//------------------------------//
// Downloading: Friendship 
// Story: Gear in the Machine 
// by SFaccountant 
//------------------------------//

Gear in the Machine


Chapter 2
Downloading: Friendship


****


Working for the Dark Mechanicus had turned out to be... different than Gear Works had expected.
Granted, his expectations didn't amount to much. Nobody knew very much about the Dark Mechanicus except the Dark Mechanicus. To many ponies they seemed like cold, heartless sorcerers who created machines as incredible as any magic. Their ideas and mannerisms - to say nothing of their obvious affection for replacing important parts of their body with customized augmentations - seemed insane, yet the things they produced defied belief and formed the basis of the 38th Company's technological dominance of the planet.
Surprisingly, it wasn't much different among the humans that weren't part of the Dark Mechanicus itself. Despite working alongside the Techpriests their entire lives, the engineer-cultists were mysterious, almost mythical figures to be feared nearly as much as the patently monstrous Chaos Space Marines. Even the Iron Warriors themselves regarded the Dark Techpriests with grudging respect, as suggested by the one Gears had spoken to before joining the Company. Their role was vitally important and their work was everywhere in Ferrous Dominus. Yet the Cult of the Cursed Device carried a heavy sense of mystery and shadowy intrigue that the other factions of Chaos lacked. Even the Cult of Chaos, a deadly religion steeped in ancient and barbaric rituals, seemed open and inviting by comparison.
Gear Works had expected much of that arcane mystery to be stripped away upon joining the faction. Perhaps, eventually, it would be. At present, however, his schedule as an Aspirant looked remarkably similar to that of any apprentice worker. He got up at the same time every day, had barely enough time to eat and clean himself, and then he reported to the manufactorum. He then spent fourteen straight hours at a single spot on a production line, doing a monotonous, simple, repetitive task that could have easily been accomplished by any servitor.
He didn't resent it. Just being around the vast, labyrinthine production lines of Ferrous Dominus was an honor to him, and seeing firsthoof the industrial processes that formed the backbone of humanity's technological might was precisely what he'd signed up for. The Dark Techpriests even had him work a different part of the manufactorum every day; on one shift he'd be sealing heavy bolter ammunition, another day he'd be checking the charge capacity of las cartridges, and another would be spent assembling ammunition hoppers for autocannons. Each part of the production line taught him the basic components and processes for the weapons that eventually saw their way to the battlefields outside the walls of the fortress. His evenings, meanwhile, were spent studying the scientific principles and schematic models surrounding whatever he had worked on that day. Chemical propellants for ballistic weapons, chemical energy storage and ionization for the energy packs, metallurgy for the assemblies...
It was far more mundane than he expected. And Gear Works could only be thankful for that, despite his lingering curiosity regarding machine spirits and daemonic devices and scrapcode. Everything suggested that the more exotic and esoteric aspects of the Dark Mechanicus projects were also more dangerous, and his instructors had been quite explicit regarding how little they valued his survival.
Today's shift involved the placement of focusing lenses in lasgun assemblies. The task was entirely automated, with a series of tiny servo arms fitting the lenses into the rifle receiver, but then the incomplete weapon was lifted onto a testing bed and fed with a low-energy pulse. Gears watched each test - one every 39 seconds, by his count - and ensured that the resulting beam struck a particular spot on the wall with perfect accuracy. It was a task that didn't even require him to physically move unless something went wrong, and he was positive the Mechanicus could have set up a sensor to track the successful tests and interrupt the manufacturing line when a test failed. In fact, he could probably do it himself. He knew how to build light-detection sensors. But how would he safely interrupt the automated fabrication without knowing the programming code?


Gear Works was still working out a plan to render himself redundant when a burst of static came from behind him. The stallion looked left and right to check whether there was any other Mechanicus workers next to him, and confirmed that the string of Binaric Cant was intended for him. He suppressed a sigh and turned around.
"Hello, Dark Acolyte Sheraan. Can you repeat yourself in Gothic, please?" Gears requested.
"Disappointing," Sheraan said harshly in their shared language, "you still have not learned Binaric Cant. Why do you suppose you are worthy of becoming a Techpriest rather than a servitor?"
Gear Works narrowed his flesh-eye. "Acolyte Sheraan, I am quite aware that Binaric Cant is not simply 'learned' like Prench or Yak. I do not possess the required neural implant to decipher Machine-Code, and I will not be able to speak or understand it until I am cleared for one, no matter how hard or diligently I study."
There was a brief pause as the two cyborgs stared at each other.
"Disappointing," Sheraan said again, "I had estimated at least two more weeks before you figured that out."
"I've been studying after every shift, before I go to sleep. I will admit that your instructions are rather ingenious," Gears replied, sitting down. "I've noticed that you insert falsities and half-truths in your lessons and statements regularly. This forces me to check the data; to verify and experiment to test the veracity of my lessons. It's actually a very interesting academic approach. I'm not allowed to take anything for granted, and must constantly probe even simple ideas for errors. I'll be much stronger for it, I'm sure."
Another pause settled between the black-cloaked figures.
"You think that's why I do it?" Sheraan asked, sounding utterly perplexed.
This conversation was heading in a rather unpleasant direction, so Gears decided to get back to the point. "Dark Acolyte, was there something you needed from me? I am leaving the testing bay unattended."
"Affirmative. You may leave your station, Aspirant. You are being reassigned." Sheraan lifted up his arm, and a servo skull floated up over his shoulder.
"I... I am? To what?" Gears was rather surprised. He'd never been moved from the production line before. Of course, he hadn't been with the Dark Mechanicus very long either, but he had supposed that his current duties were mostly an excuse to get some tiresome labor out of him while keeping him out of the way of anything important. For his assignment to change suggested that there was something more urgent for him to do. Which seemed strange, as he lacked the experience to do anything of urgency.
"Field maintenance."
Gear Works snapped his head up, and his ears flicked. "R-Really? You're giving something that important to me?"
"... Affirmative," Sheraan confirmed after a moment of hesitation, "you are to take this servo skull and proceed to sector 5. You will then check all the atmospheric cycler engines of all the buildings in that sector. If any basic repairs are required, you will perform them. If there are any complications, you will report back for a qualified repair team to be dispatched."
Gears nodded eagerly, his hood almost falling off his head. "Affirmative! Absolutely! It will..." he trailed off uncertainly. "Wait... sector 5... the temple district?"
"Affirmative."
The pony's excitement waned rapidly. The temple district was well-known for being one of the more bizarre and dangerous places in Ferrous Dominus, along with the daemon engine pits and the slave yards. Most importantly, it also contained...
"Uh... do I also need to check the... Nurglite temples?" Gears couldn't ask the question without cringing.
"Affirmative. They are the most likely site of persisting damage and accelerated wear," Sheraan confirmed, "you needn't fear infection. Your protective equipment and respiratory augmentation are sufficiently rated to resist exposure to The Destroyer's blessings."
"Okay... but I've already established that I can't trust those sorts of assertions, because you really don't care about whether-"
"Further protest and/or delay WILL result in your termination from the Cult Mechanicus," the Dark Acolyte interrupted, "as well as this mortal coil."
Gear Works squeaked and quickly stepped forward, reaching out for the servo skull with his servo arm. "Of course! Right away! Leaving now!" He pinched the augmetic claw closed over a trailing wire, and then galloped down the dimly-lit hallway.


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 5
Shrine of Khorne


"All right, it's done. I've fished the bones out of the ventilation shaft, cleaned the fan blades, and cleared the drainage pipes."
Gear Works craned his neck up to stare at the pair of Khorne Cultists standing in front of him. One was an ordinary human, for a given definition of "ordinary"; tattoos, scars, and stitching covered much of his skin, and his right hand was a blade-fingered augment. The other was a Kroot warrior who seemed to have the Mark of Khorne cut into various parts of his body.
"Please be aware that blood clots fairly quickly, and combined with other bodily fluids seeping from an eviscerated corpse can easily clog the drains. I advise you apply anti-coagulants each evening to keep the pipes clear. Also, do you have a waste disposal unit for non-liquid gore? It seems like you should have that. The work is a little too unconventional for servitors, though. Even if you didn't seem to like attacking them on sight for combat practice."
The human Khornate took a moment to adjust the cracked combat goggles over his eyes. "You're a funny little horse, you know that?"
"I've been told I possess a good sense of humor, yes. Which I find quit distressing, as I rarely tell jokes," Gears admitted. The servo skull that Sheraan had given him floated up with a small towel clutched in one of its servo arms, and it started wiping the grime off the edges of Gear's cloak.
"We're warriors, not deck ratings, coghorse," the human snapped, pointing one metal talon toward Gears almost close enough to poke him in the eye. "We don't do plumbing. We do KILLING."
Gear Works mulled that over for a few seconds. "Fair enough, Sir. However, I must advise that without at least minimal maintenance, the accumulated gore will start to build up and begin rotting. It seems to me that's a good way to turn your Khorne temple into a Nurgle temple."
The two Cultists shared a glance. The human frowned, while the Kroot made some sort of clicking sound in his throat that Gears dismissed as "unintelligible alien noises".
"Can't we get you to do that?" the man demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and flexing his claws.
"That seems inefficient. Of course you can request a low-ranking Tech worker to come clean things up when they stop working, and of course I'll do it out of fear that you'll throw me into the giant fan blades of the air purifier engine. But that's enormously unproductive. Augments are much harder to pry out of there than bone fragments. And any time spent out here fixing things is less time spent in the manufactorum making weapons." The servo skull dipped in front of the pony, and Gears started wiping his forelegs off on the rag hanging from its claw. "How about a compromise? Rather than trying to bully Tech-clergy into fixing things, why don't you bully the new Khorne cultists into maintaining them? That way you still get to aggressively harass someone nearby, and I don't have to be that someone. Everyone wins! That either of us care about, that is."
"Huh... well... okay, yeah. That sounds good. The chumps could use something to do while they recover from their training rounds," the human said with a slow nod, "I don't see any reason why they couldn't work in a torrent of rotting filth while they're waiting for their wounds to heal."
"I do, but for the purposes of not having to meet you ever again, I'll agree instead!" Gears said happily.
The Kroot snarled something that sounded like it was supposed to be a sentence, and then pointed to Gear Works.
"No, knock it off. He's not food," the human retorted, shoving the Carnivore back. The alien snapped its beak at him, and they glared angrily at each other, arms cocked as if they were about to come to blows.
"You understood that?" Gears asked warily, taking a step back.
"No, but all she ever asks is whether she can eat someone. It gets old quick," the Cultist grumbled. The Kroot snarled something else, turning away sharply and walking off.
"... It's a SHE?" Gears asked.
"Yeah. Wanna know how you can tell?"
"NO. Good day, Sir."


Before long Gear Works was on the streets again, his servo skull floating along behind him. Both he and the skull had spots of dried blood crusted on them, and Gear's servo arm scrubbed at his side with another dirty cloth while he made his way to the next facility.
Dealing with the Khorne Cultists had been difficult, unpleasant, and frightening. But getting through the job was still a relatively simple matter of not offending the hair-trigger psychotics that practiced blood sport as a form of worship. Nurgle was not so easy to deal with. It especially didn't help that many of its Cultists saw their powers as gifts to be spread rather than weapons to be contained until it was appropriate.
"Nothing for it. Come on, Striker. I'm sure we have plenty of work to do."
The servo skull hovered slightly ahead of Gear Works, releasing a quick string of blurts and beeps. Gears couldn't understand it, but could imagine what the floating automaton was saying.
"Yes, I'm calling you 'Striker' from now on. I'm naming you after my sister. Because she's a bonehead, too." He giggled at his own joke. Striker made an extended beeping noise, and poked the back of the stallion's head with a manipulator arm.


Gear Works passed by the entrance to the Temple of Plagues that sat in relative isolation on the edge of sector 5. His destination was the maintenance alcove in the rear, and the pipes that funneled (extremely unpleasant) materials throughout the building.
At about the same time, a certain trio of mares exited the front gates. Breezy Blight spotted the servo skull hovering past, and turned her head to look. Her step faltered for a moment.
Then she quickly turned to her companions and slapped a metal-clad hoof against Rot Blossom's shoulder pad. "Hey! Check this out!"
The other two ponies stopped to look, and Poison Kiss arched an eyebrow. "Well, well, well... what have we here?"
"The Dark Mechanicus is taking ponies now? I thought they hated us," Blossom mumbled, tilting her head to the side.
"Are we sure it's really DarkMech? What if it's somepony trying to sneak into sensitive areas?" Breezy asked.
"That isn't a very good getup for avoiding attention and suspicion, as we’re demonstrating right now," Kiss pointed out. "Still... this requires further investigation. Come along, girls."


Gear Works reached the gate that led to the maintenance bay, and then he pressed his augmetic leg against the security scanner. The scanner beeped pleasantly, and then the lock clicked open before the door opened.
Or, rather, before the door shrieked and groaned tortuously, its gears working in vain against a layer of filth that had stuck the portal shut.
"This is NOT a good start," Gears mumbled. He lifted up his right-rear leg, the other bionic limb, and his servo arm reached down to pluck a small dagger-like tool that was mag-locked onto his shin.
Fixing it solidly within the steel claw, Gears cut into the gelatinous goop sticking the door to the frame. After about a minute of cutting it finally broke free, sliding open and allowing the pony access to the alcove interior.
"Oh, gross!" Gears recoiled when he saw the state of the maintenance alcove. A layer of filthy semi-solid runoff carpeted the floor, and various vile insects crawled over and swam through it in little swarms. A large lump of congealed... matter... sat in the corner, piled up and apparently serving as some kind of nest. Gears scanned the air content using his bionic eye, and while it (barely) contained enough oxygen to breath, most of the other gases present were toxic, flammable, or both. It was more or less every fear he had about working in a Nurglite zone packed into a single room.
At least he had found a primary breach right away. There were a number of heavy pipes leading away from the main fluid pump, and there was a very obvious hole in one of them. He tried not to think about what had made the hole; it didn't quite look like a matter of simple corrosion.
"Okay... torch repair is out, due to all the flammable chemicals. If I can cut away at the break and clean it, then a simple patch will do the trick. I can bolt it into place. That should be safe." Gears walked up to the piping gingerly, trying to ignore the various squelching, cracking, and slurping noises coming from under his hooves with every step. "Let's just turn off the main release valve..."
He heard someone clear their throat behind him. Gear Works looked back toward the alcove entry, and then he almost shrieked in fright.
Granted, the three ponies looking into the room weren't at all terrifying in the conventional sense. If anything, they were rather pretty. And although all three wore power armor - sans helmet - and had weapons equipped, none of them were brandishing their bolters or any kind of weapon at him. But that didn't reassure Gears; he knew very well that the three equines bearing Nurgle's Mark were still far more dangerous than any random hazard he might encounter in a dark temple.
"Oh, my. Isn't this interesting?" Poison Kiss said, striding forward ahead of her squad. "I wasn't aware the Dark Mechanicus was open to equines. Did you, girls?" She looked back to the two other ponies and smirked.
"Is that legit? You're really DarkMech? Those augments are real!" Breezy's tone was halfway between disbelief and excitement. "You even have a servo skull! No way!" Blossom remained quiet, studying the stallion's augments.
"C-Can I h-help you ladies?" Gears said, his voice emerging as a high-pitched squeak. "I'm kind of in the middle of some important r-repairs, so-"
"Why yes, actually. I think you can." Kiss sat down, her armor making a wet squelch against the floor. "This is actually quite a nice surprise, to find a pony Techpriest. The human sort seem rather difficult."
"I'm n-not actually a T-Techpriest yet," Gears stuttered "I'm still-"
"Please don't interrupt me," Kiss said softly. Gear Works stiffened his posture and fell silent. "Thank you. As I was saying, the Dark Techpriests don't give us ponies a lot of attention. They treat us with open contempt, and can’t be buggered to address our requests for repairs and assistance."
"All because we're not human. It's just not fair," Breezy griped, "the only people who can fix stuff and will listen to us at all are Techpriest Gaela and Warsmith Solon, and neither of them are very easy to call on. Gaela is always hanging around with the Elements of Harmony, and Solon is... well, he's like the most important and busiest guy in the entire army."
Kiss nodded sadly. "We're not even going to have them around to help us once the 38th Company makes its run back home to drop off their plunder. That leaves us in a bit of a tight spot." Then she grinned. "But I'm sure YOU can cover us, yeah?"
Gears was visibly sweating now. Blossom had walked up to him and was poking at his various augments, adding an element of distinct physical discomfort to the emotional stress of this encounter. He took a moment to read the unicorn's IFF signum label using his bionic eye.  "W-Well, see, the thing is, Miss Poiso-"
"You can call me Kiss," Poison Kiss interrupted, "this here is Breezy, and the lady next to you is Blossom."
Gears grimaced under his respirator mask. "It's an... honor to meet you, Miss Kiss. My name is Gear Works, and I'm still an Aspirant. I can't really fix anything yet; I'm still learning the basics."
Breezy raised an eyebrow. "If you can't fix anything, what are you doing here poking at a broken pipe?"
"That... Uh, well-" Gears yelped when he felt the rear of his robe being lifted up, and he started to turn around. Then he felt a magical aura surround his head and hold him still.
"Don't mind her," Kiss said, tugging Gears' head back to face forward, "what were you saying?"
"I was... saying... that while I can fix pipes and basic mechanical devices and could probably clean a boltgun..." he gulped anxiously, "there's no way I could repair or maintain something like power armor! I barely even understand how the lasguns work!"
Breezy and Kiss shared a glance.
"I'm cool with you just cleaning my gun," the former said, smirking, "and hey, if you play your cards right, maybe you can have a shot at my 'plumbing', too!"
"Your plumbing? Is there something wrong with your restroom?" Gears asked. "I probably COULD fix that, actually..." he trailed off as the two mares started snickering. ”What?"
"Oh, you are just ADORABLE," Kiss said. She gently raised one of her boots and tapped Gear Works in the chest with it. "So, here's what I'm thinking: from here on out, you're going to be our little handystallion. You may not be able to fix up power armor yet, but I'm sure you can learn. And you're going to learn quickly."
The stallion cringed, not least because of the oozing filth Kiss was currently pressing against his chest. "Th-That's not really-"
"What did I say about interrupting me?" Kiss asked. Gears whimpered and stopped talking. "Good lad... That sort of attitude will get you far around here. And if you do what you're told and take care of us, we'll take care of you." She arched an eyebrow and grinned. "If you know what I... hmm?"
Rot Blossom walked back to her squadmates, shaking her head. Then she leaned in close to them and started whispering.
Gears couldn't hear what she was saying, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. He remained still and silent for the most part, only moving to shake off one of the bugs that was trying to crawl up his leg.
Blossom stopped speaking and raised her head. Kiss looked rather grim in her expression, while Breezy just seemed confused.
"So, what, you mean it's made of metal or something?" the pegasus asked.
Blossom shook her head again.
"Oh. OH... bummer." Breezy winced. "Well, we can still have him work for us, right?"
"Yes, I think we will," Kiss agreed, turning toward the cyborg stallion, "is that a problem, Mister Works?"
"Well..." Gear Works wilted quickly under the eyes of the three mares. "I suppose it would give me a chance to study technology created by the Warsmith. I didn't dare hope I'd get to do anything like that so soon." Such a boon had to be weighed against the assorted diseases and parasites that doubtlessly clung to said technology, but it had the added bonus of not annoying Phage Squadron. From where he was standing, that was a VERY important bonus. "Sure, I can do that. Uh... can I finish with the atmospheric cycler, first?"
"Okay, fine. But after that, I want you to help me with my boltgun," Breezy raised her foreleg, pointing the weapon straight up. "It keeps jamming whenever I fire bursts. Like, EVERY TIME. Watch."
"NO!" Gears shouted, his fur standing on end. "The gas! Don't-"


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 7
Mess hall


Gear Works trudged through the doors of the main cafeteria, exhausted and more than a little singed. Molten tears decorated his robe, much of his exposed fur was scorched black, and the servo skull that had accompanied him hung from his neck in a cloth sling, having been damaged beyond its ability to stay mobile. His augmetics, thankfully, were built of sterner stuff, and were generally undamaged. Even that was a mixed blessing, however, since he had still been in good enough shape to repair the engine. And he had done so, despite the extra damage from the explosion tripling the amount of repair work.
On the plus side, Breezy's boltgun now worked better than ever. Good for her.
Gears looked left and right, searching the interior of the mess hall. The majority of the occupants were batponies eating breakfast, as it was late enough in the evening for the day crews to be heading to bed and the night crews to be waking up. While there were plenty of humans and some diurnal ponies that worked irregular hours - himself among them, for today - this was also the time that the nocturnal thestrals normally broke their fast before preparing for work.
He shuffled off toward a dispenser built into the wall, ignoring the occasional odd stare he got from the Lunar Guard. Like most non-batponies, he knew little about them that wasn't shaky myth or prejudice. Unlike the myths and prejudices associated with the Cultist ponies, however, he didn't take them seriously enough to consider the thestrals particularly scary. Or perhaps his fearlessness came from recently being stared down by Plague Ponies and being knocked around by an explosion. Either way, he didn’t think anything of walking through the throngs of fanged equines, collecting a can of nutrient gel, or sitting down at a table with several bat ponies already there.
The Lunar Guard stopped talking amongst themselves immediately, turning to stare at the new arrival.
They continued staring as Gears placed his can of gruel on the table, and then shifted his servo arm over it. The mechanical limb punched a hole in the top, and then curled under the pony's neck to grab the tube connected to his respirator. The tube detached from his oxygen supply, and the servo arm slipped it into the can of "food".
"Ahhhh..." Gears finally relaxed while he sucked the flavorless mush out of the can. Aside from sleep, this was effectively the only break he got from constant work and study in the Dark Mechanicus. And while he usually enjoyed the work and study portions just as much, today had been particularly stressful.
Most of the bat ponies grabbed their food and quietly left, not wanting to sit at the same table with the bizarre black-clad pony. One stallion, however, looked completely fascinated by the cyborg equine. After nearly a minute of merely observing him, the soldier slid over until he was seated opposite Gear Works.


"Well, you look like you've had a rough night. What happened? Kroot Hounds? Daemon incursion? AI rebellion?" the thestral asked.
"Gas explosion," Gears said, briefly interrupting his meal to speak.
"Ooh, that sounds bad. Was anyone important hurt?"
"No. Just me."
The bat pony laughed, slapping a hoof onto the surface of the table. Once his chuckles died down, he leaned forward and grinned at the earth pony.
"And here I thought having a sense of humor disqualified anypony from being DarkMech! Not that I thought they’d ever start taking ponies at all. What's your name?"
"I'm Gear Works," the cyborg pony said, placing a scorched hoof against his chest.
"Nice to meet you! I'm-"
"Lieutenant Dusk Blade of the Lunar Guard," Gears interrupted, "I know who you are."
"Ah. ID signum reader?" Dusk asked, tapping his right eye.
"I have that, yes, but I didn't need it. Your reputation precedes you. The Dark Techpriests have spent considerable time analyzing your ability to bypass local security," Gears drawled, "can I help you, Lieutenant? I'm in the middle of my meal break."
"Nah, just kind of curious, I guess. I don't see a lot of pony Techpriests," Dusk admitted.
"You don't see any pony Techpriests. I'm only an Aspirant, and as far as I know the sole equine member of the Dark Mechanicus."
Dusk nodded absently, picking up a baked dragonfly on a long wooden skewer. "That's like the lowest rank, right? Makes sense. You couldn't have been part of it very long. So, what do you do as an Aspirant?" He bit onto the char-broiled insect, and Gear Works cringed at the loud crunching noise.
"Lieutenant, is there something you wanted?" Gears asked. "I've just finished repairing the rancid equipment that regulates air flow into a Nurgle temple, I'm hours behind schedule, and I was recently solicited by a trio of young mares to maintain their equipment."
"Oh-HO! Is that some kind of saucy DarkMech innuendo?" Dusk asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"No. It means I'm going to repair and clean their weapons and armor," Gears said dryly, "and I have every reason to believe that I will deeply regret the experience. But beside that, I'm very tired, injured, and quite liable to be punished for letting the explosion damage the servo skull that was loaned to me. I would really like to just finish my meal in peace and get back to my quarters to sleep."
The Lunar Lieutenant smiled and rubbed at his chin with a hoof. "You're kind of a loser, huh? I like that! We should hang out!"
"... What? Why?"
"I like to buddy up to ponies objectively worse than I am. It's a real confidence-booster. Besides, knowing a Techpony could be handy! I can call you up whenever I need something fixed!" Dusk reasoned before finishing off his dragonfly.
"That would be extremely troubling for me, especially as you tend to operate at night," Gear Works pointed out.
"Don't worry about it! I've been slowly moving to day-duty anyhow," the bat pony paused to guzzle a cup of apple nectar, and then licked his lips, "but I get it. I'll ring you up in the morning or early evening. How's that?"
"Okay, then I change my objection to 'I don't want to'. I haven't been assigned to wargear maintenance. Why should I have to attend to you?"
"Well, you said you were doing it for those mares," Dusk pointed out, "so why won't you do it for me? Is it because I'm a stallion?"
"Of course not. Those other ponies had wargear designed and constructed by the Warsmith HIMSELF. That alone would be worth my time and effort to work with them if the bearers weren't also Nurgle Cultists. But I was primarily motivated by the implied threat of violent retribution, not petty lust," Gear Works snorted, irritated at the very thought.
Dusk Blade grinned and pulled his left forehoof down under the table. Then he placed it back on top of the table, this time wearing a bladed hoof gauntlet.
"Oh, blast," Gears wheezed, his ears flipping down.
"Aw, don't be like that, buddy! Just because I intend to hurt you if you don't do what I say doesn't mean we can't be friends!" Dusk said brightly, leaning further over the table.
"Well... I suppose it WOULD be interesting to study the Lunar Guard's xenotech rifles..." the cyborg equine mumbled timidly.
"Yes! Exactly! Whatever you need to do to rationalize this relationship!" Dusk Blade shoved his empty tray away, and then leapt over to the other side of the table with a heavy beat of his wings. Gears started to edge away, but the bat pony placed a hoof - the one with curved blades on it - on his shoulder and pulled him in closer. "This is going to be great! It's really hard to find friends as smart as I am among the other thestrals, and most of the unicorns want nothing to do with me."
"I can only imagine," Gear Works grumbled, slurping up another mouthful of nutrient goop.
Dusk Blade watched the quivering tube that ran from the cyborg's mouth to the ration tin. "So, I gotta ask: why do you still have the rebreather on? We're inside, Gears."
"It's not a rebreather. This is just what my face looks like, now," the Aspirant grumbled, "some lunatic mare attacked me and shattered my jaw after I moved into Ferrous Dominus. Rather than picking up the pieces and re-attaching them, Dark Acolyte Sheraan thought it would be more efficient to simply augment my head."
"Ha! No kidding? I was attacked by some crazy mare too!" Dusk laughed. "We have a lot in common, you know?"
"Not really, no. Your jaws were successfully reconstructed, I see."
"Nah, I just win my fights, is all." Dusk retorted, throwing a few quick jabs at the air.
Gear Works hesitated. "No, I meant that literally. My augmetic can see that your jaws have nanodyte implants to facilitate-" One of Dusk's jabs suddenly struck him in the side, and the Aspirant yelped in pain.
"Shut up, Gears," the Lieutenant requested, pulling his hoof from the other Stallion's ribs. Gear Works supposed he should have been glad that at least Dusk had used the hoof without the blades. "Anyway, I've got a patrol soon. I'll track you down tomorrow evening and we can hang out!"
"Please don't," the cyborg begged while his servo arm gently massaged his new bruise.
"Hah! You're a riot! See you soon, buddy!"


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 12
Manufactorum block, following day


Gear Works stood at attention before a hot, glowing furnace, feeling sweat beading under his hood. His perspiration had little to do with the furnace. Rather, it had more to do with the four black-robed figures standing in a circle in front of him, conversing in Binaric Cant.
He had given his full account of everything that had happened the previous day, and handed over the damaged servo skull to his superiors. The self-motivated and pointlessly macabre drone lay off to the side, on a metal counter surrounded by incense candles. After receiving his report, the Techpriests had said nothing to him, immediately convening to speak amongst themselves in the language that he could not yet speak.
Gears couldn't help but speculate on his immediate fate. Would they kill him, as Acolyte Sheraan had alluded to so many times before? Would they declare his career a failure, and decide that the Dark Mechanicus would benefit more from having his augments recycled and his organic mass burned than it would from teaching him and allowing him to serve?
It seemed absurd on the face of it. To think that the first pony ever killed by a human would be one of the Company's own, and for no crime more heinous than completing a task late and to mediocre results. But he dare not assume any cruelty was beyond the sensibilities of the Dark Mechanicus. His life was nothing more than a number to them, and all that was required to justify his disposal was the right equation.
The bursts of static-laced bleating ceased. Gears felt his chest tighten.


Three of the figures turned away and left, not even glancing at the augmented pony. Only Dark Acolyte Sheraan remained, and he turned and glowered down at Gear works through carmine-tinted lenses.
"Aspirant Gear Works," Sheraan declared, "I have completed analysis of your report. After discussion with my colleagues, I must deliver our regrettable conclusion."
Gears cringed.
"It has been decided that you performed your duties with an acceptable level of competence and skill. You are to be..." he paused briefly, as if struggling with the next word, "commended for completing your objectives in the face of direct interference and relatively minor physical trauma."
It took Gear Works several seconds to parse that sentence and make sure that it wasn't some kind of unnecessarily complex way of insulting him. Even then, he initially assumed Sheraan was lying. "I am? Really? Why?"
"Each of your individual decisions were reviewed and judged to be correct," the Dark Acolyte buzzed, "in particular, your insistence on prioritizing your work task over seeking aid or assistance for your injuries was noted as rationale for satisfaction. Such an attitude will serve the Dark Mechanicus well. In addition, your ability to navigate interference by our client warriors without initiating hostilities is to be praised. Barely."
"Are... Are you serious? I'm not being punished for circumstances largely out of my control?" Gears asked, his voice almost breathless.
"Despite my best efforts," Sheraan admitted.
A happy little squeal came from the stallion. He cut it short only because Gears knew very well that his peers despised outward expressions of joy, but the cheer in his tone was unmistakable. "It is my greatest honor to serve, Dark Acolyte! I eagerly await my next task!"
Sheraan murmured something derisory in Binaric Cant, but then straightened up. "Noted, Aspirant. Despite your display of minimal acceptable competence, it must be advised that, in the future, you endeavor to better protect your tools. I’m certain you could have shielded the servo skull with your own body to prevent it from being harmed." He pointed to the skull in question. "Such machines are utterly expendable, and we possess thousands of such devices. Even so, they are far more valuable than your comfort and well-being."
"Affirmative, Acolyte! I understand completely!" Gears brought his servo arm around and pressed it against his forehead in salute. "What is today's job?"
"In recognition of your weakness, you're to repair the servo skull on your own," Sheraan continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "Schematics have been provided, and you have been released from any further duties for the day. You must study and restore the item to a functional state within twenty-four hours without further instruction."
The Dark Acolyte flinched back in surprise when the pony suddenly launched forward, clamping its forelegs around his leg. "What are you doing?!"
"Sorry! Sorry!" Gears quickly let go of his superior, sounding positively giddy. "It's called a 'hug'. It's a thing ponies do sometimes in response to spontaneous increases in happiness."
"Don't do that again," Sheraan warned.
"No promises," Gear Works trotted over to the table and scooped the pieces of the servo skull into the bag he had carried them in with. His servo arm snagged the dataslate next to it, and then the cyborg pony left the hall, practically skipping for joy.


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 4
Mechanicus Dorms


Gear Works' room was a simple affair, even by the standards of the 38th Company. A two-meter cube with a metal shelf on two walls; a lower, larger one for a bed, and a higher, smaller one for a desk. For a pony from Canterlot, it would have barely qualified as a closet. Even the cells of the castle dungeons were roomier and more comfortable.
Like most aspects of living in Ferrous Dominus, Gears tended to look for the non-obvious advantages rather than the extremely visible horrors. Such a design was incredibly efficient in both space usage and construction time. Neither factor was of any real comfort to the individuals having to live there, given that space was in abundance and the fortress-city had an indefinite amount of time to construct better housing, but Gears was still fascinated by the idea. This building had literally been built in an afternoon, at a cost in material that the Dark Mechanicus considered negligible. It was also extremely safe, which was more than he could say for the downright decadent apartments in Nightwatch. Were the fortress to be attacked - which had already happened twice in a matter of months - he would bet on the reinforced, ground-level cubicles to survive much better than the showy black tower.
The lack of space meant that Gears couldn't do much in his room besides sleep and read. Luckily, tinkering with a servo skull didn't require much in the way of room, and his bed was easy to use as a second desk to lay out the parts. He had already figured much of the device out, and was carefully probing the gravitation engine with a precision auspex to find the fissures created by the detonation. It wasn't extremely delicate work, but still sensitive enough that he was glad to be doing it in a tiny, locked metal box.
So, naturally, that was when the door suddenly slid open and someone shouted "Hey, Gears!" behind him.


"GAH! Ponyfeathers!" Gear Works yelled, accidentally piercing the engine casing with the needle-like probe. He didn't have much time to continue cursing or take stock of the damage. A leathery wing fell over his withers, and another furry body leaned in next to him.
"Oh, cool! Fixing up the servo skull? Do you know how to make those?" Dusk Blade asked, leaning in toward the components laid out on the steel surface. "Like, could you make me one if I provided a skull? I know a few menials who probably wouldn't be missed."
Gear Works gently removed the precision auspex and laid it down. "How did you get in here and how can I get you out?"
"Sorry buddy, trade secret!" Dusk winked and laughed. "Anyway, you can get back to this in a minute. I just wanted to talk a little." The Mechanicus Aspirant heaved a sigh, which he took as a sign to continue. Not that Dusk Blade was going to obey any request to leave, but still. "Let's head into your living room. It's too cramped in here."
Gears turned toward the other stallion, raising his only remaining eyebrow. "Pardon? My living room?"
"Yeah. Or den, or workshop, or whatever you Mechies have." The batpony frowned and glanced back at the entrance. "Why does your front door open into the closet, anyhow? Or is this one of those little greeting rooms, like in Neighpon?"
"No. This is my room, Lieutenant," Gear Works drawled, "as in, all of it. There are no other rooms."
Dusk stared at him for a few seconds, and then his head whipped back and forth again, checking the dimensions of the room interior. "Wait... seriously? Dude, I grew up in a damp, lightless, underground cave, and even I feel claustrophobic in here." Then his brow furrowed. "Hold on, if there are no other rooms, then where's your toilet? Do they seriously make the DarkMech clergy walk down the hall and share a communal bathroom?"
"Oh, no, that would be very inefficient," Gears agreed, stepping away from the other stallion, "I have my own waste disposal chute."
"A... 'waste disposal cute'?" Dusk couldn't repeat the phrase without wincing.
Gear Works nodded and then stepped on a tile near the corner. A small hinged cover on the floor popped up, revealing a funnel opening that descended into the piping of the dormitories.
Dusk stared. Then he looked up at Gears again. "You know, whenever somepony complains about the Company practicing slavery, we should just show them this place. Seriously, the slave cells are SO much nicer. They have actual toilets and running water and pillows and EVERYTHING."
"Such decadence is grossly unnecessary for a follower of the Machine God," Gears scoffed, "every minute I spend in my domicile is an unfortunate necessity, a waste of time to be tolerated until I can return to work in the manufactorum." His servo arm swept toward the pieces of the servo skull littering his desk and bed. "I wouldn't even be performing this much labor here, but as an Aspirant I'm not allowed in the main workshops without permission from a superior."
"And they wouldn't let you use it to fix a servo skull?" Dusk asked.
"When I asked for permission to enter, the Dark Techpriest in attendance just started laughing. I took that as a negative response." Gears shifted uncomfortably. "I believe many other followers of the Machine God are still uncomfortable with the idea of counting an equine among their peers, and choose to express their discomfort with cold hostility and open contempt. Quite understandable really. Change can be difficult."
The Lunar Guard officer snorted. "Geez Gears, try not to be such a pushover! You have rights too!"
"I need you to understand that if I was not such a pushover, I would have definitely tried to stab you by now, Lieutenant," Gear Works stated flatly. "Now, did you have anything you actually wanted to talk about? I need to get back to work immediately."
"Right, right. So, I was messing around on the noosphere looking for dating tips for nerds. Don't ask. I ended up getting into a conversation with a few unicorns trying to set up an Oubliettes and Ogres campaign, and they asked if I knew anypony else who wanted to join up. They have a hard time finding players, since so few ponies are allowed on the Noosphere so far."
Gear Works didn't reply immediately. "...... Well... that... that actually sounds like a lot of fun," he mumbled reluctantly. "You... play O&O? Really?"
"Stole my first rule book when I was six years old!" Dusk said proudly. "2nd Edition! Hit the same house the very next evening to swipe the dice and model figures! Almost got caught because of that, too! Heh."
"... Stole?"
"Well, that was before the whole Nightmare Moon thing worked itself out," Dusk shrugged, "a lot of batponies survived by burgling pony homes in the border settlements. I learned how to pick a lock before I learned how to read! And most of my family only learned the first of those two skills." He shook his head. "Whatever. Not important. O&O at midnight, all night. Level one characters. Snacks and nectar provided. You in?"
Gear Works stared down at the pieces of servo skull lying on his bed. "Well, I have orders to have this completed by then anyway... I suppose I could make a LITTLE time for recreation."
"So you're in! Awesome!" Dusk Blade grinned and turned around. "Me and the other guys are going to break up a meeting of those hippie losers who keep trying to make Ferrous Dominus a decent place to live. After that, we should be clear to use the space the rest of the night. Meet us in Sector 6, building 12, room 223." He hit a button on the wall, and the front door slid open for him. "And for Luna's sake, get a better dorm! This one is so cramped I don't even want to drop in at inconvenient hours and badger you!"
The Lunar Guard stepped outside, and the door slid shut and locked behind him.


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 6
Building 12


Gears exited the lift to the second floor with a hefty stack of papers stuffed in his saddlebag and a sense of cautious optimism.
He hadn't joined the Dark Mechanicus or moved to Ferrous Dominus to make friends. He'd assumed that much would be obvious when he'd elected to enter a practically servile position under a cult of humans well-known for being humorless, obsessive workaholics. But he hadn't counted on the position apparently raising his personal worth to the point that ponies would actually threaten him for the privilege of his time. He hadn't had any friends of note in Canterlot; although he had a talent for building excellent clocks and obscure machines, anypony who needed such devices was perfectly willing to just buy them from his shop and leave. In Ferrous Dominus, however, the social logic was turned on its head. Ponies couldn't buy many of the wares of the Mechanicus, but could solicit favors from the Dark Techpriests. Suddenly his time, skills, and affiliation with the Cult Mechanicus was worth a great deal to other ponies, and his attitude and personality didn't seem to be any impediment.
Gears was sure there was some kind of cynical lesson on friendship that could be drawn from that, but he was distracted from his thoughts when he saw a pegasus mare bounce out into the hall with a painful yelp.


"Wh-Why are you doing this? We weren't trying to cause any trouble!" the hapless pony asked.
Dusk Blade emerged a moment later, although he was in full armor and had his mask on to discourage identification. "Well, you caused trouble anyway. Be thankful that we're just seizing your materials and tossing you out this time. The Dark Mechanicus isn't particular about what happens to you rabble-rousers."
"We're just trying to make the city a better place for everyone!" the pegasus insisted, standing up nervously.
"Yeah, thanks for that. It's ponies like you that really complete our community and enhance the social fabric around here, you know?" Dusk replied.
The mare blinked in confusion.
"However, the DarkMech makes all our cool stuff, and they don't like all this talk about not dumping the by-products of that production into the local air and water. So I had to make a choice, and I took the side that makes laser guns. Sorry."
A panicked shout came from within the room, and then an earth pony mare was thrown out into the hall next to the pegasus. A unicorn stallion - also wearing full combat gear - stepped up next to Dusk, staring at a dataslate he was levitating in front of him.
"Well, lookie here. A petition? It looks like we have quite a few citizens who need a reminder that life in Ferry D could be much, MUCH worse for them."
"Pft! A petition? Really?" Dusk scoffed. "What do you think this is, a democracy?"
The mares looked confused. "A what?"
"A democracy. A government established by the process of having citizens decide which political agents to represent them and their interests," the Lieutenant explained. "Each citizen, regardless of personal wealth or social stature, has an equal say in the potential government, and rulers are selected or rejected based on their promises and policies."
Now the ejected ponies looked intrigued.
"Huh. I never thought of that. We've lived under the royal family all our lives."
"That sounds like a really good idea, actually."
"Well, TOO BAD!" Dusk shouted, startling the mares. "Get out of here, punks!"


The mares quickly galloped away in fear, dashing past Gear Works in the hall. He waited patiently until they huddled in the lift, and then trotted out toward the room they had been ejected from.
"Gears, my stallion! Good to see you!" Dusk Blade said, pulling down his respirator mask and waving a wing toward the cyborg. "C'mon in, we just cleared this place out!"
"I saw. A little harsh, don't you think? Those ponies were terrified for their lives," Gear Works pointed out as he approached.
Dusk turned around and headed inside past the unicorn stallion. "Eh, they'll be fine. We didn't hit them or anything. We're not going to seriously hurt anypony over a little civic engagement."
"Unless we find somepony on this list that we already hate," the unicorn interjected, still looking over the names on the dataslate petition.
"Well, obviously. But putting aside the personal abuses of power for petty bullying, nopony's going to make a big deal out of this." Dusk stepped aside and then swept a wing into the room. "Now, are you ready to geek out all night, or what?!"
In the center of the room, two more unicorns were working to assemble a playing table with their magic. Miniature soldiers and colorful mats covered in grids floated into place, and a glowing bubble filled with a wide variety of dice hovered over the table surface. Two of the unicorns Gear Works identified with optical scans: Star Spear and Dazzle. His optical augment also tagged the third unicorn, who was settling in behind a cardboard divider, but that stallion hardly needed an introduction.
"Prince Blueblood? This is a surprise," Gears murmured, stepping closer to the table, "I didn't figure you for much of a gamer. And the Oubliette Master, at that?"
The noble pony wasted no time in taking his seat and raising his muzzle into the air, staring at the cybernetic pony with a sneer most ponies reserved for vermin actively biting at their shins. "I'm not much of a 'gamer', in fact. But I make a special exception for games that allow me to vicariously brutalize my social inferiors through the use of nigh-unlimited power." He grinned and tapped the tips of his forehooves together. "Be warned, fool: I don't aim to merely destroy your silly little 'characters'. By the end of this session I intend to have worn every one of you thespian dregs to the very edge of despair, whittling away your hope as well as your hit points. I consider it nothing less than my solemn duty to reduce you filthy nerds to bleak, broken shells of the ponies you entered as."
"Isn't he perfect?" Dusk gushed, flying over the other ponies to land in his chair.
"I like how he dramatizes and sets the mood before anypony else has even started," Dazzle said as he scooted in. Star Spear sat down next to him, already levitating a twenty-sided die over his head.
Gear Works took his own place and then withdrew a collection of papers with his servo arm. "Here's my character. I figured I'd play healer."
Blueblood snatched the character sheet away with his magic, and then propped a set of gold-rimmed reading glasses on his muzzle to look it over.
"I suppose 'Cleric' is as close to 'Techpriest' as you can get in this game," Dusk mused, "hey, you think they'll come up with some rules for Chaos Space Marines and Cultists and stuff? Then we can play as 38th Company soldiers!"
"But... we ARE 38th Company soldiers," Gears pointed out.
"Sure, but we could role play being good ones," Star Spear reasoned, "besides, I hate fighting Orks in real life. Way too stressful."
"And can you imagine what it would be like to actually carry around and use a heavy bolter? SO COOL,” Dazzle grinned, rubbing his front hooves together.
"Excuse me," Blueblood said suddenly, peering at Gear Works from over the rims of his reading glasses, "but is this a 4th Edition character sheet?"
All other conversation halted instantly. The other stallions turned toward Gear Works.
"Yes, it is. So?" Gears blinked.
The other players continued staring.
"You play 4th Ed?" Dazzle asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Sure. Isn't that the most recent version of the rules?" Gear Works asked. "I know that the update wasn't very popular with long-time players, but I actually like it better. I feel like the changes encourage teamwork and tactics more than min/maxing, you know?"
The other ponies didn't reply, still staring at him.
"I mean, who wants to play a game where the main point is just to possess the biggest number? That's not what this activity is about! Right?"
The other ponies pushed out their chairs and stood up.


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 12
Manufactorum block, following day


"... and then they beat me up and stole all my money," Gear Works mumbled miserably.
He stood in front of Dark Acolyte Sheraan, grumbling his explanation of the previous evening to his superior. His robes were in tatters, dried blood clung to his muzzle, and every few seconds his optical augment would crackle and spit a few sparks from its fractured casing.
"After immobilizing me they took... took my custom Buffalo Cleric figurine and melted it down in front of me with a lasgun. And burned all my papers." Gears tried to keep his composure, but couldn't restrain a pained sniffle at the memory. "Then they shoved me in a maintenance locker and triple-padlocked it before they left. It took me most of the night to pry myself free, since all the lockers are internally reinforced and all of the menials ignored my shouts for help. I barely managed to get here to report to work on time."
He looked up into the unmoving, expressionless gaze of Sheraan. "That concludes my explanation of why I arrived in less than pristine condition, Dark Acolyte."
Sheraan finally moved, crossing his arms over his chest. "Acknowledged. Your excuses have been noted and logged to the noosphere general channel, so that they might be more widely observed and result in widespread social ridicule. As you still managed to report on schedule - AGAIN - despite personal hardship and injury, there will be no further punishment."
Gear Works sighed. "Yes, Dark Acolyte. What am I to be assigned today?"
At this, Sheraan hesitated. "... Despite your present difficulties, I have received distressing news regarding your Mechanicus tasks."
"Distressing to you, or me? I've noticed that we don't share the same conditions for good or bad fortune," Gears asked.
"Affirmative. I suspect that you will find this notice generally favorable," Sheraan admitted. "Dark Techpriest Carmed ended up receiving your restored servo skull."
"Techpriest Carmed?" Gears perked up immediately upon hearing the name of the only Techpriest who had ever seemingly enjoyed working with him. Granted, Gears had "worked with him" as a glorified science experiment, but still.
"Upon analysis, he judged the repairs to the skull to be entirely satisfactory, and stated that he was surprised and impressed by your ability to absorb and apply the principles of gravitic waveform engineering in such a small span of time."
Gear Work's attitude did an instant one-eighty, and he squealed in delight while rearing up on his hind legs. Sheraan quickly stepped back, ensuring that he was out of range of any spontaneous "hugging" attempts.
"... To that end, it has been decided that the servo skull is to be assigned to you permanently as personal equipment. Largely because no other Tech-clergy trusts your repairs, but you may consider it a reward for completing your task to the minimal acceptable standards."
Sheraan gestured to the side, and, to Gears' absolute delight, a familiar autonomous skull floated over a conveyor belt, its bright green optic pulsing gently.
"Striker!" he cheered happily, snagging one of the skull's cables with his servo arm.
"... Pardon?" Sheraan asked.
"Oh, that's just what I call her," the stallion said, tugging the skull down to his eye level. He couldn't see very well with his optical cracked, and wanted to check the macabre drone over before he put it back into service.
Sheraan seemed perturbed. "Why do you assign it a gender pronoun?" In fact the skull WAS from a female, but he had no idea how the pony would have determined that, or why such a meaningless quality would be imparted upon the end product.
"It's an inside joke. Not important." Gears quickly composed himself and stood at attention before the Dark Acolyte. His optical sputtered again, splashing sparks over his hoof, but the damage and ever-present fire hazard didn't seem to faze the stallion in the slightest anymore. "What is to be today's task, Acolyte?"
"That matter, too, has been subject to unexpected interference." Sheraan turned slightly, and a hololith emitter next to his optical augmetic displayed a local area map in the air between him and the pony. "It seems that Phage Squadron has placed a request for your assistance. This is to be your primary task for the day."
Gears' morale instantly dipped again. "Uh... Ph-Phage Squadron? But... I thought I was to be assigned mainly rote menial tasks during my tenure as an Aspirant. I can't possibly be qualified to maintain combat-grade equipment, am I?" He had already agreed to do exactly that, of course, but Gears had been under the impression that he would be working with the mares on his own time. He didn’t want to give up valuable manufactorum productivity in order to see to their petty complaints.
"I concur. Your concerns are rational," Sheraan assured him, "however, Techpriest Carmed suggested that your assignment to resolving... equine technical requests should take priority. That way no human Tech-clergy need waste their time on such low-priority affairs, while the requests do not go unattended and eventually provoke complaints from the Iron Warriors. It was proposed that this is a better use of your time than supervising forge processes that do not require supervision."
"B-But I LIKE supervising forge processes!" Gear Works protested. "I want to work here, doing menial chores and gradually working my way up through your transparent discrimination and needless hostility! I joined the Dark Mechanicus to labor under the stifling, arcane technocracy of the Techpriests, not do chores for insipid pony thugs!" He sat down and clapped his front hooves together. "Please, Acolyte, reconsider! Let me work here, in the manufactorum! You can put me on a punishment detail, even! Just make up an infraction! I won't protest!"
Sheraan crossed his arms under his chest. "Normally I would be perfectly willing to do so, but now that you WANT it you've taken all the satisfaction out of it."
Gear Works' ears drooped, and he fell onto all fours. "Ah. Catch twenty-two, then."
"Affirmative." Sheraan poked at the floating hololith. "You are to report to this location as soon as is feasible. Unit designation Rot Blossom has reported difficulties with her plumbing and requires assistance." The Dark Acolyte paused again, furrowing his brow. "She emphasized that this statement was not an innuendo."
"Innuendo? How can plumbing be an innuendo?" Gears wondered aloud.
"Unknown. Probably best not to analyze it. These units are Nurglites, after all," Sheraan mumbled. "You may proceed with your assigned task, Aspirant."


Heaving a defeated sigh, Gear Works gave Striker a gentle tug and then trudged away.
Acolyte Sheraan watched him go, his goggles gleaming in the dim glow of the lumens.
A smaller sigh escaped the Acolyte as well before he turned around and headed the other way, barely obscuring a short burst of static and the Binaric Cant carried with it.
+4th Edition... if I had my way, that would be grounds for disintegration right there. N00b.+


****


Ferrous Dominus - sector 4
Mechanicus Dorms, later that evening


"I honestly think Miss Blossom was more suited to resolving that clog than I was," Gear Works mumbled as he walked down the hall of his dormitory complex. "That centipede was almost as thick as my leg. This was definitely more of a combat mission than a maintenance job."
Striker floated along behind him, bleeping incoherently.


The pony and his new semi-autonomous drone were heading back to his room after a long and thorough run in the sanitizing facilities. As a result, Gear Works didn't have his robe; only a damp, steaming towel hung over his neck obscured his body at all. That left the full, ghastly extent of his mechanical augmentation on full display: the skin of his back cut open along the spine, which was now composed of ridged duralloy and run through with cabling. Patches of fur were replaced with input sockets, metal plates, or small vents. His respirator mask, grafted directly into his muzzle, mounted several hoses that ran down his chest and connected to more sockets and key life support inputs. Even his tail, considered a completely superfluous extremity by the Techpriest who had rebuilt him, had been replaced by a thin, prehensile metal whip that was normally obscured by his shroud of rubber. This was, of course, in addition to his two cybernetic legs and optical, which his robes could never fully hide.
Gear Works was quite proud of his augments, but like the human Tech-clergy he recognized that such extensive and un-aesthetic modifications to his natural form was... distressing, to some. He had made it a point not to be seen in public without his robes even before his acceptance into the Dark Mechanicus had turned it into a badge of honor, and despite his race's general tendency toward nudity. It was only here, in the living facilities of the Mechanicus, that he would dare to be exposed. The only others around were other cyborgs, who appreciated extensive augmentation almost as a rule. There were no ordinary humans, much less ponies, with access to the building.
That was the idea, anyway.


"Gears! Look, I SWEET MOTHER OF LUNA WHAT THE HAY HAPPENED TO YOU?!"
Gear Works stared into his dormitory room, his eye narrowing. Dusk Blade was standing on his bed, the batpony's face twisted into an expression of abject horror.
"Did... Oh, no... Oh, Luna, no... Did we do this?" Dusk whispered, his facial fur paling several shades. "I didn't know... but... how... I mean... we j-just... I d-didn't think..."
Gear Works decided to cut off his haunted mumbling. "I was like this before. Your roughing me up last night didn't necessitate additional augments."
Dusk gasped in relief, collapsing onto the bed. "Phew! Okay, good! Wow! Had me scared for a second, there!" He pressed a hoof to his chest as his breathing normalized. “Uh… you want to get dressed, then? Because that is REALLY distracting."
"Get out of my room and never come back," Gears growled. His servo arm reached up for his robe hanging on the wall, and then he started wriggling into it.
"Okay, so you're mad. That's fair. You can be mad. I made a mistake, and I should face the consequences for that," Dusk said, his ears flipping down.
"A 'mistake'? What 'mistake' was that?!" Gears snarled as he pushed his head up into his hood. "Did you break my optical open and pin me down in ERROR, Lieutenant? Did you perhaps mistake me for somepony else? Was there some MISUNDERSTANDING that resulted in my being beaten, humiliated, and sealed into a metal container?"
"Well... technically, no! But I did regret it afterward!" the Lieutenant insisted. "I was caught up in the heat of the moment, you know? Besides, everypony else was doing it! I didn’t want everypony to think I was uncool or something!"
"GET. OUT." Gear Works stepped as close as he could to one wall and jabbed toward the exit with his augmetic arm.
"C'mon, Gears! I'm sorry! You know what they say about peer pressure: it's completely irresistible and a perfectly legitimate excuse for misbehavior!"
"Nobody says that about peer pressure," Gear Works retorted, "but even if we accepted that, I still hate you." He tapped his optical augment with a hoof. "I've alerted the security servitors. Within two minutes, they will arrive and destroy anyone they find without a valid Mechanicus signum. You can leave now, or you can leave later in a sack, as a pile of ashes."
Dusk Blade looked surprised at the threat, and he pursed his lips anxiously.
"... No. I'm staying," he said firmly, grimacing, "partly because I'm pretty sure you're bluffing - I don't think they'd really let Aspirants give orders to combat units - but also because I have to make this right."
"Make it 'right'? Really?" Gears brought his servo arm toward his face, and Dusk cringed as the metal fingers gripped the metal bulb of his optical implant. "So what do you plan on doing to make it up to me, hmm? Did you want to take a crack at fixing this for me?" The servo arm wrenched the optical augment out of its socket, and then held it out to the batpony.
Dusk Blade felt his stomach turn at the sight of the cracked metal orb, staring straight at him with a flickering red iris. Gear’s face wasn’t any better; his empty socket was lined with metal contacts and spike-tipped plugs, and some kind of dark fluid pooled at the bottom of the gaping hole in the pony’s skull. Still, he didn't turn away or fidget. He still had one card left to play.
"You know I can't do that, Gears. But I CAN give you back something else that you thought was broken!" Dusk swept one wing under his belly, and then pulled it up again with something clutched in the tip.
Gear Works froze, genuinely stunned. Within the curled wingtip of the Lunar Lieutenant was his character figurine. A buffalo sporting a white robe and a tiny white miter.
"That's... my Cleric model? But I saw Blueblood melt it down!" Gears protested.
"I swapped it out for my Buffalo Shaman on the sly. The others didn't notice, and by that time your optical was already messed up, so you probably couldn't see clearly." Dusk chuckled before stretching his wing over and dropping the figurine on the desk. "I'm not going to try to justify my own behavior last night-"
"You already tried to do that," Gears interrupted.
"... but those guys just went too far," Dusk continued, as if the other stallion hadn't said anything. "So I wanted to return your model to you, and apologize for what I did." He cautiously raised a hoof toward Gear Works. "Can you forgive me?"
Gears stared down at the figurine, and then his servo arm swiveled over and placed his damaged optical augment on the desk. Then he used the metal claw to gently pick up the lead figure and observe it closely. It was indeed his model; he recognized the unique little scuffs and imperfections that came from trying to paint a highly detailed 30 millimeter model with one's mouth. It seemed Dusk Blade had really rescued it, and apparently sacrificed his own figurine in doing so.
He turned back toward the batpony, who was smiling gently at him. "I don't suppose you'd also like to return the bits you stole from me, would you?"
"Don't ruin the moment, Gears," Dusk said, still smiling. "So, what do you say buddy? Friends?"
Gear Works looked back to his Cleric model. Then he looked over at Dusk Blade again. "I hate you slightly less than I did a few minutes ago."
"Friends!" Dusk said cheerfully, bounding over and giving the other stallion a wing-hug.
"You’re lucky I really was bluffing about the servitors."
"Called it."