The Creators: From Night City

Page 487

Ironhide is a person, a low-level worker. Of course, his official name is Engine Worker Theta-774. Ironhide is a nickname given to him by his colleagues, a name derived from the half of his face inlaid with metal skin, a product of a workplace injury.

He was an engine plumber, mainly responsible for hammering overheated pipes with a huge wrench in the lower part of the engine room, or wielding a wrench to tighten screws amidst the deafening roar of the engine, praying to the god of machines, and applying holy oil to the machinery in the area he was responsible for.

He needs to repeat this for 10 hours, then he will get 8 hours of rest.

As the team leader, he was assigned to a cabin shared by six people. Although it was a bit crowded, it was definitely better than sleeping in a large cabin for 50 people filled with oil stains and the smell of sweat.

He received rations twice a day, which were mostly a bowl of grayish paste that was bitter and astringent, only good for filling his stomach and nothing else.

After filling his stomach, he needs to go to the nearest shrine of the Cult of Mechanisms to chant prayers for several hours before resting and continuing his shift.

In his nearly 20 years of life, he has never left this spaceship, nor has he ever thought of leaving. His position is inherited from his father, and his family has lived and thrived here for generations. If nothing unexpected happens, he will also get married, have children, work, and die here.

People like him are called the Sons of the Void.

They were the core skilled workers on the ship, because their work experience and skills had been passed down from generation to generation. As 'free people,' they usually held a certain status at the bottom, at least higher than those machine servants and slave laborers in the penal colony.

The 'Hardworking One' is not very large, so the number of Void Children is not very large, only a few thousand. In contrast, Imperial-class battleships (the highest-level warships deployed by the Empire) often house millions of people, with the number of Void Children reaching hundreds of thousands. Some historically significant warships can even have millions of such people.

Today is the 32nd day of 'air traffic control', and the closure of all the viewing windows has deprived the metal sheet of one of its few forms of entertainment.

His workplace was not far from an observation window, so he always enjoyed gazing at the stars in his spare time.

He could only stare blankly to himself, pondering the strange events that had occurred.

The spaceship was changing, and although these changes were subtle, they could not escape the notice of him, a 'veteran worker' who had lived in this area his entire life.

The pipelines he was in charge of were constantly shifting positions, as if an invisible hand was automatically manipulating the course of these damned pipelines.

Many spaces disappeared overnight, and many gaps were filled with new machinery overnight as well.

This iron-clad boat, which had lived there for half its life, now seemed so unfamiliar, as if it had come to life and was constantly 'growing'.

He reported this unusual situation immediately, but the mechanical priest in charge only enthusiastically stated that it was all a blessing from Om Messiah and told him not to make a fuss.

He could only continue his work, and sadly witness the gradual loss and collapse of that inherited knowledge.

Of course, these changes are not all bad things.

The pipes that used to malfunction became well-behaved, and many leaks that used to spew steam were sealed off and never leaked again. The pipe pressure has not exceeded the limit for a long time, and blockages have become extremely rare.

He and his team had an unprecedented amount of free time.

This was the first time such a situation had occurred in his more than ten years of work, leaving him somewhat at a loss.

Fortunately, the instinct to slack off is deeply rooted in human genes. Iron Man and his team happily waited for their shift to end, and after handing over their work, they excitedly prepared to go to the cafeteria.

Eating was once like torture for all low-level workers.

They eat purely to survive.

During voyages that often last for several years, food and drinking water are mostly products of recycling processes in order to solve the supply pressure on board.

These things could only guarantee that one wouldn't starve; their nauseating taste, like their origin, made one hesitant to investigate further.

Of course, this situation lasted until the day the 'Worker' was officially renamed the 'Jack Raven'.

He clearly remembered that day when they were attacked by pirates, and the captain even ordered everyone to arm themselves and prepare to serve the empire on the radio.

He and his four team members were already prepared to meet the emperor that day.

But then a series of dramatic changes occurred that he couldn't understand.

The pirates were driven back, the ship was renamed, and the entire ship entered a 'jump control' state for the first time ever—a series of major events occurred in succession.

Of course, Tinpi didn't care much about these important matters; his main concern was the series of 'reforms' that were about to follow.

First is 'food'.

Food is the most important thing for people, and eating is the most important thing for these unfortunate people.

The supply distribution point was demolished and rebuilt overnight and renamed "Seventeenth Staff Canteen". Although Tiepi did not understand the meaning behind it, he saw and remembered the improvement in the quality of the food.

"Hammer, hurry up and finish. I heard the cafeteria has that kind of mashed potatoes from yesterday today," group member Grim said to another veteran technician in charge of valves.

Eating is now the most anticipated part of everyone's day, and upon hearing this, the old technician named Hammer immediately sped up his work.

As he struggled to turn the valve, 'Hammer' couldn't help but recall the delicious food he had eaten yesterday. The soft and glutinous texture of the mashed potatoes was like tiny worms burrowing into his heart.

He seemed to smell that sweet aroma, mixed with a stickier scent, which made him feel a deep 'hunger'.

His appetite became unusually high.

The tin-clad team quickly finished their work and excitedly rushed towards the canteen outside the six passageways.

On the way, they saw a large number of technical priests and defense troops stationed beside a passageway, watching with great vigilance as a dozen machine servants repaired a damaged outer wall of a corridor.

The outer armor of this spaceship had been damaged at some point, and through the light from the welding torch, one could even see strange, flickering lights on the exterior of the ship.

"Hey, do you guys think something might have slipped in?" Hammer's question sent a chill down everyone's spine.

Chapter 988 The Strange 'Demon'

"Shut up, Hammer!" Tin Man yelled.

"Have you forgotten the rule that this kind of content is prohibited during air traffic control?"

Traveling in the subspace is not absolutely safe, and the Empire of Man has a series of regulations in place to ensure the safety of those on board.

First, there is cognitive control. People at the bottom have no idea about their current situation. They are forced to spend most of their time outside of work praying in order to prevent their spreading emotions from attracting demons that feed on them.

Secondly, there's the issue of field of vision control.

During subspace travel, all observation windows, viewing platforms, and other channels for obtaining information about the outside world will be blocked, and the people inside the ship will remain in a sealed state at all times.

After all, most of the time, as long as you don't recognize the demons' existence, they can't locate you either.

The Webway was originally an independent space separate from the Warp, and there should have been no trace of demons inside. However, millions of years of neglect and war have caused extensive damage to the interior of these 'spectacular structures', and it is not uncommon for demons to wander into the Webway from the Warp through the gaps.

Therefore, navigating in the network is not as safe as in space.

Amid the reprimand, the group arrived at the seventeenth staff canteen.

This is a spacious hall that was originally supposed to be a church, but has now been turned into a dining area.

Reasoning with others is considered a grave offense, and if caught by the state religion, one would inevitably be burned at the stake.

However, the 'living saint' gave the order, the captain had no objection, the mechanical priests carried it out, and the emperor's statue showed no intention of performing any miracles, so the priests of the state church naturally had no choice but to compromise.

The seventeenth staff canteen does not have a skilled chef named Palico, and the food served there is the lowest tier in the [Anti-Entropy] supply system.

But comparing people is a recipe for disaster, and comparing goods is a recipe for disaster.

The most basic food supply from the anti-entropy system is also far superior to the workers' original meals.

A mountain of fist-sized steamed potatoes was piled up behind the dining table, two for each person; two cornbreads belonging to the coarse grain category; a large pot of stewed beans, mushrooms and salted meat, which looked very meager, even a bit like an "Oli Gei" (a type of Japanese snack); plus an apple of average quality, which made up today's workers' lunch.

This level of food was standard for the lowest-level manual laborers in the American West in 1899, and could be considered the minimum standard of living guaranteed by "anti-entropy".

The Anglo-Saxon women who cooked the meals had little culinary skill and were not particular about cooking. They would simply throw all sorts of ingredients into a large pot, reduce the sauce over high heat, and call it a day. The communal dishes, which were more like pig feed, made the slave laborers on the Jackdaws shout "Your Majesty is above all else!" and their loyalty to the Empire soared.

Especially after the canteen began providing unlimited purified water, the slave laborers were already willing to give their lives for the emperor.

Tinker ate and drank heartily, scraping the plates until they were spotless. Then, under the watchful eyes of his servant, he took out his water bottle, filled it to the brim from the tap, and stuffed it into his pocket as if guarding Solomon's treasure, before leaving satisfied.

Hammer finished his meal, but still felt unsatisfied. The generous portion, which would normally have made him happily burp, now left him feeling empty inside.

He didn't know when he got back to his bed. Lying on the hard bed, he tossed and turned but couldn't fall asleep.

He was mentally exhausted, but an uncontrollable appetite still surged within him. The 'delicious food' aroused his cravings, which had been suppressed in the first half of his life, making him want to continue to feast.

His mouth watered uncontrollably, hunger surged into his thoughts like a tide, and seductive whispers echoed in his empty ears.

"Eat, eat some more, you're so hungry, so craving delicious food~"

A thirst that burned like wildfire gripped his mind, his body felt inexplicably heavy, and his thoughts became as rigid as quick-drying cement.

"Hungry~"

Driven by hunger, this honest and simple slave laborer did something he would never have dared to do under normal circumstances.

He planned to sneak a bite to eat in the cafeteria.

The slave laborers worked in shifts, day and night, and the canteen was only open during fixed shift times, with the doors locked at other times.

Using his familiarity with the terrain, Hammer silently made his way to the entrance of the cafeteria.

Instead of going through the main entrance, he climbed in through the ventilation duct.

Hunger clouded his thinking, and he also ignored the slow changes in his body.

Under the influence of some unknown force, his limbs are slowly lengthening, making his movements faster and more agile.

His stomach rumbled like thunder, and he drooled far more than a normal person could produce, dripping from the corners of his mouth onto the ground like a small waterfall.

Surprisingly, there were no guards, servants, or slaves in the canteen, only mountains of potatoes, a stew pot taller than two people, and several baskets of cornbread.

Hammer's will had been broken by the tempting aroma of food. He stretched out his long, narrow hand, gripped two potatoes tightly, and opened a gaping maw on his increasingly pointed face, stuffing a fist-sized potato directly into his mouth and devouring it with relish.

"Delicious! Delicious!"

Just as he was about to continue eating, the dimly lit restaurant suddenly turned on its lights.

The locked door was kicked open, and a dozen fully armed Astartes rushed in like a whirlwind, surrounding him. The muzzles of their guns, each the size of a fist, were pressed against Hammer's forehead. The golden goggles gleamed with a suffocating majesty, while the roaring chainsaw sword was already poised to be used, ready to disembowel him.

Flying Eagle entered the hall and, looking at the slave laborer who was clutching two potatoes and standing there dumbfounded, shouted: "Surrender! Heretics!"

Hammer was almost in tears; he hadn't expected the consequences of stealing two potatoes to be so severe.

He was about to argue when he realized that everyone's attention was not on him. Following their gaze, he found that all eyes were on what was behind him.

Behind you!

Is there something behind him?

The 'Apostles' unleashed a terrifying wave of flames, like burning eternal guardians, as if piercing an invisible barrier of cognition, forcing an unknown creature to reveal itself.

A piercing laugh that made one's heart itch rang out, and a phantom appeared in the void, drifting like a ghost, trying to escape.

But the fiery iron fist slammed solidly into its cheek, knocking it down.

Blessed golden chains bound it, and the power originating from the Great One utterly shattered it from the realm of illusion, sealing it within reality.

This was a beautiful banshee, with the appearance of a perfect dark elf, but she had four slender arms, each with a different hand.

Five fingers, crab claws, tentacles, and sharp claws.

Its bloated belly splits open with a terrifying slit, causing its prey to spill out the moment it enters its stomach, thus ensuring it remains perpetually hungry.

"Not a demon?" The eagle's nostrils twitched, and although it could smell the sweet fragrance emanating from the other party, it could also smell the rotten and decadent stench of the Dark Spirit Clan.

"A modified Dark Eldar?"

Chapter 989 Shalashi - The Demonic Calamity

"Where do you come from, poor soul?" The gentle voice seemed to descend from the heavens, causing him and it to lose their minds and open their hearts to each other.

"The promised land, the land of endless pleasure," replied the part of the body belonging to the demon of pleasure, Morissan.

"A hell of torment, a place of eternal suffering," came the reply from the Dark Eldar Quetzalcoatl.

"Oh, the distant nothingness."

"You come from there, and what brings you here?" the gentle voice asked again, its melodious tone causing them to lower their guard completely.

"The hunt, for the sake of Lord Sharah's perfect cause, I will relentlessly hunt down the trail of that bloodthirsty wolf king," the demon whispered again.

“Food, endless hunger envelops me, I need to eat, to savor that sweet soul,” the Dark Eldar replied cooperatively.

"What kind of great undertaking is this, and to what extent must you be loyal, to the point of such exhaustion?" The questioner's voice grew softer, making the demon and spirit drowsy.

In their weary, chaotic state, their next words seemed to touch upon some forbidden territory, causing the beautiful dream to veer towards becoming a nightmare.

Ultimately, soothed by the 'gentle' laws, they still bravely revealed the truth.

"Following in the footsteps of Sha'rashi, bringing war and slaughter to a great demon, the wrath of the cursed wander endlessly in the 'Net Path,' and the great dark prince grants them the liberation they seek. I will fly through every inch of space without sleep, searching for the wolf's footprints. Exhaustion and pain are the rewards I deserve."

Unlike the demon's response, the part of the body that answered regarding the Eldar was much more straightforward.

"Lehman Russ!"

The hoarse roar, like thunder, triggered a seal that caught the attention of a being also present in the netherworld.

A chilling gaze swept across the highest heavens, and with the help of the malevolent witchcraft already embedded within the body of this unfortunate soul, one of the Dark Prince's great demons projected his power into a magnificent golden palace.