be the best."
"The miner and the machine are strong! Useful in a fight! They are the obvious choice!"
"Why settle for mere allies when you could be so much more than friends? The two beautiful ladies are all you need."
"The child is alone, poor thing. He deserves a family. The doctor eases pain and keeps people alive. Both need your help."

>Fatima, medicae, eternal victim
>Helmet, child miner, quiet spy

>>6226088
>Helmet, child miner, quiet spy
>Fourty-Nine, failing servitor
I'm weak to the helpless.

Now this, THIS is something special.

>>6226089
Hmm...

>Butthole Mary
Better trading means better profits. On top of that, we could sell her out if we needed an influx of coins, or trust.

>Helmet
Knowledge is the most important commodity of all. Besides that, maybe we can help the kid before he turns out like us.

>>6226088
>Fatima, medicae, eternal victim
>Butthole Mary, awkward printer, novice merchant

>Butthole Mary
>Twitch

>>6226089
>Fatima
>Helmet

I think they make a cute family

>Helmet
>Butthole

>>6226089
>Helmet
>Butthole Mary

>>6226088
>Fatima, medicae, eternal victim
Just in case we catch something in the mines or slums. Sickness in this environment can be fatal.

>Helmet, child miner, quiet spy
Information is very useful.

>>6226089
>Helmet
>Fourty-Nine

11 Helmet
5 Fatima
5 Butthole Mary
3 Twitch
2 Fourty-Nine

Going with Helmet, and tiebreaking by going with both Fatima and Butthole as less close "friends". In the future, I'll tiebreak with compromises or deferring to one choice or another arbitrarily.

Writing

"How can you keep all that scratch for yourself, you little shit? How can you be so selfish? Ungrateful? After everything I fucking do for you!?" I hear Fatima suddenly yelling. I find them a couple of paces away. She's circling Helmet like a starved murder-bird, the kid frozen stiff.

"Oh, Goggles, thank the Emperor." the medicae exhales in relief. "This little mine-rat isn't giving me my cut. Gone all statue on me, like he always does. Can you talk to him?"

"I already paid her fifty percent," Helmet mutters, eyes fixed on nothing, voice hollow.

"What was the hustle?" I ask, already knowing I'll regret getting involved.

Fatima's hands flutter like nervous insects. "Henrik - that new guard, the big bastard from topside with the neck tattoo, you know him? He was looking for someone... of his tastes. Helmet wasn't exactly his preference, but I worked my ass off convincing him otherwise. Did the little guy a solid, even got him proper lube, tranqs, the whole premium!"

"She sold those to Henrik." Helmet clarified.

"I got it FOR YOU you ungrateful shit!" Fatima jabs a yellowed finger into the kid's chest hard enough to rock him backward. "So YOU don't have to suffer through it dry, so YOU can pocket some coin! And what do I get? This fucking mute routine - every damn time!" Her voice cracks with practiced desperation. "Can you at least look at me when I'm talking, you little mine-rat? Emperor's balls, you're causing a scene! You want the guards coming down on all of us?"

Helmet kept still as death.

"So what exactly does he owe you then?" I ask, my fake teeth clicking awkwardly as I try to keep my voice level.

"Nothing. We agreed on fifty," Helmet states flatly.

"That's grox-shit and you know it!" More jabs to his hollow chest. "You should've told me! Should've been a proper friend and apologized, offered the remaining twenty-five percent without me having to drag it out of you! That's what fucking friends do!" She turns to me, eyes suddenly wide and pleading. "Right, Goggles?"

I sigh, feeling the Forza wearing thin in my system, joint pain creeping back. "Helmet's probably cooked after shift, probably got more Forza than blood in his brain. Can't think straight." I run a grimy hand over my precious goggles. "How about sorting your percentages on Mass-Day, eh? When everyone's got fresh coin and clearer heads. Meanwhile-" I give Helmet a look, "the boy probably needs to get some food in him before he drops. I'll make sure he doesn't disappear on you."

Fatima's eyes narrow. She reaches into her filthy med-pouch, fingers twitching with an addiction of her own. "Fine. But I want what's mine, Goggles. Don't think I'll forget." She slips a dented Forza vial into my palm, while I slide my coins across.

"Come on, kid," I mutter to Helmet. "Let's get some food in you."

---

"Hey - over here!" a hoarse whisper cuts through the market. I nudge Helmet, and we get to her stall.

We find her squatting behind a crate with her usual wares of cigs and porn, but now she also had these skull dolls neatly laid out in rows too. "What's good, Mary? Those look nice." I nod towards the new goods.

"F-For real! Got like two hundred baby skulls off this brothel back there. Mad cheap." She laughs with that weird snort. Mary is one of the few down here who can count like I can. "I call them 'skullbabies' and they're... going pretty alright! Helmet, you want one?" Little man just looks away, typical. "For free! You'd be doing me a... big favor if other kids see you with it. Can't exactly be out here advertising and stuff." she presses.

"Guys don't go around with dolls down here in The Hole. That's a girl thing." I explain, wondering if her Hive ran differently.

"True that, ha-ha! Lemme fix that real quick." she pulled out a quill and started to draw tattoos and scars onto the bone, making it street.

"I'll take one of these." I mention as she works, and grab a small booklet made of hyperrecycled paper, the one with the biggest tits on the cover. I drop the two coins it's worth. "Do they grow this... big, at your Hive?" I wonder.

"Hive Legina? Some do, yeah!" Mary's laughter comes in nervous bursts. "Filled with proper plastic. Gotta get someone who knows their stuff or you end up fucked up like my -" she vaguely gestures at her mouth "-Yeah..."

I kneel down closer, dropping my voice. "How'd you get down here anyways? How hard would it be to... get out?"

She clocks the surroundings before answering. "There's people who make a business of it. I'm - uh. I'm still paying for mine."

She goes quiet, eyeing me like she's waiting for me to make a move. "I hear you," is all I offer.

"Helmet! Check your boy now!" she calls. The kid shuffles over, studying his new gift, turning it over in his small hands. "See those sick... tats? Real tough now." Mary grins.

Helmet just nods. "Thank you." he muttered, still staring at the doll.

"I think he likes it." I smirk.

---

I pretend to wander through the winding back alleys of the mining complex, checking twice over my shoulder to make sure nobody's following me. When I reach the massive junkyard that serves as one of the The Hole's many unofficial trash heap, I wait five minutes, watching. Only when I'm completely sure I'm alone I carefully walk over and crawl down a precise path through the waste, down an old tube, past the chassis, then to the right...

Under the pile of garbage is my spot: an ancient chemical storage tank, eight meters tall and four across, from the times when The Hole was young. Took me years to hollow it out proper, seal the cracks, and disguise the entrance.

I pull the camouflaged metal panel back into place behind me. It's completely dark. But miners don't need light.

The familiar smell of rust and old metal greets me as I move confidently through the pitch black. Fifteen steps forward. Turn left, twelve more steps to my sleeping platform. I've memorized every centimeter of this place. My fingers brush against the small metal box where I keep my treasures.

I pull the black rocks from my pockets and carefully add them to my collection. I can feel their strange texture, smoother than any rock should be.

"Yo, homie, whass poppin'? Dis tank be mad cramped fo' a playa like me."

I freeze. The voice - mechanical, strained, with odd clicks and whirs between words - seems to come from my collection box.

My hands fumble for my emergency lamp, finally clicking it on. The weak light shows my collection of black rocks. But now one of them - the one shaped like a skull - has a pinpoint of green light glowing from the middle. By the fucking Emperor.

"Da fuk you lookin' at? Nevuh seen a head befo'? Shiiiiit."

I nearly drop the lamp. "What - what are you?"

The skull's jaw moves slightly, the green lights flickering with each word. "Larry reporting LIVE with the LATEST news from deep inside the tank, you're not going to want to miss this next one, folks." his voice has changed to that of a radio announcer. "So, Goggles, what do y-"

The skull's green light disappeared, went stiff. It was like nothing happened.

Then its jaw suddenly snapped open "HEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEE" it screeched. "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL-"

Dead again. I make the sign of the Aquila.

Adore the Immortal Emperor For he is our Protector.

Admire the Immortal Emperor For his Sacrifice to Mankind.

Honor the Immortal Emperor For his Eternal Stren-

"Listen, fuckface." it interrupts me. "Ain't got much time. You help me get fixed, and I'll let you play with the toy that I got deep down where you found me."

Glorify the Immortal Emperor For his All Seeing Vision.

Praise the Immortal Emperor For his Unending Rule.

"HOMEBOY I-" his voice breaks into static "-ssskkk AIN'T PLAYING NO GAMES. I can't stay awake for too long. Listen. To. Me. Deep down, I got a wild machine, it can...kkkkkKKKRR..."

---

>Shared - Gravity, Time and Space?
"Yo check it, my dude! Wit' dis power you gonna bend GRAVITY like it's yo personal bitch! Make shit float, make shit DROP! Pull guards across da room like - BOOM! Time? Space? All dat shit be yours!- KKKRRT...BREAKING NEWS from the depths of ancient technology! This remarkable device, salvaged from prehistoric civilizations, grants the user UNPARALLELED control over the fundamental forces of our universe! Imagine, dear listener, bending the fabric of reality to your very will! The bearer shall become as vessel for powers divine, for the strength of the ancients shall flow through thy mortal form. Yet know this: thy soul-essence shall forever diminish with each command, a worthy sacrifice for this heretical power. Both thou and I shall wield your might, us both shall command the power that blossoms from you equally, though thy essence alone shall fuel it.

>Restructure Organic Matter?
"And now, distinguished audience, we present the INCREDIBLE matter reorganizer! This magnificent device allows complete restructuring of biological material into ANY form desirable! A miracle of prehistoric engineering, available to ONE lucky winner!...T-T-T-The faithful shall be granted dominion over flesh itself, to reshape and remold. Yet beware, for this power demands sacrifice - souls fed into its hungry maw, ground to their essence to fuel thy works. I shall guide thy hand, for I have studied these ancient ways. BBBBRRRZ- Listen up, homie! Dis machine right here? CRAZY shit! Turn any meat into whatever you want! Need new arms? BAM! Want someone to grow a second head? DONE! Feed some poor suckas into da back and it EATS THEIR SOULS to power dat shit! I know how to use it REAL good, ya feel me?"

>Immortality?
"Behold, the faithful servant shall be granted life eternal through the divine mechanism. Thy soul shall remain tethered to this sacred anchor, and should thy mortal coil perish, it shall be reforged anew. Even I cannot sever this holy bond, though I may delay thy resurrection by my will alone. Y-Y-Yo this the REAL DEAL right here! You DIE? No problem! This big-ass machine just BRINGS YOU BACK! New body, same you! Can't nobody stop it neither - thing's like INDESTRUCTIBLE! I can make you wait a minute before you pop back if I'm feeling petty, but that's IT! EXTRAORDINARY news for our special listener today! What would you say to NEVER DYING AGAIN? That's right, folks! This remarkable ancient technology creates a PERMANENT CONNECTION between your consciousness and a virtually indestructible resurrection device! Death becomes merely an INCONVENIENCE with this phenomenal offer!"

>>6227208
Nice. I'm between the Gravity, Time and Space or the Restructure Organic Matter. Stop me if anything sounds like a stretch.

I'm hoping maybe we can stretch out our use of the soul-essence draining power by mostly limiting it to sending little objects flying into someone, pulling some small part of them, or use of the environment. Atleast until we can work out a better solution. Do we end up like Sauron pouring ourself into a Ring of sorts, a weapon that can be used without further burning ourselves up. Search, come into contact with knowledge, other beings across space and time to work deals out with them seems like it could be very doable.

The body horror power could get pretty crazy. New eyes to see in the dark so we can give ourselves a predatory advantage. Wackass body transformations hidden under the skin. New arms that aren't fucked, or take away his pain. Change other people, or just himself and what it takes to really influence people.

>>6227208
So we sell our souls either way.
I have half my mind to PURGE the heretek, especially, since we're (like all good citizens) believe in the Emperor.
And we should:
> Kick the Forza addiction (1st priority)
> Fix and reinforce ALL our joints and muscles
> Maybe enhanced reflexes

Kicking the addiction by and of itself creates a massive amount of cashflow in our direction

>>6227208
Gravity, Time and Space. The secrets of the universe, right in your hands. Mastery of reality itself is the very height of true power. The other options don't have nearly the potential nor versatility as this one. Never mind the cost. After all, nothing comes for free.
Restructure Organic Matter. Wielding time and space is for cowards. Rip apart your enemies with your bare hands! Empower those who follow until you have an army behind you! How does resurrection help you if you're still weak, pathetic, and miserable? This is your ticket to vengeance and freedom!
Restructure Organic Matter. Not just the strength, but think of how much fun you could have with this! Make the ladies look like those magazines of yours. Make yourself look beautiful and envied by all. What good is immortality if your life is miserable? Oh, and becoming more powerful by sacrificing your enemies is a neat bonus I guess...
Immortality. To exist in a cycle of life and death for all eternity. You'll never have to worry about anything ever again. Who cares about the other gifts if you end up dying before getting to use them?

>Restructure Organic Matter?

>>6227267
We don't have to spend our own soul or body to use the Organic Transformation thing. We could feed it the souls of orphans and make an army of juiced up rats.

>>6227208
>Organic Transformation

>>6227208
>Restructure Organic Matter?
We can feed the machine rodents for small changes, and it seems the least likely to screw us over in the long run.

>>6227208
>Restructure Organic Matter
This seems like the best shot. Fix our broken body, get to be even better than we were.

>>6227208
>Shared - Gravity, Time and Space?

>>6227208
>Shared - Gravity, Time and Space?
This is pretty damn useful.

Is this the skeevy cousin of the Lochnar?
>Restructure Organic Matter?
Spacetime powers sounds like easy mode and immortals get really fucked.

>>6227208
>>Immortality?

>>6227203
Holy shit, Fatima.
>>6227208
>Restructure Organic Matter?
There are plenty of evil souls down here anyway, we'll have plenty of fuel.

>>6227208
>Organic Matter
how many souls are truly above the cost to spend for the power to change our suffering body back into prime shape
even the "good" souls of our friends would do the same if it came down to it
Fatima is no sister of battle she has faith only as it suits her and the moment we lose the coin to pay she'll turn on us like she turned on helmet
Mary would do the same dont think she won't shes actually had a taste of the good life or at least a life better than this she would spend our soul to get it back
even helmet can't be trusted his ears are always listening always keeping quiet and shifty
the only one we can trust truly is us
only us

>>6228201
Yes, only US! Sacrifice everything else; you are the only one you can rely on. The only one you need! Power, glory, vengeance, happiness... they can all be yours. A mere handful of people are all that's left in your way.

I wonder if we get a freebie first use of the organic matter machine just to try it out.

>>6228384
You do, actually, from what was left in the gas tank from when it was first left behind. I'm writing it at the moment, great guess.

The skull - Larry - goes silent. The green light fades.

I stand frozen in my tank. My breath comes in quick gasps. The sign of the Aquila burns on my skin where I traced it.

Adore the Immortal Emperor For he is our Protector.

Admire the Immortal Emperor For his Sacrifice to Mankind.

The words tumble out of my lips in a rush. I've known these prayers ever since I was a soot-boy at the ore-cracker machines. But they sound hollow now. Because look at me - reading porn, pocketting the Emperor's promethium, befriending those fleeing from the law....

Emperor forgive me.

I know what they'd expect me to do. I should smash this abomination, gather every black stone I've collected, and bring them to the Deacon.

But then they'd ask questions. Where did I find them? How long have I been hiding them? What else am I hiding?

And the machine Larry mentioned. The one hidden deeper. What if it's something that could get me out of here? What if it's something that could make me... more?

I place the skull back into my collection box and seal it tight. Sleep doesn't come. I lie on my rusted sleeping platform, joints throbbing as the Forza wears off, staring into darkness so complete it feels solid.

"Fuck it," I whisper to the darkness. "If anyone's going to get this right, it's me."

That's why I've survived 21 years in The Hole. That's why I've got these goggles when others can barely afford nose-tubes. I'm cautious. I'm smart. I'm special.

The skull spoke of restructuring organic matter. Of making flesh obey. Of feeding souls into a machine. Heresy.

It reminds me of when Jhamed wanted to work faster. Do more. Become, more. He had also seen what Cheekbones had achieved, and wanted it too. And he started listening too much to the Tech-Priests. Started getting too chromed. Started asking me to call him...

Fourty-Nine.

That's what happens when idiots play with power they don't understand.

But I understand.

I'm special.

---

The morning horn blares, vibrating the metal walls of my tank. My eyes feel like they're full of mine grit. They're raw and burning. I haven't slept.

I jam fresh tubes up my nose, double my usual Forza dose. The burning is immediate, chemical fire racing through my sinuses and into my brain. My left eye starts twitching, and I can feel my heart rattling in my ribcage. But the sleep and pain vanishes.

I carefully tuck Larry into my inner pocket along with a snack-brick. Both feels much lighter than they should. It's been a while since I've given myself a double hit.

The lift ride is the usual crush of bodies and stink. Braga and Skull-Face already snarling at each other over some trivial bullshit. The new blood looks even paler than yesterday. Won't last a week. My eyelid keeps twitching, vision blurring each time.

"Hey, Goggles," Skull-Face calls out. "You got the shakes? Too much dirty pipe last night?" The others laugh, meaningless sounds from meaningless men.

I just nod, keeping my head down. Let them think what they want. I get my lonely corner as usual, far from the others. Perfect.

I start with a normal rhythm - strike, chip, gather, dump. Establish the pattern. Make it look routine. But I'm working my way toward my hidden stockpile - three days of ore I've been setting aside for emergencies. Enough to meet quota while I dig elsewhere.

When I'm sure no one can see, I fish Larry from my pocket. The skull doesn't move still.

"Wake up," I whisper, tapping it against my pick handle. Nothing.

I hit it again, harder. Still nothing.

"Fucking wake up," I snarl, smacking it sharply against the handle. Then harder. And harder.

The green pinpoint flickers to life.

"YO, WHAT THE FU-"

I clamp my hand over the jaw. "Quiet. Just help me find that machine."

The green light dims then brightens. "Homeboy be trippin'. Can't just be WHACKING a brother upside the-"

"The machine," I interrupt. "You promised. Where is it?"

Larry's jaw clicks a few times. "...KKKKKRT- thirty degrees southeast of your current position, approximately fourteen meters down, assuming standard Imperial measurements which-"

"Down there, got it." I stuff him back in my pocket, his muffled protests vibrating against my chest.

I set to work. My pick strikes with practice. The double dose of Forza keeps me going. With each strike, I uncover more black stones. More fragments shaped like hands, like ribs, like pieces of spine. I collect them carefully. There's a whole lot more in this direction.

After three hours of digging, my pick strikes something that doesn't sound like rock. It rings hollow.

I scrape away more earth, revealing a surface smoother than any stone should be. Black as darkness. No dust clings to it.

Working faster now, I clear away more dirt and rock, feeling the shape emerge. It's like a huge gun sitting an an odd angle in the rock, refrigerator-sized, made of the same black material as the fragments. The front tapers to what could be a barrel. The back... the back has what looks like a grinder, all rows of black teeth on cylinders and strange symbols.

"Found it," I whisper, pulling Larry from my pocket. "Now what?"

I tap the skull a few times until the green light flickers back on.

"BOOM! There it is! The ORGANIC RESTRUCTURER! The FLESH-TWISTER! The-"

"How do I move it?" I interrupt. "It's huge."

Larry's jaw works for a moment. "Slot living organisms into the back compartment. The grinder separates soul from their flesh. Soul powers the device."

I stare at the machine. "What do you mean?"

"KRRZZZT-" Larry spasms. "Breaking news: local miner discovers ancient technology, seems confused by basic theological concepts! The soul, dear listener, is the energy pattern that animates living tissue. This remarkable device harvests that energy for power while preserving the-"

"It kills people," I say flatly.

"TECHNICALLY- yes. But! Should have enough juice still in the tank for one good shot! Turn a man into a big ol' pile of hamburger!"

I stare at the machine, revulsion and fascination mingling in me. Heresy. "And I can change... anything organic?"

"That's what I been SAYING!"

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The twitching in my eye has spread to my cheek.

A heretical device. A soul-eating machine. This was forbidden. This was wrong.

"How much... juice... does it have left exactly?" I ask carefully.

Larry's green eye flickers. "Yo, enough to clean you right up, make you all brand new and then some. Hell, you could be rockin’ that Skull-Face look if you wanted. You down for that?"

I run my fingers over the machine, feeling no seams or joins. Just smooth, perfect blackness.

I could fix my body. No more pain. No more Forza.

Or I could turn someone else into... something else. Something useful.

"And if I wanted more power after that first shot?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Larry's jaw clicks with what sounds almost like laughter. "Then you feed it, brother. You feed it GOOD."

Can I believe this abomination? Is it just a trick? Should I go deeper?

Am I really that special?

Emperor. Please, Emperor. Guide me. What should I do?

I am lost. And scared. Please give me an answer.

---

What does your heart tell you?
>The Emperor wills me to use this device. As long as I use it with virtue and for the good of the Imperium, I am worthy, even if others may not understand it.
>The Emperor does not reply. There is only vast emptiness. As usual. I shall use it for my own good - I will win at life just like Cheekbones.
>The Emperor wills me to investigate this heresy for its proper destruction, and I shall not be tempted into its use.

If you picked one of the first two - You don't want to risk Larry possibly going asleep again for Emperor knows how long, now is your chance to test the machine.
> If it can turn a man into burger, it should be able to do the opposite. Try turning your snack-brick into a human. This should save on fuel too.
> I'll test this device on myself: Make me strong and healthy (optionally add an image for a new appearance)
> Don't use the machine at all right now. What if it's dangerous? A trap? Unstable?
> Write-in

>>6228455
>The emperor bids we use it with virtue
>I want to be returned, Hale and hearty. But I need a way to stay hidden. Make me whole and worthy of the emperor, yet unnoticeable as different. Some sort of disguise capability?

Basically make us psudo started with a kroot shape-shifting

>>6228455
>The Emperor does not reply. There is only vast emptiness. As usual. I shall use it for my own good - I will win at life just like Cheekbones.
We are special.

>I want to be returned, Hale and hearty. But I need a way to stay hidden. Make me whole and worthy of the emperor, yet unnoticeable as different. Some sort of disguise capability?

>>6228461
I agree, if we make ourselves an uhermensch straight away we'll be investigated and then executed.

>>6228461
I meant psudo astarte, with root shape shift

Autocorrect get fucked

>>6228455
>The Emperor does not reply
>Become as healthy and strong as possible, look like picrel, beat up and bring the mine bullies and the Servitor to the grinder

>>6228455
>The Emperor does not reply. There is only vast emptiness. As usual. I shall use it for my own good - I will win at life just like Cheekbones.
what is the emperor care about those down below. If he ever cared at all then he stopped listening long before it was our moment to rise up. Why just win at life like Cheekbones did, why not use this power to make ourselves whole and bring others to their knees begging us to heal their pains, to make them strong, make them forget. We can do better than Cheekbones. WE will do better than Cheekbones. Because WE are special.

>>6228455
>The Emperor wills me to use this device. As long as I use it with virtue and for the good of the Imperium, I am worthy, even if others may not understand it.

>>6228461
Supported.

>>6228455
Stop talking about The Emperor. Use the machine to embrace change. USE IT. [spoiler/]
Stop talking about The Emperor. Use the machine to become strong! USE IT. [spoiler/]
Stop talking about The Emperor. Use the machine to become beautiful. USE IT. [spoiler/]
Stop talking about The Emperor. Use the machine to heal your body. USE IT. [spoiler/]
>The Emperor does not reply. There is only vast emptiness. As usual. I shall use it for my own good - I will win at life just like Cheekbones.
> I'll test this device on myself: Make me strong and healthy (optionally add an image for a new appearance)


>>6228461
>>6228465
>>6228468
The ability to change your appearance whilst also becoming healthy and strong might require two changes. You only have one. We recommend that you choose to be strong on the inside, but your appearance looks like one of the other miners whom you intend to feed the machine with. Steal his identity for a time, and then change back once you've gathered enough fuel. Whilst pretending to be him, trick others into feeding themselves to the back of the machine. Much easier than forcing them.

>The Emperor wills me to use this device. As long as I use it with virtue and for the good of the Imperium, I am worthy, even if others may not understand it.

>>6228455
>The Emperor does not reply. There is only vast emptiness. As usual. I shall use it for my own good - I will win at life just like Cheekbones.
>I should test it out on Helmet first, bring back his health.

>>6228596
An immunity to the damning conditions first, or better a biology that may grow stronger from the constant terrible gasses, rock and promethium may be good.

>>6228455
>The Emperor wills me to use this device. As long as I use it with virtue and for the good of the Imperium, I am worthy, even if others may not understand it.
And
>I want to be returned, Hale and hearty. But I need a way to stay hidden. Make me whole and worthy of the emperor, yet unnoticeable as different. Some sort of disguise capability?

>>6228461
^Support

>>6228468
Shapeshift, naw. We'd be purged like filthy xenos scum, or mutts. And a spes mreen is not that easy to hide, you know. We could feed the machine souls to make us become an actual spes mreen, but we'd get singled out in seconds.

>>6228718
^This actually.
Externally we shouldn't change... much (the mine is dark, so we have bonuses to camo). Internally?
> Kick Forza addiction, makes us be able to act like we're always on Forza. We can even retain the Forza tube connected to an empty can
> All joints replaced by unbreakable ones
> All muscles replaced by ones with high cycle count (drawback: combat ineffective against raw strength, so we need brains against brawl)
> Whatever shit is down there passing as air would be like paradise world atmosphere to our lungs (drawback: actually clean air is now toxic for us)
> Catalepsean Node (The spes mreen organ which allows them to go without sleep)

>>6228904
my friend, reading this post is a whiplash of "so he supports me? or he doesn't support me? but he does?"

I just feel like you ought to know that. Continue about your day

I hope the coomers don't take over this Quest.

>>6228948
Metagaming is metagaming, my brother in the Emperor.
> Staying in character, the character is ought to destroy the heretical machine and the heretek.
> With the lore the OP wrote (the world is grimdark, so the protag makes the Aquila and the prayers out of reflex more than belief) he should simply... not care
> Becoming a Space Marine has obvious advantages. But we'll stick out like a sore thumb.
> Becoming obviously inhuman (barring Admech augmetics/cyberware) will get us purged.
We're walking a fine line here. This must be navigated carefully.

>>6229010
Me, too. The Flesh Sculptor is a Slaneesh cultist's wet dream.

Writing. There seems to be a tie between ">The Emperor wills me to use this device." and ">The Emperor does not reply, I'll use this to win at life".

I'll likely go with a Tony Stark compromise of both looking for your own personal gain and have a nice house and bitches, but also wanting to help mankind and do good - not because you're compelled by some religious belief, but because you're just self-motivated to be helpful and compassionate. I'd like to know your thoughts.

>>6229067
I will say yes to this.

>>6229067
You know your world best OP, but as I see it, the protag has areligious indoctrination from his childhood, however is realistic enough to find his way around it. So what if the protag uses the trappings of religion just to ground himself (no atheists in foxholes), but actually lost his belief a long, long time ago, because he had given up on ever seeing the star/s of the wretched planet he's on again? Thoughts?

>>6229147
That's a good one

>>6229147
i vote for this take

>>6229147
>>6229147
Seems very reasonable.

Never met an atheist in a bombing zone.
Never been in one either but that's a small detail.

Do we have access to Vitae wombs?
can we use Eugenics to create our own not!-Krieg?

>>6229297
FUCK wrong qst.

>>6229067
Hope this comes back

>>6229906
Same.
Did you enjoy your vacation from 4chan anon?
Do anything interesting?

Personally, I went hiking and camping on a local mountain range.

>>6230878
Baked some fresh bread, its hard to beat some fresh bread with just some butter.
Found a nice deal on an art book and some manga.
Walked on the beach, gotta see if I can find a good stick next time.

>>6228904
great thing about organics is that it can replicate and heal perhaps the ability to direct to heal to be ageless immortal in a way?

Been thinking of continuing this, I dropped off hard after 4chan fell

>>6259233
I thought it was a cool story, I'd still play