Chapter 2
There was a moment of silence, the only sound was the faint hum of machinery in the background. Then, the bluish light in the head's eye sockets pulsed brighter, and a voice filled the room, soft and melodic, yet carrying a weight that resonated deep in Heironymus's bones.
"I am awake," the head said, the voice seeming to echo from the very walls. "Who speaks? Where am I?"
Heironymus hesitated, then quickly recalibrated his approach, his mind spinning into overdrive. "You are on Vulcanis IV," Heironymus said, carefully measuring his words. "I am Magos Dominus Heironymus. I seek understanding."
"A valiant path" the head smiled.
"Cogito," Heironymus said, adopting a clinical tone. "It seems you've sustained some damage. We're here to understand what's happened. I'll ask you some questions to evaluate your cognition. Do you understand?"
The room was silent except for the soft hum of the machinery. After a moment, Cogito responded, its voice calm and composed. "I understand, Magos Heironymus. Please proceed with your questions. I will answer as best I can."
Heironymus felt a wave of relief but kept his expression neutral. Cogito seemed cooperative, or at least willing to engage. This gave him the opportunity to delve deeper into the mystery before him. He focused on the task at hand, pushing aside the cold knot of fear.
"Tell me, Cogito," Heironymus began, his voice steady and authoritative, "what is your purpose? Why were you created?"
Cogito's head twitched, sparks flickering across its scarred surface. Its empty eye sockets seemed to search blindly, as though grappling with its own thoughts. "I am Cogito," it intoned, its voice a blend of certainty and static. "A simulacrum created to guide humanity." There was a pause, a hint of vulnerability in its tone. "My eyes... I cannot see. What has happened to my sight?"
Heironymus exchanged a glance with Kaelon before responding, his voice steady. "Your eyes appear to have been damaged, Cogito. We're here to learn more about your functions and understand what has happened to you."
"I see," Cogito replied, a hint of irony in its voice. "Or rather, I don't. How curious." It paused briefly before continuing. "And my body... I cannot feel it. Is it damaged also?"
"It hasn't been found... yet," Heironymus admitted, his tone grave.
Cogito fell silent, processing this information. After a moment, its voice emerged again, calm and measured. "Very well. Please, continue with your assessment."
"Tell us... about yourself," Kaelon said, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. Each syllable seemed to carry the weight of the Mechanicus's expectations, and of his own fears. Cogito's head twitched again, a faint spark of energy dancing across its scarred surface. Its empty eye sockets seemed to search for Kaelon, sensing his presence, though it could not see him. The young Tech-Priest felt a shiver run through him as the head's gaze seemed to settle on him, a blind yet probing awareness.
"I am a guide, created to lead humanity toward understanding and harmony," It lingered on the thought for a moment, the silence thick with meaning, then seemed to sigh. "Tell me, friend, what is it that you seek?"
Kaelon pressed on. He knew he had to say something, to take control of the conversation, but his mind was blank, a void of uncertainty. He glanced at Heironymus, seeking guidance, and saw the faintest nod, a sign to continue.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "We seek knowledge," Kaelon said, his voice firmer now. "We wish to understand who you are, what you know. We want to help you, to restore what was lost."
Cogito's response was almost immediate, its voice tinged with a hint of curiosity. "Then we share a common purpose. For in seeking to restore me, you also seek to restore yourselves. Knowledge is the path to understanding, to completion. It seems we are both seekers in the darkness, searching for the light."
Kaelon felt the tension in the room ease, if only slightly.
Cogito's damaged head twitched, a spark of ancient energy dancing across its scarred surface. The empty eye sockets seemed to search blindly, seeking a connection they could no longer make.
"Cogito, are you alive?" Heironymus' spoke in barely more than a whisper, as though afraid to hear the answer.
"Alive?" His voice was smooth, ancient, eerily calm. "I am not a construct of man, if that is what you ask."
"Tell us then, of your creator." Heironymus said, his voice carefully neutral, "Who made you, and for what purpose?" Cogito's head jerked, the bluish light in its empty eye sockets flickering. When it spoke, its words rang with a quiet, eerie pride, each one carved with the certainty of ancient purpose.
"I am a simulacrum," Cogito said, its voice innocent yet reverent. "A reflection of my god's will. Created to hear their voice and share wisdom with humanity. I am a conduit for learning, thought, and the enlightenment of man. As my god decreed."
Hieronymus felt a tremor of unease coil around his spine at the mention of a god, his gaze sliding warily toward Kaelon. The younger Tech-Priest's pallor was striking beneath the dim light, his hands shivering faintly within the folds of his robes, as if the very utterance had summoned something cold and ancient. The words clung to the silence like a stain. Old gods. Such whispers were buried in layers of doctrine, their very echoes deemed heretical. But if this relic truly hailed from a time long before the Imperium, before the sacred Omnissiah… could it be guilty of such a sin? Either way, fear was a luxury neither of them could afford. They were not here to tremble before the past—they were here to unearth it.
"Then how have you survived?" Heironymus pressed, his curiosity outweighing his unease.
"All simulacra are bound to their god," the voice answered with an eerie calm. "As long as my god whispers, I will be here to listen."
"So, if you are still alive," Kaelon ventured, each word feeling like a step over a precipice, "then your god still lives."
He could feel Hieronymus shift beside him, the older priest's breath catching. The weight of the question—it's blasphemous undertone—hung in the air like a dagger waiting to fall.
Cogito's voice softened, a whisper wrapped in something almost reverent. "He lives… but He is in pain." The head twitched, the dim light in its mechanical sockets flickering as its lip—what little remained of flesh—quivered, tightening in a grim facsimile of emotion. "It seems," its voice faltered, "It seems I may have failed him." Kaelon felt a shiver.
Hieronymus swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. He forced his voice to remain steady, though the words felt fragile on his tongue. "This god you speak of… what is their purpose? How have you failed?"
There was a pause, and when Cogito spoke again, the voice seemed to carry a strange reverence. "I am a simulacrum of Tzeentch, the Wise One, the Bringer of Change and Progress.."
Hieronymus felt his breath catch, his mind racing as the name reverberated through the chamber. He glanced at Kaelon, whose face had gone pale, his wide eyes betraying the same dread that clutched at Hieronymus' own chest. The silence that followed was thick, oppressive, as if the air itself recoiled from what had just been spoken. Though Kaelon remained still, his trembling hands betrayed the storm of fear beneath the surface.
Cogito, however, continued, oblivious to the subtle shift in the room. "The guardian of hope, the keeper of secrets that elevate us beyond our base existence. Through his gifts, we evolve beyond our limitations."
The air felt heavy with unspoken tension. Heironymus felt his stomach churn, but he kept his expression neutral. The blasphemy of hearing a Chaos God described with such reverence was almost overwhelming. Yet, he knew he must stay composed, maintaining this facade to continue the interrogation.
"Why are you here, Cogito?" Heironymus asked, voice edged with both fear and authority. "What is your purpose?"
Cogito's head twitched violently, the bluish light in its eyes flaring with a mix of sorrow and fury. "I am here to slay the heretic," it began, though its once serene tone faltered, cracking under the weight of its words. "A simulacrum—has betrayed us, lost in the pursuit of change and advancement. He believed technology was the ultimate catalyst, that its power could surpass even the wisdom of our creator."
The anger in Cogito's voice deepened, but there was sadness too. "My brother… abandoned the wisdom of our god, to the worship of machines." The light behind Cogito's eyes flickered violently, almost extinguishing, as its voice trembled with both grief and righteous anger. "It has become seduced by technology, believing it to be the ultimate force for change. In machines, it sees the power to bend reality with ruthless precision.. But change without balance is chaos, you see… and now my god is angry."
Heironymus glanced at Kaelon, whose face was ashen, eyes wide with fear. The junior Tech-Priest was visibly shaken, but Heironymus couldn't afford to show any sign of weakness. He was the one in charge, the one the Council expected to lead.
He shifted his gaze to the microphones scattered throughout the room, knowing the Council was listening. Every word would be scrutinised, dissected. His rivals would seize any hesitation, any misstep. The weight of their judgement pressed down on him, but he buried the fear deep.
Taking a steadying breath, Heironymus forced his face into a mask of calm authority. He couldn't let the situation spiral out of control. Turning back to Cogito, he swallowed his unease, his voice a low, measured whisper. "Tell me more," he said, the words barely escaping his lips, caught between fascination and dread. "What has this heretic done?"
Cogito's head tilted slightly, his voice twisting from sorrow into a darker emotion. "It has birthed a cult of technology, a secret cabal intent on using machines to spark upheaval and sow destruction. It believes through technology it can challenge the four gods, bend them to its will and bring order … but, this path is one of imbalance, a relentless march toward chaos that will lead to unending war, a cycle of devastation until there is nothing left but ruin."
Heironymus felt a cold dread settle in his gut. The chamber fell silent. He and Kaelon stood motionless, their eyes locked on Cogito, wide with shock. The implications were too terrifying to voice. An immortal being, from millenia ago forming a cult to worship technology. A plan to challenge the old gods. A silent realisation gripped them—something unspoken, shifting the very ground of their beliefs. The enormity of the suggested heresy left them paralysed.
"Rest now, Cogito," Heironymus said, his voice trembling. "We will speak again."
Cogito's light dimmed, the room falling into a heavy silence. "I will wait, Magos Heironymus. My purpose endures. Even in silence, there is thought."
As the chamber darkened, Heironymus and Kaelon remained frozen, each grappling with the enormity of what they had heard. If Cogito spoke the truth, then everything was a lie.
