86: Chapter 86 Fragments of Fear and Efficiency Report

Camilla's fingertips tapped the rusted terminal. Every touch sparked small electrical flares, and the modified tread chassis emitted a low hum, echoing an ominous rhythm through the deathly silent lower levels of the laboratory. On the screen, a red countdown ticked down coldly: 71 hours and 22 minutes. Dust floated in the bleak emergency lighting, congealing into silhouettes of radioactive fallout.

"He's here."

The surveillance footage was projected onto the mottled walls, distorted like a scroll from hell. In the ruins surrounding the laboratory, Mutants with festering skin and inverted joints were advancing mechanically. Their eyes were hollow, and non-human gurgles rolled from their throats; they looked like lumps of flesh with their souls stripped away. The first Mutant stepped on a pressure plate, and an anti-infantry mine instantly tore through its lower body, an explosion of putrid blood mist erupting on the thermal imaging. The subsequent units indifferently stepped over the still-twitching remains, their pace so orderly it was chilling. The efficiency of order was purely nauseating.

"Biological Mine Detectors." Camilla's voice was tight, her fingers pausing on the keyboard for half a second. "The Bishop is using these Mutants to clear the way. Those who hit mines or step into traps are all discarded experimental subjects. They aren't even worthy of having numerical designations; they are just consumables."

Lin Yuan stared at the distorted figures being driven forward on the screen. They were once human, or something that had tried to be human. Now, they were merely the Bishop's arithmetic units, using flesh and blood to calculate a safe path.

"Homologous heretical technology detected," the stc system's prompt suddenly sounded, its mechanical female voice echoing in the empty chamber. "Usage of standard Purification Protocol recommended. Warning: Heretical contamination level, Red."

Lin Yuan frowned. Was the wasteland's Adeptus Mechanicus technology homologous with Warhammer 40K? This explained why the Bishop could remotely lock permissions, and why the stc system flagged DORN-00 as a heretic. But homology meant the STC's "standard purification" would clear all mutations—including DORN-00?

"Ignore the purification recommendation. Continue cracking the underlying protocols." Lin Yuan's voice sounded muffled behind his gas mask. "I need to get the defense blueprints before the Bishop finishes downloading. Every second is critical."

At the other end of the room, DORN-00 leaned against the cold wall. The bone spurs protruding from his spine vibrated slightly, scraping against the metal wall and producing a tooth-aching screech. After his bio-electrical energy was drained by the maintenance protocol, he was as weak as if he had endured a persistent high fever, his mutated tissue turning a leaden gray under the dim light. THRONE-01 stood at the tactical table, his repaired left arm displaying an eerie texture where machinery and flesh intertwined; silver-white metal fibers were faintly visible beneath the skin, like living parasites. His movements were as precise as an optimal solution calculation, every lift of his hand accompanied by the faint sound of servo motors.

DORN-00 dragged his heavy steps over, his bone spurs scraping the floor with a harsh dragging sound. THRONE-01 did not look up, his gaze locked on the tactical map as a stream of data flashed through his pupils.

"What are you writing?"

"Tactical assessment." THRONE-01's tone was flat and devoid of fluctuation, like a machine that had just been calibrated. "A list of potential threats. A re-evaluation based on current combat power and risk coefficients."

DORN-00 reached out and grabbed the manual. The handwriting on the pages was cold, the ink bleeding into the paper:

Potential Threat: Mutant DORN-00. Recommended isolation and observation. Mutation rate 47%, unstable, risk of going berserk. Increased unpredictability due to loss of emotional memory. Recommended formulation of execution contingency. Priority: High.

The bone spurs instantly tensed, clicking like a loaded firearm. DORN-00's breathing grew heavy, his putrid breath blowing into THRONE-01's face.

"Do you really not remember the pain we endured together? The agony shared through the neural link? The feeling of those electrical currents surging through our bone marrow?"

"Emotional memory has been paid as a tax." THRONE-01 interrupted calmly, his eyes terrifyingly hollow, as if he were observing a piece of experimental equipment. "I logically acknowledge you as my comrade-in-arms. But I do not understand your current emotional reaction. Anger? Sadness? These variables interfere with tactical efficiency. According to calculations, the lack of emotion has increased my tactical decision-making speed by 47%."

A bone spur pressed against THRONE-01's throat, piercing the skin. Beads of blood seeped out, looking exceptionally striking against his pale skin. DORN-00's fingers gripped the other's neck with enough force to crush an ordinary person's cervical spine.

"I'm just a variable? Just a monster that needs to be executed in your eyes? We once shared a soul in the link, and now I'm just an entry on a threat list to you?"

THRONE-01 did not struggle, nor did he even blink. His voice remained steady: "If you kill me, the team loses its shield. In 71 hours, when the cleanup crew arrives, you will all die. This is not in your best interest. I also do not wish for you to die; your mutation abilities have tactical value in a defensive battle. We can establish a functional symbiotic relationship. This is the most rational choice."

Lin Yuan stood three steps away, his right hand resting on the melta gun, his knuckles white. He observed the two: the bleeding wound on THRONE-01's neck, and the desperate madness and clinging lucidity in DORN-00's eyes. Team stability risk 67%, probability of infighting 43%, necessity of intervention—temporary observation. THRONE-01's memory loss was an irreversible price, while DORN-00's identity confirmation was the only survival bargaining chip within 72 hours.

"Lin Yuan." Camilla spoke, her voice soft but enough to break the stalemate. Her eyes did not leave the screen. "I've broken through the first layer of encryption. The Bishop is remotely downloading 'The Original Seed' gene data at a transmission rate of 2.3 TB per second. The countdown has been compressed to 71 hours. He is obtaining our exact coordinates."

DORN-00 released his grip, his bone spurs drooping weakly and carving deep gouges into the floor. The sense of secondary humiliation from being forgotten by his brother was like acid corroding his internal organs, more painful than radiation burns. He turned to Lin Yuan, his voice low and carrying a sense of finality, his eyes filled with the kind of madness found only in a beast driven to a dead end.

"I want to know the truth. Let me connect to The Original Seed's Cryo-pod. Whatever the truth is, I can bear it."

Lin Yuan looked at the bleeding wound on THRONE-01's neck, then at DORN-00's bloodshot eyes.

"Camilla, prepare the emergency cutoff protocol. Monitor vital signs in real-time. If the brainwave collapse threshold reaches the red zone, disconnect immediately, regardless of his wishes."

"Understood. But the impact might be too strong to cut off in time. Once neural resonance begins, a physical disconnection could cause permanent brain damage." Camilla's fingers flew across the keyboard, setting up the safety protocols.

"I know." Lin Yuan walked toward DORN-00, looking directly into those bloodshot eyes. "You might just be the negative emotions discarded by The Original Seed. Fear, anger, the weakness stripped away and sealed. Are you prepared to face this possibility? What if the truth is that you are just discarded trash?"

DORN-00 laughed, full of self-deprecation and bitterness, revealing jagged teeth. He looked at THRONE-01, then at the Cryo-pod in the center.

"I've felt like a mistake for a long time. Now I just want a confirmation letter. Let's do it."

They walked toward the central main pod. The Cryo-pod labeled "DORN-00-The Original Seed" lay quietly, frost condensing on its surface. Inside the pod, a body similar to DORN-00's face but more perfect was vaguely visible—a meticulously preserved idol. Six secondary Cryo-pods surrounded it like submissive guards, silently witnessing this birth or death.

DORN-00 took a deep breath and placed his hand on the pod. A bone-chilling cold transmitted through his palm.

"Instantly, sharp pain pierced his nerves, as if ten thousand red-hot steel needles were being driven into his brain at once. His consciousness was pulled into a vortex, and memory fragments scraped against his cerebral cortex like glass shards, bringing a physical sensation of bleeding."

The glory of the Great Crusade exploded before his eyes. The Seventh Legion's warships were lined up in the void, steel and glory interwoven into a magnificent epic. The Original Seed stood on the bridge, flawless, the incarnation of the Emperor's will.

Then came the betrayal. The Imperial fleet's fire poured down over the wasteland world, and the laboratory collapsed amidst the tremors. The Original Seed stood in the ruins, ordered to be executed by his Gene Father on the grounds that he was too human and not perfect enough.

The most painful memory arrived: the stripping surgery. The Original Seed was strapped to an operating table, and Marcus Kane held a Neural Stripper, like a sculptor removing flaws, cutting out fear, anger, and all weak emotions to be sealed in a cultivation pod. The emotions twisted, screamed, and mutated in the nutrient solution, finally coalescing into him.

DORN-00. Not a clone. A fragment. The "humanity trash" actively discarded by The Original Seed to become a perfect weapon.

DORN-00 collapsed to his knees, his bone spurs frantically striking the ground and smashing out pits, blood-tears streaming from his eyes. Mutated tissue writhed violently under his skin, as if countless insects were crawling beneath it. He saw more: the details of how the Seventh Legion was sold out, the true purpose of the laboratory's establishment being to create "controllable Primarch fragments," and the instant of relief and coldness in The Original Seed after stripping him away.

THRONE-01 stood three steps away. There was only a cold blankness there. He watched the pain as if looking at a data report, but the imprint at the genetic level made his fingers twitch slightly—an instinct that could not be erased by the maintenance protocol.

Lin Yuan steadied his trembling shoulder.

"Breathe. Focus. You're still alive, and that's enough. No matter whose part you were, you are an independent individual now."

DORN-00 looked up, blood-tears blurring his vision and dripping onto the metal floor with a hissing corrosive sound.

"I'm just discarded anger. I'm not human. I'm just a tool, a tumor cut away by The Original Seed to become stronger."

"What you are is decided by your choices now." Lin Yuan's voice was calm, but he pressed down firmly on his shoulder. "The Original Seed chose perfection, so he died and became a specimen in a Cryo-pod. You are still alive and can still choose what to become. You can choose to remain a prisoner of anger, or you can choose to be DORN-00."

Camilla's voice came from the terminal, trembling: "Connection severed. Vital signs stable; brainwaves are fluctuating violently but settling down. I've obtained the defense blueprints; control over local turrets and gates has been taken over, allowing us to defend the outer perimeter. But the Bishop has locked the core database self-destruct protocol; forcing a breakthrough will trigger a remote detonation. What he downloaded includes our exact coordinates and the ventilation system diagrams. The advance force is just the vanguard; the main force arrives in 72 hours, and they are carrying heavy siege equipment."

THRONE-01 stepped forward, his expression still indifferent, and handed over a medkit.

"I have formulated a mutation control schedule for you. Two inhibitory injections daily, combined with my force field stabilization, will allow you to maintain sanity while retaining 80% of your mutated combat power. This is the optimal solution. According to calculations, this can increase your survival rate to 68%."

DORN-00 wiped away his blood-tears and stood up, his body still trembling slightly.

"Fine. But I reserve the right to name myself. I am DORN-00. Not a 'Mutant,' not a 'threat,' not a 'fragment.' My name is mine; it's the only thing I'm certain belongs to me."

THRONE-01 nodded, his left arm of machinery and flesh extending.

"Logical. A name is an identity anchor, helping to maintain sanity and reduce the risk of going berserk. Terms accepted. We establish a functional symbiosis protocol. Not friendship, but tactical complementarity. You as the spear, I as the shield."

He reached out his hand. That hand had once shared pain, and now only a cold mechanical texture remained, but the grip was still firm. DORN-00 took it, bone spurs and metal fibers intertwining with a sound of metal grinding. There was no warmth, only the pressure of survival forcing them to stand side by side—this was trust in the wasteland.

Lin Yuan released his finger from the trigger.

"Camilla, set up the outer perimeter defenses, prioritize sealing the eastern corridors. THRONE-01, formulate an interception plan, assuming the enemy uses Biological Mine Detector tactics. DORN-00, rest and prepare for your injection; you need to recover your bio-electrical energy. There are still 71 hours left."

Camilla was busy at the terminal when she suddenly stopped, her face turning pale.

"Lin Yuan, after detecting homologous technology, the stc system suggests initiating the 'standard Purification Protocol.' The code traces left by the Bishop's data download have a 73% similarity with the stc system's underlying language. They are not just homologous; they might be different branches of the same system."

Lin Yuan's gaze was sharp. Was the Adeptus Mechanicus technology homologous with the Warhammer STC? Or was there an even deeper connection? If the Bishop also possessed a similar system, what was the nature of this war?

He looked at the seven Cryo-pods, at The Original Seed in the center, and at the two Astartes beside him who had just reached a cold agreement.

The 71-hour countdown was ticking, every second a measure of life. On the perimeter, the Mutants being used as Biological Mine Detectors were falling one by one, paving the way for the Bishop, their sacrifices not even being recorded.

The fate of those Mutants was a cruel prophecy. Discarded emotions, utilized tools, calculated values.

Lin Yuan clenched his fist, his nails piercing his palm. He would not let anyone, including DORN-00, become a consumable. Even if it meant opposing a system that might be older than the STC.

"Continue monitoring," Lin Yuan said, his voice low. "We need more answers. Before the Bishop arrives."

Camilla nodded, the self-destruct protocol's lock icon on the screen flashing with a crimson light, like a time bomb's countdown, or like the eye of some ancient entity.