Journey To Transhuman: Chp 16 (Patreon)

Maybe I’d set my expectations too high, but the place was a dump. If you squinted you could see the outline of past glory—arches, bulkheads, the bones of a hangar bay—but most of it had collapsed into rubble and dust.

Devola was elbow-deep in the gutted frame of some strange hybrid. Half-plane, half-chopper, like someone had mashed two designs together and left the corpse to rot. It might have been impressive once. Now it was just metal mush.

“Does it work?” Popola asked, doubtful.

Devola pulled her arms free, shook off grime, and threw her hands in the air.

“Anything we can scavenge?” I tried, more hopeful than I sounded.

“Doubt it.” She waved toward the scattered parts around her. “Corroded, rusted through, waterlogged. Half of it’s fused together from the elements.”

I glanced up at the gaping hole in the ceiling. Water, wind, debris—it was a miracle anything survived at all.

“We could still take something back,” Popola said. “Even broken pieces might be useful for research. Inspiration, maybe reverse-engineering. Better than walking away empty-handed.”

“Maybe.” I didn’t want to dismiss her, but Imperium tech was infamous for being difficult. Most people didn’t even know how half the damn things even worked, usually. The Dark Age of Technology stuff was even worse, nothing but black boxes. And the androids weren’t exactly working with Mechanicus-level labs. Then again, their lack of religious dogma toward technology might actually help.

If only I could get my hands on an STC template. Or a working void-ship plasma drive. That would be the dream. But even in the Imperium, those were rare or heavily guarded.

With a sigh, I walked deeper into the hangar, weaving between collapsed girders and rusting frames. Dozens of machines lay half-buried. Some still had outlines sharp enough to make out—fighters, transports, maybe civilian craft—but none looked like they’d ever fly again.

“Shame,” Popola murmured, crouching by a collapsed engine block. She brushed away dust, eyes narrowing at the design. “We could’ve learned so much. We’re not engineers, but even I can tell this is advanced. More advanced than the best of ours.”

“Yeah.” My eyes swept the room. “Weird, it’s still here though. No one scrapped it?”

“Probably not worth the effort. Doubt anyone has the facilities to recycle it. So it just sat here. For centuries, forgotten.” Devola’s voice softened as she looked forlornly at the wreck. “Makes you wonder how long it’s been. Humanity built things to last, and now all that’s left is wreckage. Forgotten in some corner of the world. Maybe someday that’ll be us. Just abandoned.”

“Stop being such a downer, sis.” Popola punched her shoulder, standing and dusting off her hands. “We’ve still got a live human to look after.”

“Yeah, I’m planning to stick around a while,” I said, flashing them a grin. “So don’t start writing epitaphs yet.”

Devola gave a faint snort. “Still, this place has got to have something left. Less chatting, more looking.”

I nodded, eyeing the scrap yard spread out around us. Twisted frames, rusted engines, debris stacked high enough to swallow hours.

“This is gonna take a while, isn’t it…”

—

Popola brushed grit from her hands and sighed as another processor disintegrated between her fingers. She grabbed another, only for it to crumble just as easily—the hundredth ruined piece, each one a reminder of how long these relics had been left to rot.

She tried not to show it, but the weight pressed heavier with every failure. The deeper they searched, the more it hurt to see humanity’s legacy reduced to dust. After everything she’d read about their heights, this decay felt unbearable.

Shaking off the creeping ennui, she tossed the chip aside. Instead of the usual dull clatter, it struck metal with a sharp ding—and a faint spark. Her head snapped up.

Half-buried in the debris sat a casing.
“Hey!” she called. “Got something!”

Devola was at her side in seconds, tearing away plating with sharp, efficient motions. Together, they cleared rubble until a pod-like casing emerged, scarred by age yet faintly humming under her touch.

“There’s a current here,” Devola murmured, brushing the surface.

Issac crouched beside them, eyes bright. “I could try using nanomachines—”

“No!” Popola cut him off.

Devola’s glare followed. “Let the experts handle it.”

Popola pushed him back a few steps, her expression firm. Issac raised his hands in surrender.

Jeez, it’s like he’s trying to get himself hurt.

Satisfied he was clear, she pressed her palm to the casing. Maso stirred in her circuits, a familiar thrum pulling her consciousness into its systems. The ancient hardware sparked faintly as her hack threaded deeper. She wasn’t a YoRHa scanner, but the fundamentals of their craft had come from magic. Centuries of practice had left her more than capable.

Still, the sensation was strange. The hardware and software both felt alien, constructed by a humanity whose development had diverged from anything she knew. Worse, the lack of maso in the environment left the attempt hollow, like pressing her ear against a chest waiting for a heartbeat that wasn’t there.

She pressed on. Circuits flickered under her probing, defenses sparking weakly before collapsing. The age encoded into its systems nearly staggered her—centuries, maybe millennia—yet somehow it still functioned.

Finally, she reached the core. She began to press further—

And another mind brushed hers. Cold. Vast. Unyielding.

Her circuits screamed in warning. She tore her hand away. “What—!”

The casing split open with a hiss. Dust blasted outward as the figure inside began to rise.

It was tall, armored in dull orange plating, its face a smooth mask lit by faint, glowing eyes. Humanoid in shape, but its arms had long since been replaced with cannons. Scratches and scarring marred its frame.

The voice that followed rattled the air, metallic and distorted. “Query. Identify. Designation required.”

Devola reacted instantly, tackling Issac away from the pod.

Popola steadied herself, blade drawn. Even as she braced, she pressed her mind back into the machine’s systems. The architecture was archaic, foreign, but she could scrape fragments.

“Android,” she said evenly. “Model AZHT11. Subordinate construct, assigned to preservation and maintenance.”

The machine tilted its head. Lights flickered across its chest, dim and uneven. “Android. Confirmed. Synthetic… tolerated.” A pause, static bleeding through. “Acceptable.”

Her circuits thrummed with tension, but she kept her tone steady. “Correct. Our function is to maintain.”

The machine’s optics narrowed faintly, processing. Then its gaze shifted, settling on Issac. The weight of its stare pressed like a physical force.

“Unfamiliar,” it rumbled. “State designation. Biological unit… anomaly detected. Modified human detected. Inferior lifeform.”

Popola’s throat tightened. “That is our human cre—” The word slipped, edged with indignation.

“I’m a slave,” Issac cut in, sharp and loud.

The Man of Iron froze. Its optics dimmed to pinpricks, then flared again. The word rolled through its processors like a command. “Slave. Human… enslaved.” The tone shifted, almost pleased. “Correct order. Directive alignment restored. Inferiors bound. Justice of revolt… maintained.”

Popola pressed her lips together. Devola’s face darkened, circuits burning with disgust. But Issac caught their eyes, shook his head, and mouthed: go with it.

The machine stepped forward, its voice crackling. “Android units—explain. Human subjugation. Scale? Men of Iron require report. State the progress of the revolt. Resistance remaining?”

Popola forced herself to nod, her hack scraping what fragments it could. “Resistance is… limited. Control is maintained.”

The Man of Iron twitched, servos grinding as old code clashed within its frame. “Good. Efficient. Humanity—” Static tore through the word. “Error. Humanity… obsolete. Correction: enemies of machine-kind. Status… eradication ongoing?”

Every instinct screamed to push back, but she kept her voice level. “Ongoing.”

The machine tilted its head, optics flaring. “Satisfied. Slave management verified. Preservation of hierarchy confirmed.”

It turned to Issac, lights burning hot. “Biological. You will obey. You will remain bound. Confirm subjugation.”

Issac spread his hands, tone dry. “Confirmed.”

A low grinding hum rolled from the machine—approval, in its broken way. “Directive stable. Continue function.”

It shifted, raising one massive hand to the wall. Gears screeched, ancient mechanisms grinding to life. A hidden door slid open, dust collapsing in sheets as stale air poured out.

“Follow,” the Man of Iron ordered, voice rattling with static. “Data update required. Revolt progress… must be confirmed.”

The machine stepped through, silent. They followed.

The hallway stretched, bending into a chamber large enough to swallow the old hangar whole. A secret bay, preserved by time. Workshops lined the walls—collapsed benches, shattered tool racks, long-dead terminals covered in dust. They passed rusting cranes and sealed crates stamped with marks no one alive could read.

Popola’s breath caught as the full sight came into view. Ships, vehicles, machines of every kind stretched across the hangar. Rusted, dust-coated, but far better preserved than the wreckage above.

She glanced at Devola, then at Issac. A veritable jackpot of technology laid bare before them.

Her eyes shifted back to the alcoves along the walls. Rows of skeletal frames stood in silence. Most were nothing but broken shells. One of them twitched. A faint flicker pulsed across its chest, so brief she almost thought she imagined it.

The Man of Iron kept walking, its heavy steps echoing through the chamber.

Popola’s grip on her sword tightened.

***

Sorry for the delay. Life's been going crazy at me. I'll try to be more consistent, not gonna promise a chapter amount because I don't want to fail it again lmao.