Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

“1. Before entering the construction site, green skins must undergo an assessment of construction safety regulations and mental state education. Those who fail the assessment will be taken to a nearby green skin preparation station for forced re-education. Those who fail the second time will be put into a promethium combustion furnace. ”

"2. When entering the construction site, green men must wear safety helmets, fasten their chin straps, use various labor protection equipment correctly, and wear highly corrosive injection collars to verify the sensitivity and controllability of the collar injection piston."

"3. Before entering the construction site, the greenskins must clarify their responsibilities and shout "for Dihuang" and other statements to prove their loyalty. The greenskins are allowed to shout loyalty speeches during the construction process. Private gatherings are not allowed, and chewing scogo is strictly prohibited. While construction is underway, one out of ten violators will be punished.”

"Four. Each construction site must be equipped with a forbidden soldier for management and supervision. At the same time, a special collar control center must be set up to uniformly manage electrical signals, eliminate illegal operations, and prevent equipment and personal accidents in the network tunnel."

"5. Those who work on anti-gravity adsorption surfaces must wear special non-slip shoes..."

Perturabo flicked his wrist and continued writing safety guidelines for network tunnel construction on the data pad. Some retro narrators or engineers would prefer paper, and Perturabo couldn't understand the trouble of requiring a second pass from a typist.

To his left, a floating projection screen was filled with greenskin knowledge that the Emperor had extracted from the Archives and his personal memories. To his right was the plan for the Webway Project, which had expanded to more than four thousand pages.

In front of him is a lecture in Greenskin written by Morse to the Greenskins, which he needs to give the next time he meets the first batch of Greenskins thrown into the biological laboratory by the Emperor.

"Follow us big golden guys," he tried to practice in a lowered voice with the oddly accented language, trying to ignore the negative effect of emotional resistance on the appeal of the speech, and focus more on the nobility of the task itself, "we We can defeat all the shrimps and other shitty things in the world! We are the super gate to the whole thief, and we can go wherever we want from now on!"

A burst of applause came from outside the door, and Perturabo stopped roaring and regained his normal volume: "Morse."

Morse opened the ajar door of the workshop, stepped over the protective runes painted on the door that looked like an exorcism crest, and came to Perturabo's table. "how is the progress?"

"You can look," said Perturabo. "I have verified that the emperor's plan favors theoretical guidance, as well as some imaginative construction suggestions with low error tolerance. Therefore, I will be responsible for the specific requirements of actual operations, such as determining the technological stability and greenness of the size of the green-skin tribe that can be produced. The best balance value for skin controllability.”

Morse nodded slightly: "The Emperor was once an emperor, a general, a scientist, and a person who promoted human progress. Sometimes he was also a worker, a farmer, and an ordinary person selling fish on the street. But he The last time I participated in the overall design of a grand engineering project was... was it the last time?" He paused.

The two were silent for two seconds, tacitly ignoring the topic.

"A new batch of military reports has arrived. You and Dorn are still immersed in the battle against an alien mechanical empire." The black-robed craftsman did not move around. He found a wall to lean against and folded his arms in front of his chest.

Perturabo tapped his forehead with the data pen and continued to work distractedly. He is already familiar with writing a construction safety guide for cooperation between his own personnel and untrustworthy personnel.

"How was the fight?" he asked. "The messages haven't been synced yet."

"The situation is very classic. Some enemies with technology or psychic abilities that are not weaker than the Human Empire, some fortresses and shields that are difficult to break through - but with the help of the Imperial Fist, the coalition's offensiveness is indeed higher than before, and we are closing in "The military report shows that the advance is going well. Perhaps when the next report is sent to Terra, they will have completed their supplies and set sail again."

Although there are currently two armies traveling together, the difficulty of supply has not increased significantly - the Imperial Fist's Phalanx is a mobile fortress that has almost its own ecosystem. It can carry supplies or circulate autonomously here. Completed in a huge space fortress.

Part of the Iron Warriors' fleet is even parked directly inside the Phalanx to facilitate maintenance and transportation.

"You should make a body like mine for Dorne," Perturabo said suddenly.

"Why? The Terra Cold Hall expedition team must gather three primarchs?"

Perturabo snorted softly, and lightly stroked the data pad with his data pen: "I wasn't the first greenskin to recognize him as a big golden guy. Why not let Dorn claim these aliens?"

"Oh," Morse smiled, "The Emperor has already been waaaagh in front of the greenskins - well, he just kept his original style unchanged, and brilliantly put his grand declaration to mankind All the words 'human' are blurred and recited, no matter what, you can do it."

"Rogal Dorn can do it too," Perturabo said. "The Phalanx is almost symbiotic with the micro greenskins."

"Allow me to ask without any metaphor, hint, irony, ridicule or inducement, are you really willing to put down this project and hand it over to Dorne?"

Perturabo shrunk a little further into his seat, though his iron seat didn't leave much room.

"He's not as good as I am," he whispered.

Laughing, Morse bent his upper body, and his trembling black hair covered his face. He immediately stood up straight: "Well, I'm proud of you, Perturabo."

He left the wall and walked lightly in the workshop while saying: "There is no battle for Horus Luperkar, Leman Russ, Magnus, and your new brother Duncan Ahor. What needs to be mentioned in particular is that I think this will be the norm in the Great Crusade. Through a random combination of force, wealth, and belief, you gradually conquer the galaxy until new difficulties arise and bring about some turning points."

"Like the return of another Primarch?" Perturabo asked, looking at his face reflected in the smooth screen of the dataslate. "I look forward to this happening, because some legions really need a genetic father who can control them."

"Let me think about it, the previous cooperation between Thousand Dust Sun and Twilight Raiders, as well as Iron Warriors and Ghouls...were not very pleasant?" Morse locked in two events. He had read every battle report from Perturabo, except for Magnus, who had provided it himself.

"These battles are indeed unpleasant," answered Perturabo.

——

"This battle is indeed unpleasant." In the strategy room of the Phalanx, Perturabo flipped through the report sent by his descendants and said to Roger Dorn beside him. "The Genna's fighting style is so weird that I think their consciousness is separated from their physical existence."

"Your analysis is reasonable." Dawn replied, placing his hands on the edge of the table.

"We need to dissect a Gennar," Perturabo said. "See what mechanical or psychic construct is operating them."