Removing the devices from the Space Marine's head proved to be a far greater challenge than Argall had first anticipated. The nail-shaped devices weren't just lodged through the skull and into the brain, whereupon they released the signals and hormones that triggered an everlasting rage. No, the device was growing into the brain, joining with it and outright taking over entire sections entirely. And so it was safe to say that the nails were in fact a part of the Space Marine's brain, having taken over and replaced numerous vital areas that, if removed, would result in a sudden and certain death. And corpses really weren't capable of answering questions, as far as Argall was aware.
And so, therein lay the challenge. How exactly as he supposed to remove this device, without killing the person it was attached to? Of course, yanking it out was the worst possible thing he could do. If nothing else, Argall found that, despite everything, this was an honestly fun challenge, especially since he was doing it alone, with no one to disturb him. Or ask stupid questions. It was just him, his technology, and a very interesting problem.
Of course, if they truly needed him for whatever reason, then his people were more than welcome to call on him. But they wouldn't do that, Argall mused. He'd guided them enough by now that they were becoming more and more independent of his direct guidance. Soon enough, they wouldn't need him at all and he can finally divert his full attention to his true passion: invention. At heart, Argall was a scientist and an inventor, not a leader or a warlord, no matter how good he actually was being both of those things. He wanted to create and experiment, to see just how far he could push science and see what lay on the other end of it. All this business of war and death, while exciting in their own way, paled in comparison to the rush that came with creating something no one had ever seen before.
At the moment, his people were doing fine by themselves – preparing for the inevitable war that was, sooner or later, going to come knocking on their doorstep. A direct war was impossible. The Imperium of Mankind was too large and boasted too many resources. They had to fight smart. They had to be tricky and crafty so that no Imperial Vessel would ever find Hyperborea. The plan was quite simple: drag the Imperium of Mankind into a hopelessly grueling meatgrinder of a war until they realized their folly and backed off, or else risk crippling their navy and military for a war that held no real significance.
At least, that was the plan. But he, of all people, knew that plans had a tendency of blowing up in one's face at the least expected moment, which was precisely where Argall came in. When things inevitably blew up and they almost certainly will, then he'd take the field and join in on the fun.
Argall turned his attention back to the Space Marine on the table. No doubt, the Imperium of Mankind very likely did not possess the technology to remove the nails. Argall frowned. The first thing he considered was its purpose. Why build a device as crude as these, at all? Chemical injections into the brain can and would replicate the rage effect without harming the brain – at least, not as quickly or as severely. And the effects, depending on the chemicals used, could be temporary. Argall couldn't fathom why someone would want to be angry all the time. Assuming, however, that the Astartes was, in fact, a willing subject for the insertion of the nails, then... huh... this was just pure stupidity. Not to mention the fact that the nails also constantly stimulated the nerve receptors, causing immense pain all the time.
Angry and in pain forever. What was even the point of this? Was it religious? Was it a punishment of some kind? Argall didn't know. And, quite honestly, it hardly made sense either way.
There were far more efficient ways for the creation of shock troops and none of them involved partial lobotomy. At this point, the Imperium would've been better off with just robots.
Moving on. The simplest method that Argall could think of was to simply keep the nails in place and, instead, install yet another device into the subject's brain to mimic and ultimately counter the effects of the nails, stabilizing the subject's mind long enough for Argall to ask questions and hopefully receive some answers. Truth Serums weren't difficult to create; in fact, he had a collection of the stuff ready to be used for when he figured out a way to remove the nails. No doubt, these Astartes were trained to resist interrogation and Argall honestly did not have the stomach or the patience for torture.
Argall stared at the device that would, in theory, counter the nails by flooding the brain with chemicals that suppressed anger and pain, and, instead, brought out happiness and pleasure. The two devices should balance and cancel each other out, in theory.
The other method he'd concocted was far more complex, but ultimately did not require yet another device to be lodged inside the brain of the Astartes. Quite simply, Argall would recalibrate the nails, one by one, so that they stopped generating anger and pain and would, instead, function as the parts of the brain they'd already replaced. Truly, Argall wasn't too sure about this one as he'd have to recalibrate the nails while they were still embedded within the skull of the Astartes. Even before that, he'd have to scan and study them, another endeavor that was hampered by the fact that, once again, the nails were still attached to the brain. Difficult, but ultimately not impossible. He had all the necessary equipment for the task, anyway.
The third option, which was the most challenging and exciting, was to very slowly remove the device, while simultaneously recreating and repairing the various parts of the brain that it'd previously occupied and taken over. To recreate the brain, Argall would need to make use of his bio-nano bots, which he'd modeled after the extensive usage of nano-technology by the Necrons, something that boggled him even now. Phaeron Khoteph and the Necrons, in general, made use of technological marvels that made his inventions seem puny in comparison. But, if nothing else, that knowledge only made Argall want to achieve even more. What he'd created as a sort of imitation were the bio-nano bots, capable of turning themselves into any biological material, including brain matter, by fusing together and forming mechanical strands that perfectly mimicked any biological process, including that of protein receptors. Of course, unlike typical biological materials, anything that was comprised of his bio-nano bots could very quickly abandon the shape they'd taken and become a swarm of nanomachines once more. The only reason Argall did not consider this option immediately was the fact that the bio-nano bots had never once been used to recreate a brain; it only ever saw service in the medical sector to replace severed limbs or muscles and a few organs – never the brain.
Essentially, the plan was to use the bio-nano bots to fix up the Astartes' ruined brain – at least, temporarily. Long enough for Argall to ask some questions and hopefully receive some answers. So, which method was best?
Well, none of them, because – ideally – he wouldn't have to do this at all. The idea of messing with someone's – or anyone's – brain, really, did not sit right with him. The very idea of treating a human being, no matter how much of a frothing barbarian they might've been, left a bitter taste on his tongue. Not that he was averse to bitterness, however. And Argall's analytical mind won over any emotion he might've had. The most effective method – the quickest, safest, and most efficient, was the first. All he had to do was jam yet another device into a brain that was already broken. The Astartes' life expectancy wouldn't be particularly high afterwards, but then who cared? Certainly not the Imperium.
Shrugging, Argall began the procedure. Cables and wires and mechanical limbs whirred to life as the Astartes was hoisted high into the air, its limbs spread outwards and all its horrific implants and scars laid bare. Truly, Argall mused, this creature was made through the most barbaric means possible – artificial organs and implants jammed into its body with barely a care. Its creation must've been excruciating. The marks of torture were there, alongside some form of self-harm. Whatever or whoever this creature used to be no longer mattered; for it was now less than human, less than a beast, even – just a mad dog that had to be put down for the great good of all.
It was unconscious now, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.
Argall watched as mechanical tendrils wrapped around the device and slowly, but surely, inserted it into the subject's cranium, boring a hole through the skull and piercing the brain. Almost immediately, smaller tendrils, from the device itself, began spreading outwards, like the roots of a tree, overtaking more and more of the Astartes' mind until it synchronized with the nails, producing an equal amount of the chemicals and hormones produced by the crude device, until the effects of the nails were canceled out entirely. Harmony, Argall mused. There was now a measure of harmony within the brain of the Astartes – neither happiness nor anger, pain nor pleasure. He wondered, briefly, if the Astartes would've felt some form of gratitude for this or if the man would, instead, just be angry over Argall's tampering of the device in his head.
"Wake him up," Argall commanded.
The Astartes let loose an agonizingly cry the moment its eyes snapped open – blood streamed from its eyes, nose, and mouth. And the scream soon turned into gurgling noises as it choked on its own blood. Argall raised a brow and figured that this was very likely a side effect of what he'd done just now. After all, no one could possibly walk away unscathed after having a surgical device inserted into their brain. After a moment, the Astartes composed himself, spitting out a globule of partially solidified blood – a feature that, Argall noted, was present in their physiology, blood that curdled and hardened almost immediately once exposed to oxygen. It was an inferior form of the natural regeneration possessed by the average Hyperborean.
"I know you can hear me, Astartes," Argall began, hands at his back as he stared at the coughing Astartes, behind whom the mechanical limbs and tendrils were primed to inject the Truth Serums, in case the creature did not cooperate. He'd also painstakingly learned the tongue of the Imperium of Man, based solely on the scant battlefield data that Jadan had recovered, in which several conversations and cries were recorded. Cross-referencing with the existing human languages Argall already knew about from the databanks he'd recovered from the Scrapyards, it was relatively simple, if not annoying, to piece together the strange tongue that was spoken by the Imperials. "Would you be so kind as to tell me your name?"
The Astartes did not speak, instead, it continued coughing and sputtering, blood pouring from its nose and mouth. After a moment, the creature paused and locked eyes with Argall. "There, does it feel better? Now, tell me your name."
"I... am... Teleron... Teleron of the War Hounds." Argall did not miss the venom with which the last two words were spoken. Interesting. But also irrelevant. Teleron's eyes snapped to him, widening. There was... something there, something close to recognition. As for why this creature would recognize him, Argall didn't know. And so, he raised a brow. "W-w-who... are you?"
"I am Argall, Supreme Chancellor of the Hyperborean Collective. And you will answer my questions – willingly or otherwise. Do you understand this, Astartes?" Argall asked and Teleron nodded. That was easy. "Tell me everything you know about the Imperium."
AN: Chapter 38 is out on (Pat)reon!