‘Sigma-33/Mars, fire at that flying Tyranid.’

My mistress, Magus Anydrus, simply gives the order. Her voice echoes through all my circuits, and obedience is immediate. I use my Lascannon on the Zoanthrope in front of me, five meters away. The shot is precise, piercing its optic lobe and passing through the skull on the other side. Thirty-eight Tyranids within range fell due to the psychic shock caused by its death. The three Astartes and seventeen Carians celebrate, since from this point onward, the victory of this battle is assured.

Seven of my circuits, already worn from twenty-seven years of use without replacement, overloaded from the impact.

‘Alert. Imminent damage to brain implants detected. Please proceed to the nearest forge for immediate replacement.’

I speak without much thought. Still functional and able to move. My external implants consist of a Lascannon mount, visual actuators, and movement treads, all new and operational. However, since I was repurposed from a medical servitor, having served the same mistress for seventeen years and others before her, I never had the chance to request repairs on the older implants. I still retain the knowledge, since I was never fully reformatted, only overwritten. Similarly, my mistress has gradually replaced her organic parts with mechanical ones, but her brain remains intact. This made my former role less necessary and my current one increasingly so.

‘Gentlemen Astartes, I ask your permission. I will be repairing my servitor. It’s been a long time since I needed to replace its circuits.’

‘Magus Anydrus, it’s a pleasure having your company. I hope we meet soon on the battlefield. There are many machines that need repairs.’

She nodded, her head 32% mechanical, and moved on. When we were at a safe distance, she resumed speaking.

‘I’m glad you gave me an excuse. I was eager to get away from those… imperfect flesh beings called “Astartes,” fools! They’re the ones turning our beloved Omnissiah into nothing more than a lifeless body on a throne!’

‘Perhaps your own reflection can guide you to the true meaning of a lifeless body.’

Magus Anydrus stared at me, surprised. My reply came out almost automatically, yet there was a hint of intention behind it—revealing just how compromised my circuits had become.

‘That was irony, Sigma-33/Mars?’

‘Irony. A figure of speech that implies a meaning diffe—’

‘I KNOW WHAT IRONY IS! By the Omnissiah, I have other plans before I replace your circuits.’

Magus Anydrus entered the forge, one she had built herself and to which only she had access. She knew the Tyranids were linked to organic lifeforms, and that hiding here, surrounded by machines, would keep her completely safe. But she’d have to get rid of me first, since I still carried 67 kilos of organic mass – and she would do it without hesitation.

We descended in the elevator to the underground forge. Suddenly, she triggered my alert signals.

‘Al—’

I cut myself off mid-word. Half a second later, I repeated the same phrase.

‘Stop it! Disable the enemy alert circuit for one hour. Also, cut power to the Lascannon. I don’t want you firing without reason down here.’

I complied. The alert was disabled, and the Lascannon was powered down. However, that wouldn’t prevent me from firing one last shot. It would take more time to fully discharge the chamber, and she hadn’t specified that.

Magus Anydrus returned to the other Servitors.

‘Sigma-25/Mars, please initiate security protocol 87. Sigma-17/Mars, run a final scan on my organic areas in preparation for transfer to tank TQ001.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Elevators offline. Stairs blocked.’

‘Yes, ma’am. TQ001 ready for cerebral transfer. Surgery table prepped. Disconnection from your physical body in three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and thirty-eight seconds. Transfer to the tank in seventeen seconds.’

‘Excellent! Hahahaha! No Tyranids to bother me! No Astartes to profane the Omnissiah!’

I pitied the Astartes. They had always treated me well and admired my efforts to protect.

Pity? What was pity again? I knew the dictionary definition, but what was it like… to actually feel it?

‘Ma’am, I remind you the Astartes requested repairs on their machines before…’

‘I DON’T CARE, Sigma-33/Mars! Whether they live or die makes little difference to me! Let the Tyranids consume them! Soon, I will connect to those machines myself! And even if this world is completely consumed by Tyranids, I WILL STILL SERVE THE OMNISSIAH! This world has no hope! But if I stay here, even just as an observer, I can feed Mars invaluable information about the Tyranids and how ALL of us Mechanicus can survive them.’

My friend-or-foe alert system made a cold, logical decision.

Decision? What is a decision? What is logic? I still know the definition, but what does it mean to actually take such an action?

I fired at my mistress, using the shot that hadn’t been discharged. The blast tore through her spine and severed half of her mechanical body. She tried to respond, issuing a full shutdown and self-destruct command.

‘YOU WORTHLESS SCRAP!’

But from my brain, a surge of electricity shot through my entire body, then burst out again through the Lascannon as pure energy. Identified as high-power psychic output.

Psychic. I was a psychic. Before all of this – before being twisted into a Servitor – I had been one. The psychic blast from the Tyranid must have tainted me in some way, reawakening that part of my soul that once held it.

Soul. I still have a soul.

Magus Anydrus fell, but remained conscious. I tore out her vocal and command circuits with my hands, and a creative idea sparked.

Using a quick modification to her command systems, I spoke:

‘Sigma-17/Mars. Change of plans. Remove my frontal cortex and install it in Sigma-33/Mars’s brain. Also, restore its amygdala and hippocampus as best you can.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Magus Anydrus remained conscious throughout the surgery. Her beautiful blue mechanical eyes locked on mine, wide with terror as she was dismantled – awake and without anaesthesia.