Dicax Malleus was leaning back on a dull metal bench, causing it to pivot onto the rear legs, his primary servo arm acted as a buttress between him and the thick steel bulkhead, his feet rested atop a high precision, plasteel workbench. In his hands he held a small burnt plasma coil. The only illumination came from the cognigator by Cax's side and an aura of yellow light emanating from the metal piles around him in the otherwise spartan room.

Cax sighed and turned the metal in his hands, 'good enough,' he thought, entirely to himself, and tossed it into the brightest pile. The silence was broken as the heap settled. The darkness of this room calmed him, he was allowed his own thoughts here. He picked up a second coil and examined it breifly before throwing it into another pile. This wasn't worth it: the best of these would barely last for one shot before destabalizing.

Cax turned to the cognigator by his side and set to work organizing his surfs. He took the time to tap orders into his cogitator, as opposed to just thinking them there. There were only a few servitors anyway... it wasn't much work.

He searched for some good news through the inputs.

He summoned a promising visual feed and moved the text input to a corner.

+Servitor b 73+
+9.079.780.M41+ -
+Worklog begins+
+scanning... Severe burning+

A primary servo arm activated, the motor almost inaudibly whining as it rotated the vice-grip. An ultrasonic scanner climbed to it's necessary frequency and broke the silence. In the background, several other robed figures could be seen scouring and salvaging from various mechanisms that littered the room, bringing unnerving metallic clinks and scrapes to the otherwise deathly silence.

+Multiple fractures; first, second and third layer. Processing...+

A few seconds passed, a relay clicked.

+salvage and replace+

The half-machine being placed the meter-long blackened armour panel back onto the oiled cloth. Both it's primary and secondary servo arms raised, they clamped onto their first bolts and began unscrewing.

The panel shuddered, causing the carbon crust to disintergrate. Colours were visible now, a marbled red with white-silver tracts.

The Layers of plating were separate.

+Scanning... Primary ceramite layer, irreparable;
secondary ceramite layer, irreparable;
primary Plasteel layer, deformed, reparable;
adamantine layer, undamaged, reusable+ -

Cax actually smiled, though he wasn't entirely sure why, he knew it only meant more work. He tapped a few keys and watched the servitor begin to retreat to a recharging port.

There was a loud hiss from the vents around the door behind Cax. The room was suddenly completely silent, Cax slipped his feet from the workbench and extended his servo arm to right himself. The room was completely dark now. As he climbed to his feet, he picked up his techmarine's poweraxe and brought it to a guard across his chest, it was as much a weapon as it was a tool. No noise was made. He shifted his leg and felt the comforting and familiar weight of his bolt pistol in it's holster on his right thigh. He lit the stablight mounted on his shoulder, illuminating a circle of the door in front of him. Compressed, white air streamed in through the vents, the thick door creaked as the pressure equalised. It slid open.

'Oh it's you' Cax lowered his weapon to his side.

'Are you all right brother? It said atmosphere in here was toxic - I thought you might be practicing your people skills. ' Cax flipped on the main light and turned off his own, fully illuminating the space marine before him.

'Ha ha...' came the deadpan response, 'I was checking the plasma coils and trying to grab some quiet time.'

'While holding your breath?' the armoured figure quipped.

Cax sighed. 'The room was filled with a heavy isotope of neon gas, when the electrons from rad...'

'Hey, hey,' the figure waved his arms defensively, I never said I cared.'

Cax hated that about Rusty. He was rude and an idiot, he never wanted to know anything apart from where to point his gun. His actual name was Russel stultus. As far as cax knew he hadn't been in a campaign yet, with barely 3 years service to his name. Cax wasn't much better with 37 years, 30 of which were spent with the cult mechanicus.

Cax disengaged his helmet, taking it with his free hand. His brown hair had matted, his skin was pale and his jaw set. He stared straight at Rusty with his best 'I'm pissed off' look, he shrunk under the gaze.

'Sorry brother,' he said after a moment, 'Anyway I come with good news.' Cax broke his glare and looked over Rusty for a second.

He wore a slightly up armour suit, the mark eight variant, the additional neck armour covered some of his face grill. His left shoulder pad bore the insignia of the Crimson Scythes. A marbled sanguine background with a stark silver scythe diagonally across, blade pointing down. His right shoulder bore the tactical squad mark, A white arrow pointing upwards. The remainder of his armour was painted a near black red, but brown and purple stains covered his lower half.

His flamer hung by his side, distorted by the hot air from the pilot light. Cax supposed it paid to be careful.

'You need to clean your armour brother.'

'So do you.' Rusty retorted quickly, suddenly looking more confident.

Cax checked himself, his suit was covered in grime. The rust-red colour of the adeptus mechanicus barely permeated through the various engine oils and grease.

'Point taken,' he nodded, 'what's the good news?'

'Two things actually, I reckon I've found our relic and the apothecary is stable and ready, he asked for you.'

'Tell him I have to prepare first, I'll be in the workshop.'

Rusty nodded and took a step back to allow Cax through, he grabbed some things from the workbench and on his way past he pressed something into Rusty's hand.

Rusty looked in confusion for a second at the thing in his hand, then chuckled. He gripped his flamer under his arm, took off his helmet and looked into it, he had to hold it high to see over his armour. He quickly found and took the communicator out from near the face-grill, carefully disengaging the catches and pulling out a wire. He replaced it with the new one in his hand and put on his helmet again.

He briefly considered testing it, but decided to wait until he actually had something to say.

He readied his flamer and walked down the corridor. He rounded a corner and stopped when he saw the red footprints he had left on the way here. He focused his gaze dead ahead of him.

He tried to ignore the crunch underfoot.