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.

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