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Chapter 100: The Returned Test-Subjects
🕑 Added 2025-11-21 11:50:07 +0000 UTCChapter 100: The Returned Test-Subjects
Maine's crew rematerialized on the rune-etched platform deep within the desert manufactorum.
The spatial transition was not smooth. It was a brutal displacement of reality.
One second, their senses were filled with the dry, ozone-tinged air and the feel of hard rock beneath their boots from the Death World.
The next, the familiar sights of the manufactorum were forcibly jammed into their vision, accompanied by a violent, internal upheaval.
The return trip was identical to the departure, perhaps even more unbearable due to the anticipation. The sensation of being disassembled by an unseen force, consciousness floating in a void, and then being forcibly kneaded back together tested the absolute limits of their physiology and sanity.
It wasn't just dizziness or discomfort; it was a profound disturbance on an existential level, a massive shock to their nervous systems and precision implants.
The platform was filled with suppressed groans and gasps of pain.
Bodies collapsed uncontrollably, metal limbs clattering against the platform surface.
Rebecca nearly dropped her heavy bolter, instinctively clutching it to her chest, the jarring impact against her leg armor barely registering in the confusion.
Pilar's long, prideful arms tangled together like disobedient tentacles, leaving him unable to push himself up.
Falco's shades hung crookedly from one ear. He tried to adjust them, but his hand trembled uncontrollably.
Sasha and Kiwi slid down back-to-back, their Electronic Warfare interfaces glitching with unstable static due to intense neural-interference. They were clearly incapable of processing complex data for the moment.
Dorio managed to stay upright on one knee, thanks only to her immense core strength and reinforced tendons. But the muscles in her bronzed face were tight, sweat beading on her forehead as she fought the vertigo.
Joric's tall, crimson form stood motionless before the main console, as if he had never moved.
His crimson optical lenses calmly swept over the incapacitated crew.
In his sensor-feed, their vitals cascaded down the side of his vision: heart rates 50% above baseline, adrenaline spikes, chaotic neural-waveforms, micro-motor control failures...
All data pointed to one conclusion: Severe spatial-transit stress reaction.
However, the data also clearly showed these fluctuations were within predictable parameters. They had not reached critical thresholds for organ failure or permanent neural damage.
This marks the initial success of the live-biomass transit experiment in terms of physiological tolerance, he noted internally, though the side effects are significant and severe.
New data-entries were rapidly generated and archived in his logic-core: post-transit consciousness recovery time, degree of motor-coordination loss, duration of sensory system disruption...
This precious empirical data from subjects with varying degrees of augmentation would be fed into his massive analytical database, used to further optimize the transit-protocol's energy curve, phase-stability, and future specific buffering measures for different biological components and implants.
Maine was the first to fight through the nausea, struggling to stand through sheer force of will.
His augmented left arm, housing the plasma cannon, pushed down first. The mechanical knuckles ground against the cold metal platform with a teeth-grating screech, supporting his weight. One leg trembled, but he grit his teeth, forcing the other to follow.
Dorio followed suit, her reinforced tendons firing, allowing her to maintain her kneeling posture, though her ragged breathing betrayed the strain.
Rebecca gave up on standing immediately, sprawling starfish-style on the floor, chest heaving, gulping down the familiar, oil-and-static-scented air of the manufactorum. Her green eyes were unfocused, struggling to piece together the fragmented visual signals.
Pilar, Falco, Sasha, and Kiwi were in states between the two extremes, leaning on each other or the cold walls of the platform to keep from collapsing, their faces etched with physical pain and extreme mental exhaustion.
Only Moiré, benefiting from Joric's deep optimization specifically for spatial-disturbance tolerance, remained stable.
She made no sound, moving silently into the shadows at the edge of the platform like a part of the background.
Her enhanced compound-optics scanned the familiar workshop environment at high frequency, confirming security status, while her internal systems ran a rapid self-diagnostic.
Though her logs also showed sensor-readings spiking to red-line levels and brief data-packet loss in her neural interface during transit, her recovery speed and stability far exceeded her companions.
"B-Boss..." Maine's voice was incredibly hoarse, weak. He looked up, struggling to focus on Joric. His eyes held a mix of post-survival daze, shock at the unknown, and unanswered confusion. "That... that world..."
Joric's synthesized voice cut him off smoothly, devoid of any comfort or explanation, offering only a conclusive statement. "Experimental sample retrieval complete. Vital signs stable. Preliminary assessment: transit experiment objectives achieved. You require time for physiological recovery. Return to your bastion. Rest. Remain on standby for subsequent biometric data collection and deep analysis."
His words were concise, like command-inputs, allowing no argument.
Maine opened his mouth as if to ask more, but the overwhelming weakness deep in his body and Joric's emotionless demeanor made him swallow the words.
He looked around at his stumbling crew and simply nodded, signaling them to follow him out.
Dorio hauled Rebecca to her feet. Falco steadied Pilar. Sasha and Kiwi leaned on each other.
The group shuffled silently toward the exit.
Their backs were heavy with exhaustion. It wasn't just the physiological toll of the transit, but the violent shock to their worldview from three days in another universe.
The vast Imperium, the strange Cult of the Machine, the harsh environment of the Death World, and their own insignificance in that alien expanse weighed on them heavily.
Joric did not dwell on their departure.
For him, the instrumental value of Maine's crew for this mission had been realized.
They had served as precious live-samples, verifying the feasibility of two-way transit, and successfully retrieving the key contact-token and the data-carrier prepared by Ignis.
Their psychological state and the shock to their worldview were, in his current assessment matrix, non-critical variables to be observed but not immediately acted upon.
(End of Chapter)
