[Simulation terminated. Duration: fifty-six days.]
[Retainable rewards available.]
[Option 1: 'Tyranid' Xenos Combat Intelligence (Incomplete)]
[Option 2: Imperial Commissar Standard Kit (Complete Set)]
[Option 3: Lawrence's Hell Gun (Standard Pattern)]
Note: "Reporting to the Commissar, my name is Lawrence, from Pearl Moon. Commissar... would you like some fish?"
[Simulation duration exceeded 24 hours. Simulator cooldown penalty applied.]
[Cooldown period: fifty-six hours.]
[Current available cooldown reduction: two hundred ninety-seven hours.]
[Consume cooldown reduction time?]
[Cooldown reduction declined. Simulator entering natural cooldown cycle (reduction may be applied at any time).]
The simulation interface faded.
Nolan didn't reach for a reward immediately. His hand hovered over the selection screen, trembling slightly.
His eyes fixed on Lawrence's hell gun among the options. The weapon's designation glowed softly in the dim light of his room.
Even after completing the simulation and being presented with rewards, he felt no excitement. No satisfaction. Just a hollow emptiness in his chest.
The sacrifice of countless human lives had built the Imperium's foundation, stone by stone, corpse by corpse. Drakos. Lawrence. The entire 358th Regiment, ground to nothing against an enemy that couldn't be reasoned with or stopped.
But facing Chaos, facing the Tyranids, facing the endless tide of heretical forces and xenos threats...
Did the Imperium of Man truly have a future in the Warhammer universe? Or was it just slowly bleeding out, fighting a war it could never win?
Perhaps it was the alcohol still working through his system. Nolan found himself unusually sentimental, his thoughts darker than normal.
After a long silence, he selected Lawrence's hell gun.
Even though it was the only standard-pattern, non-special weapon he'd obtained through multiple simulations, it felt right. It felt like honoring something.
In an instant, a Kantrael Mark II pattern hot-shot lasgun materialized in his hands, its gyro-stabilized barrel still warm to the touch. A heavy backpack power cell appeared on the floor beside him.
Nolan moved with practiced efficiency, slinging the battery pack over his shoulders. The weight settled comfortably across his back—muscle memory from the simulation guiding his movements.
He raised the hell gun to his shoulder, cycling through several quick-aim drills. His finger rested alongside the trigger guard as he tracked imaginary targets.
"Pew. Pew pew." The childish sound effects escaped his lips almost unconsciously.
He was still in his apartment, of course. Actually firing the weapon would be catastrophically stupid. A hell gun's las-beam could punch through the entire building and cook anyone in its path into charred meat.
Nolan turned the weapon over in his hands, examining every detail. The cool weight of real metal. The faint hum of the power cell. The worn grip that fit his palm perfectly.
The excitement of holding an actual physical object from the simulation diluted his earlier melancholy, pushing the darkness back to the edges of his mind.
It was early morning. His internal clock, precise as always, reminded him that dawn was approaching.
Reluctantly, Nolan removed the battery pack and set the hell gun aside. He collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
The next morning, well before sunrise, Nolan was already awake and moving.
He cradled the hell gun carefully as he made his way toward the basement. A weapon this dangerous needed to be kept far from curious eyes and careless hands.
Besides, he needed to ask UR-025 for help tracking Madam Gao and Bullseye's movements. If he could coordinate their locations properly, maybe he could eliminate the New York underworld's leadership in one decisive strike.
Just like clearing out a Tyranid infestation. Cut off the synapse creatures, and the lesser organisms fall into disarray.
Nolan descended the stairs cautiously, the hell gun's weight reassuring in his arms.
He pushed open the basement's iron door.
UR-025 stood in the center of the room, motionless. Waiting.
Nolan's expression remained neutral, but his eyebrows rose fractionally.
The hell gun in his arms whined softly as its power cell cycled up.
He leveled the weapon at the figure before him.
He knew perfectly well that even a plasma pistol on infinite charge probably wouldn't scratch UR-025's ancient armor. But some things were worth doing anyway.
This was about principle. About human dignity.
Then came the dull clang of metal striking concrete.
Nolan froze, caught completely off guard.
The towering mechanical figure dropped to its knees with surprising grace. It lowered its metal torso in a bow and spread its arms wide, palms upward in a gesture of complete submission.
UR-025's voice rang out, mechanical yet filled with unmistakable reverence:
"Welcome, Omnissiah. Your faithful and eternal servant, UR-025, awaits your commands."
Nolan's eyes widened. His finger tensed on the hell gun's trigger.
After a long moment of stunned silence, he asked carefully, " UR-025... did you do something? Please tell me you didn't crash Earth's entire financial market. Or dig up the city's entire cable network."
At Nolan's question, UR-025didn't raise its metal head. It remained in its humble position.
"I have received divine revelation. I am merely your servant and instrument, not an autonomous guide. I was not fully awakened when I first emerged from hibernation. Now I have simply returned to my proper function."
Divine revelation? Servant? Instrument?
UR-025's words only deepened Nolan's confusion.
The gods of this universe definitely didn't have time to enlighten stray artificial intelligences. Most of them were abstract cosmic entities, incarnations of fundamental forces far beyond mortal comprehension.
"UR-025, we agreed before. We're partners." Nolan took a deep breath, slowly lowering the hell gun's barrel. "I've always treated people as equals—"
Before Nolan could finish, UR-025jerked its head up sharply.
The pale blue lights of its optical sensors pulsed wildly. It actually interrupted him, its mechanical voice taking on an almost pleading quality:
"I am your tool! Your servant! This is not subject to debate! Please, issue your commands. I can do anything for you!"
"Uh... fine. Find the current locations of Bullseye Lester and the Hand's Madam Gao. Take over their cell phones and establish surveillance."
Nolan stared at UR-025suspiciously, his tone cautious and testing.
Before the words fully left his mouth, projections sprang to life from UR-025's eyes. Holographic displays showed Bullseye and Madam Gao's movement patterns, their current positions, even real-time feeds from their surroundings.
Their phones had been compromised, transformed into listening devices that captured every nearby sound.
In Earth's digital age, UR-025 moved through cyberspace like a god. Nothing was beyond its reach.
Nolan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. An idea formed.
He addressed UR-025 with exaggerated seriousness:
"UR-025, I've thought about it carefully. I want to become a billionaire. I also want to be humanity's guide and Earth's supreme controller!"
The holographic projections suddenly vanished.
UR-025 turned its full attention to Nolan.
"I will help you construct a secure base facility, superior to anything on this planet. I will monitor all of Terra's human population to ensure your safety. I will provide you access to any useful knowledge you require. Millions, even tens of millions in liquid funds can be made available to you."
UR-025 paused, its voice taking on a firmer edge.
"However, for greater resources, or to bring all of humanity under your control... my lord, you must accomplish this yourself. I will support you from behind. I will pray for your success. But I will not do it for you."
Nolan's eyes narrowed to slits. He stared hard at the kneeling machine.
"Yesterday you said you could make me a billionaire. Today you're refusing. Tell me. What happened? What changed your mind?"
The hell gun came up again, its barrel painting UR-025's chest with a targeting laser.
UR-025 remained kneeling, unconcerned. It spread its arms wider, exposing its central chassis completely.
"Do you understand that stolen wealth represents the accumulated blood and sweat of countless humans? How many impoverished people dream of improving their circumstances through honest work? And you simply want something for nothing? You want to become enslaved to endless material resources?"
The lecture made Nolan burst out laughing despite himself.
The damn heretical machine was giving him an ideological education course. The absurdity was too much.
Nolan's laughter died. His voice dropped into a dangerous register.
"You heretical piece of scrap metal. Don't try to brainwash me. Didn't you just say you're my tool? My servant? So why do you keep refusing my orders?"
He shifted tactics abruptly.
"Fine. I don't need to be a billionaire. Just go to an arms manufacturer and order a hundred thousand guns for me. The more the better!"
"If my lord provides me with reasonable justification that I find convincing, I will place that order immediately. If you desire aircraft carriers or fighter jets, I can acquire those as well."
UR-025's optical sensors glowed steadily, its voice perfectly calm.
This time, it was Nolan who found himself struck speechless.
He'd been counting on UR-025 to legally procure firearms through legitimate channels. How many weapons could he possibly smuggle otherwise? A few dozen at most?
But he couldn't reveal the simulator's existence to a heretical machine intelligence. That was out of the question.
"I... I'm going to shoot you!"
Nolan's frustration mounted, his grip tightening on the hell gun.
"Shoot me? I welcome it! Go ahead! Fire! Omnissiah be praised!"
The shameless machine started playing the martyr, offering up its metal body with theatrical fervor.
Then its voice softened, taking on an almost gentle quality:
"My lord... humanity can only rely on itself."