Chapter 692: Criminals (2)

Before the Tech-Priest's voice had even faded, the movements in his hands had already begun; the cutter sliced open the top of the prisoner's skull, the man's scream spiked instantly, then was forcibly suppressed by a reagent injected into his neck, turning into a muffled, rattling sound deep in his throat.

His eyeballs bulged from the excruciating pain and terror, tears mixing with blood as they slid down.

Behind the priest, a hovering Servo-skull emitted a low hum, extending a slender mechanical arm to precisely embed a shimmering, interface-covered metal plate into the opened skull.

Immediately following, another mechanical arm connected a murky glass jar, soaking in an unknown liquid, to the metal plate; inside the jar, shriveled, floating fragments of gray brain tissue were vaguely visible.

"Flesh is weak, machines are eternal. Remove the flaws, implant the sacred Iron Will."

Another Tech-Priest chanted in a flat, monotonous tone, as if reciting a sacred prayer.

He was using a mechanical arm as thick as hydraulic pliers to roughly straighten a prisoner's struggling arm, then precisely dislocated the elbow joint.

Gears turned, the hydraulic device emitted a dull roar, and a crude metal prosthetic limb, ending in a giant pincer claw, was roughly welded and riveted onto the severed limb.

The sound of bone shattering and metal embedding into flesh was clearly audible.

"Ah——!!!"

The modified prisoner let out a shriek that did not sound human, but soon, a thick Suppression Nail was driven into the back of his neck.

His body stiffened abruptly, all expressions of pain instantly frozen, leaving only hollow eyes and slightly twitching corners of his mouth.

Saline mixed with sedatives was injected from the overhead lines, maintaining the minimal "life" functions of this shell.

The air throughout the hall was permeated with the burnt stench of flesh being cauterized and cut, the smell of machine oil, and the foul odor of fecal incontinence.

The sound of metal grinding, the sound of laser cutting, the sound of gears turning, the emotionless binary chanting of the priests, the humming of the Servo-skulls... and those muffled groans and whimpers of pain from the depths of the soul that could not be completely masked even after suppression.

A female prisoner's vocal cords were removed and replaced with a simple buzzer, used to receive and execute the simplest binary commands.

A prisoner attempting to resist was forcibly held down, their spine opened, and a Neural Bundle catheter implanted to control the body's motor functions.

Their facial expressions were forcibly smoothed over by drugs and implants, leaving only a dull, hollow vacancy.

The eyes that once represented personality and emotion were either replaced with cold optical sensors flickering with red light, or had completely lost all luster.

Time lost its meaning here.

The head of the scarred, burly man who had been cursing at the start was completely covered by a metal cranial plate, and after a thick Suppression Nail and data interface were inserted into the back of his neck, the entire hall fell into a brief, eerie silence.

Hundreds of modified servitors lay quietly on the operating tables.

Their bodies were covered in rough weld marks, exposed pipeline interfaces, cold metal prosthetics, and rigid sensors.

Once-vibrant human individuals were now nothing more than programmed, lowest-tier tools wrapped in biological shells.

Several low-level servitors walked forward with stiff movements, beginning to connect power lines to these "new products," injecting nutrient solutions and suppressants to maintain life.

They moved clumsily, devoid of any vitality.

"Modification sequence complete."

A Tech-Priest declared in an electronic voice; his metal claw, hidden beneath deep red robes, brushed over the cold faceplate of a servitor that had just "come off the line," as if admiring a perfect work.

"The impurities of the soul have been purged, fragile emotions have been stripped away.

They are ready to dedicate their pure, efficient, and uncomplaining labor to the sacred cause.

Praise the Machine God, His will is executed."

Following his words, those servitors that had just completed their modification seemed to receive some kind of activation command.

From hundreds of throats came the same electronically distorted, emotionless voice.

"Praise... the... Machine... God..."

Ninth Defense Zone Inner City Research Institute.

Perturabo hunched over a wide laboratory table, almost buried by mountains of parts and spread-out blueprints.

His face held nothing but total focus at this moment.

Perturabo was rapidly and precisely adjusting a complex device model composed of pipes, micro-pumps, and sensors, the metal flowing and nesting smoothly in his hands.

"The gear engagement angle needs to be 0.5 degrees more precise,"

His deep voice sounded in the quiet space, speaking to the equipment beside him.

"Record: transmission efficiency loss peaks at the third node; recalculate the optimal path."

The equipment with the glowing screen began to automatically recalculate upon hearing Perturabo's voice.

Daoer walked into Perturabo's laboratory; his gaze swept over the exquisite device model on the table, then saw a blueprint spread out nearby, covered in complex structural diagrams—it was the very design he had praised earlier.

He couldn't help but exclaim again: "Perturabo, the idea for this transmission structure is truly brilliant. To be able to reduce energy loss to such a low level—once the Emperor resolves the Alien Race threat outside, this plan is definitely worth presenting to Him."

Perturabo, immersed in thought, jerked his head up; seeing it was Daoer, the sharp, scrutinizing light in his eyes faded slightly, replaced by a trace of imperceptible... awkwardness?

He put down the wrench in his hand, the metal tool colliding with the tabletop with a crisp sound.

He was silent for a few seconds, his gaze sweeping over the praised blueprint, his Adam's apple bobbing once before he spoke somewhat stiffly.

"Cough... this... this?"

He pointed to the blueprint,

"This is just a preliminary conceptual model, Daoer. It is... not yet perfect."

Perturabo's voice was lower than usual, and his speaking speed was faster, as if he wanted to end the topic as quickly as possible.

"The structural integrity needs verification, and there is no complete data on material fatigue curves under extreme loads... It is far from 'brilliant'."

Daoer had long been accustomed to this genius mechanic's near-harsh self-demands and sensitivity to "imperfection."

He smiled, not dwelling on the blueprint, and turned his gaze to the small device Perturabo had just been fiddling with.

"Optimizing the core valve assembly of the irrigation system again?"

"Mm,"

Perturabo's attention was pulled back to the model in front of him, and his tone became more fluid.

"The previous improvement increased efficiency, but it wasn't the optimal solution."

Perturabo tapped a key node on the model with his finger and continued to explain.

"I am trying to add more sensitive feedback sensors to make the energy infusion smoother. Theoretical calculations are feasible, but the miniaturized manufacturing process is the difficulty."