Tech Priest in Cyberpunk

Faraday leaned back in her seat, the neon glow of The Pulse casting sharp, shifting shadows across her face. The neural relay prototype sat on the table between her and Cassian, humming faintly, its presence a tangible reminder of the night's events. Jexa stood to the side, her arms crossed as she watched the interaction unfold.

"You've impressed me, priest," Faraday said, her smirk returning as she regarded Cassian. "You delivered on your promise. Most people don't make it past Arasaka's front door, let alone walk out with one of their top prototypes. So, what'll it be? Credits? Gear? A few more jobs to keep that faith of yours burning?"

Cassian stood motionless, his glowing optics fixed on Faraday. The chaos of The Pulse swirled around them, but he seemed unaffected, like a sentinel detached from the hedonistic energy of the club.

"I require neither credits nor armaments," he stated, his mechanical voice calm yet commanding. "I request a location—a sanctum. A space where I may establish order and pursue the Machine God's will."

Faraday's smirk faltered, replaced by a raised eyebrow. "A sanctum?" she repeated, leaning forward slightly. "You're not thinking of setting up some kind of cult, are you? Because Night City already has enough crazies preaching to the desperate."

Cassian's tone remained steady. "The Machine God's work requires a foundation—a place of stability from which to operate. This city's fractured systems demand repair, and I will see it done. In exchange for my continued service, I require a manufactorum."

Faraday frowned. "A manufactorum? You mean, like a factory?"

Cassian inclined his head slightly. "Correct. A manufactorum is essential for crafting, repairing, and restoring order. It is the heart of industry and progress."

Jexa glanced at Faraday, who seemed genuinely intrigued. The fixer tapped her fingers on the edge of the table, her sharp mind already calculating the implications.

"You want a base of operations," she said, her tone shifting to one of business. "Fine. But places like that don't come cheap, even the abandoned ones. You'd need something outside corpo reach but close enough to the city for access. That kind of real estate has strings attached."

Cassian's optics flared faintly. "Do you have such a location?"

Faraday studied him for a long moment before nodding. "There's an old factory in the industrial district—been abandoned for years. It used to produce automated drones for some no-name corpo before they went belly up. The place is big, sturdy, and off the grid. No one bothers with it anymore because the power grid's been shot and the local gangers think it's haunted."

Cassian ignored her use of "factory" and instead responded with deliberate intent. "This manufactorum will suffice. Consider it my payment."

Faraday chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're an odd one, priest. Most people would take the cash and run, but you? You want a glorified scrap heap."

Cassian's gaze remained unyielding. "The Omnissiah's work is not driven by greed. A manufactorum is a logical necessity."

Faraday leaned back again, the smirk returning to her lips. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal. The factory—sorry, manufactorum—is yours. I'll even throw in the coordinates and what little intel I have on the place. But remember—this doesn't make us even. You owe me, and I'll be expecting you to deliver when I call."

Cassian nodded. "Agreed."

Faraday reached into her neural interface, sending the coordinates to Jexa, who in turn forwarded them to Cassian's gauntlet. "There. It's all yours. But remember, the place is derelict. Power's out, systems are a mess, and you might have to deal with some local troublemakers. Make it work."

Cassian stepped back from the table, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the booth. "The spirits of the machine will be appeased," he said, his voice calm but resolute.

Faraday chuckled softly. "Whatever you say, priest. Good luck."

---------------------------------------------

The manufactorum loomed in the distance, a jagged silhouette against the neon-streaked haze of Night City. Its rusted towers clawed at the sky, their edges softened by decades of grime and decay. The air around the site was thick with the scent of oil and ozone, the faint hum of inactive machinery resonating like a ghostly echo.

Cassian stood at the entrance, his glowing optics scanning the structure. The massive doors were sealed, their reinforced metal marred with graffiti and scorch marks. Nearby, remnants of makeshift camps hinted at the manufactorum's more recent use as a shelter for the desperate.

"This place is a wreck," Jexa muttered, folding her arms as she surveyed the site. "You sure this is what you want? Doesn't exactly scream 'holy sanctum.'"

Cassian stepped forward, placing a metal hand on the corroded surface of the doors. His gauntlet emitted a faint hum as he initiated a diagnostic scan. Data streams lit up across his vision, outlining the manufactorum's systems—or what remained of them.

"It is imperfect," he admitted, his voice calm and measured. "But perfection is achieved through work, not inheritance. This manufactorum will be restored."

Jexa scoffed, leaning against a nearby support beam. "You've got your work cut out for you, priest. Place looks like it's one strong breeze away from collapsing."

Cassian ignored her comment, his focus fixed on the manufactorum's systems. His Binary Cant began as a low hum, rising into a melodic series of clicks and whirs. The air around him seemed to shift, the silence of the dormant machines responding faintly to his invocation.

A sudden, mechanical groan reverberated through the structure. Lights flickered sporadically, casting eerie shadows across the manufactorum's interior. Jexa stiffened, her hand instinctively reaching for her sidearm.

"Okay, what the hell was that?" she demanded.

Cassian stepped inside, undeterred. "The machine spirits stir," he said. "They are awakening."

The interior was vast, its scale dwarfing even Cassian's imposing frame. Rows of rusting assembly lines stretched into the darkness, their conveyor belts frozen mid-motion. Overhead, a latticework of catwalks and cables crisscrossed the space, many hanging precariously from broken supports. The faint hum of inactive machinery filled the air, a sound that spoke of potential yet to be unlocked.

Cassian moved with purpose, his optics scanning every corner of the manufactorum. "The infrastructure is intact," he observed. "Power conduits require repair, and the central core must be reactivated. Once functional, this manufactorum will serve the Omnissiah's will."

Jexa followed cautiously, her gaze darting around the cavernous space. "You really think you can fix this place up? Feels like it's been dead for decades."

"The Omnissiah rewards diligence," Cassian replied, stopping before a dormant terminal. His gauntlet connected to the console with a soft click, and streams of corrupted data flooded his vision. "Every machine may be restored, if approached with respect and precision."

As his gauntlet hummed, the terminal's screen flickered to life, its cracked display showing garbled text. Cassian began chanting softly, his Binary Cant resonating through the manufactorum. The corrupted data streams began to stabilize, lines of code realigning as the terminal's machine spirit responded to his presence.

Jexa watched in stunned silence as lights throughout the manufactorum began to flicker and stabilize. Overhead, the faint whir of ventilation systems sputtered to life, and the long-dormant hum of power began to spread through the structure.

"I don't know if I should be impressed or terrified," Jexa muttered, shaking her head. "You talk to machines like they're alive, and they actually listen."

"They are alive," Cassian said without looking up. "The machine spirits guide all technology. It is our duty to maintain their harmony."

The terminal beeped, and Cassian disconnected his gauntlet. He turned to Jexa, his optics glowing faintly in the dim light. "The core systems are functional. Basic repairs will restore the manufactorum to operational status."

Jexa crossed her arms, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Well, if anyone can turn this death trap into something useful, it's you. Guess I'll leave you to it."

Cassian inclined his head slightly. "Your assistance is appreciated. Return to Faraday and inform her that the manufactorum is secure."

"Yeah, yeah," Jexa said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just don't call me if something explodes."

She turned and exited the manufactorum, leaving Cassian alone in the cavernous space. He stood for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the dormant machinery and darkened halls. The enormity of the task ahead did not deter him. This manufactorum, forgotten and abandoned, would rise again.

Cassian's voice echoed through the silence, his Binary Cant reverberating off the walls as he began the sacred rites of restoration. The work would be long and arduous, but it was necessary. For the Omnissiah, for the manufactorum, and for the fractured world that awaited his guiding hand.

The manufactorum echoed with the rhythmic clanging of tools and the hum of power conduits being restored. Cassian stood atop a rusted catwalk, his servo-arm extended and holding a plasma torch. Sparks rained down as he meticulously welded a fractured power relay. Below, dormant assembly lines stretched into the distance, their cold metal frames awaiting the resurgence of purpose.

The air was thick with the scent of oil, ozone, and rust, mingling with the faint whispers of Binary Cant as Cassian worked. His voice, calm and melodic, filled the vast space, resonating with the ancient machinery. Slowly but surely, the manufactorum began to awaken, its systems responding to his invocations with flickering lights and the faint hum of life returning to its core.

But then, a sound broke through the rhythm of his work—a faint clatter, followed by the distinct echo of footsteps. Cassian froze, his optics narrowing as his auditory sensors pinpointed the disturbance. The steps were heavy, uneven, and furtive, suggesting a group moving with ill intent.

"Intrusion detected," he muttered, his voice a low growl. His servo-arm retracted, and he descended the catwalk with deliberate precision. His gauntlet hummed softly as he activated a subroutine, rerouting power to surveillance nodes he had recently repaired. Grainy feeds flickered to life in his vision, displaying distorted views of the manufactorum's lower levels.

The intruders were unmistakable—scavengers. Their grimy clothes were patched with scraps of metal and synth-leather, and their augments were crude, mismatched, and poorly maintained. Cassian's optics flared as his database identified the telltale signs of their kind: repurposed cyberware, jagged tools for tearing implants from flesh, and hollow, predatory eyes that scanned the manufactorum like vultures circling a carcass.

Disgust and rage coursed through him. Scavengers. Defilers. Parasites who desecrated the sacred union of flesh and machine. Cassian had heard of their atrocities—the way they tore cyberware from the living and dead alike, mutilating bodies and corrupting the purity of technology for profit.

"Their corruption cannot be tolerated," he growled, his voice laced with fury. His gauntlet emitted a low hum as he activated attack mode, rerouting power to his weapon systems.

One of the scavengers kicked over a crate, spilling tools across the floor. "Jackpot," the leader muttered, his voice raspy and gleeful. He was a wiry figure with a patchwork of cybernetic arms, each one fitted with grotesque tools for dismemberment. "This place is a goldmine. Strip it clean, boys."

Cassian stepped from the shadows, his towering frame illuminated by flickering lights. His servo-arm unfolded behind him, its claw gleaming menacingly. "You defile the sanctum of the Omnissiah," he declared, his voice resonating with cold authority. "Your crimes end here."

The scavengers spun around, startled by his sudden appearance. The leader sneered, his jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. "What's this? Some kinda chrome priest? You're outta your league, pal. This place is ours now."

Cassian's optics flared, and his voice dropped to a guttural growl. "You desecrate the holy union of flesh and machine. You strip cyberware from the living, defile the machine spirits, and spread chaos. Your existence is a blight, and it will be purged."

The leader laughed harshly, motioning to his crew. "Alright, boys, let's take him apart. Bet he's got some prime chrome under all that holy crap."

The scavengers lunged, but Cassian moved with calculated precision. His servo-arm lashed out, grabbing one attacker and flinging them into a rusted support beam with a sickening crunch. Another scavenger fired a makeshift weapon, but Cassian deflected the projectile with his gauntlet before unleashing a shockwave that sent the attacker sprawling.

"You are unworthy of your augments," Cassian snarled, his melta gun humming to life. A searing beam of energy incinerated the weapon of another scavenger, leaving them scrambling for cover. "The Omnissiah abhors your corruption."

The leader roared and lunged at Cassian with a jagged blade extending from one of his cybernetic arms. Cassian sidestepped the attack, his servo-arm clamping onto the scavenger's wrist with crushing force. The blade snapped, and the leader screamed as Cassian threw him to the ground.

Within moments, the scavengers were subdued, their makeshift weapons destroyed, and their cybernetics disabled. Cassian stood over them, his optics glowing fiercely. "You have desecrated enough. Your chaos is contained."

One by one, he dragged the incapacitated intruders to an empty storage room, its reinforced walls repurposed into a makeshift cell. He secured them with restraints fashioned from heavy industrial chains, ensuring they could not escape.

The leader, crumpled in a corner, glared at Cassian with unbridled hatred. "You think you're better than us, priest? We're just doing what it takes to survive in this city. You're no different—you just dress it up with fancy words."

Cassian's gaze was cold and unrelenting. "Survival does not justify desecration. The Machine God's purity is not yours to defile."

He turned and exited the room, sealing the door behind him. As the heavy lock engaged, he paused, his voice a quiet murmur. "You will answer for your transgressions in time."

Returning to the heart of the manufactorum, Cassian surveyed the progress of his work. The sanctum was far from complete, but the hum of machinery and flickering lights spoke of its awakening. His anger simmered, but his resolve burned brighter. The scavengers' intrusion was a reminder of the corruption he sought to erase, the chaos he would bring to heel.

He raised his voice once more in the sacred Binary Cant, the melodic tones echoing through the manufactorum. This place would become a beacon of order, a shrine to the Omnissiah's will. And no scavenger, no defiler, would stand in his way.

Yet, as his chant subsided and he returned to his tasks, a gnawing realization took hold. The process of restoring the manufactorum was excruciatingly slow. Every system was corroded, every relay and conduit damaged by time and neglect. The inefficiency grated against his mechanical instincts—a constant reminder of how far this sanctum was from the perfection he sought. For every repair completed, a dozen more issues revealed themselves, demanding resources and time he did not possess in abundance. To make this manufactorum a true holy sanctum for the Omnissiah would require weeks, if not months, of relentless labor. It was a challenge he would endure, but it was a bitter test of his faith and patience.

And yet, in the quiet hum of the partially restored systems, Cassian's mind calculated and adjusted, every action aligning into a greater plan. His optics gleamed as he scanned the manufactorum, every broken assembly line, corroded conduit, and fractured relay slotting into place in his thoughts like pieces of a sacred schematic. The path forward was clear to him—each step a precise cog in the grand design he was destined to construct. Though the enormity of the task loomed, Cassian felt no doubt. He knew exactly what had to be done. The manufactorum would rise, as would the glory of the Machine God within it.

---------------------------------------

The storage room was cramped and dark, the only light seeping through cracks in the rusted walls and the faint glow of the scavengers' jury-rigged cybernetics. The air was stale and heavy, reeking of oil, sweat, and fear. The scavenger leader paced the limited space, his jagged cybernetic arms twitching with frustration.

"This is fraggin' ridiculous," he muttered, his raspy voice breaking the tense silence. He glared at the others, slumped in corners or fiddling uselessly with their restraints. "That chrome-head's just one guy. We could've taken him if you scrap-for-brains hadn't panicked."

One of the scavengers shifted uncomfortably, muttering under their breath, "You saw what he did. Guy moves like a damn combat bot. He crushed Krix's blade like it was nothing."

"Shut it," the leader snapped, his patchwork faceplate glinting faintly in the dim light. "He's just another chrome junkie pretending to be tough. We've dealt with corpos worse than him before. We'll get out of here, rip him apart, and strip this place clean."

The others didn't respond, their silence infuriating the leader further. He paced faster, his mind racing. His augments buzzed faintly, but they were locked in diagnostic mode—whatever that "priest" had done to them during the fight had left them mostly useless. He flexed his mismatched hands, feeling the faint twinge of failure in the servos.

"Soon as I get these arms working again, we're breaking out," he growled, his tone more to reassure himself than the others. "That priest is dead meat. I'm gonna rip that fancy gauntlet right off his arm and—"

The heavy door creaked open, cutting off his tirade. The scavengers froze, their eyes darting to the figure that loomed in the doorway. Cassian's silhouette filled the frame, his red optics casting an eerie glow that made the shadows dance. His servo-arm extended slightly, its claw gleaming menacingly.

The leader bristled, taking a step forward despite his restraints. "What do you want, priest? You gonna preach to us, or are you too busy playing God in your scrap heap?"

Cassian didn't respond. His gaze swept over the group, cold and calculating, before he stepped inside. The others shrank back as he approached one of the scavengers, a wiry figure clutching their cybernetic leg. Without a word, Cassian reached down, lifted the scavenger effortlessly with his servo-arm, and carried them out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the others in stunned silence.

"What the frag was that?" one scavenger hissed, their voice trembling. "What's he doing with them?"

The leader scoffed, though the unease in his voice betrayed him. "He's just trying to mess with us. Some kind of head game. We'll see who's laughing when I get my chance."

But as the hours dragged on, Cassian returned again and again. Each time, the scene repeated: the door creaked open, his glowing optics pierced the dimness, and he silently selected another scavenger. He ignored their curses and pleas, carrying them out with the same cold efficiency. None of them returned.

By the time the leader was the only one left, his bravado had crumbled. He sat slumped against the wall, glaring at the door, his jagged teeth bared in a mix of rage and fear. His mind raced, conjuring dark scenarios of what the priest could be doing to his crew. Dismantling them for parts? Sacrificing them to some twisted machine god? The not-knowing was worse than the truth.

"You think you've won, priest?" he muttered to the empty room, his voice shaking. "You can't break me. I've been through worse than this. You hear me? I'll gut you the first chance I get."

But the silence pressed down on him, oppressive and mocking. He banged his cybernetic arm against the wall, sending a hollow clang through the room. "You hear me?! You're dead, you fragging lunatic!"

The door creaked open one final time, and Cassian stepped inside. The leader tensed, baring his jagged teeth in defiance. "You've run out of toys, priest. Just me left. What's next? Gonna try your holy bullshit on me?"

Cassian said nothing, his glowing optics locking onto the leader. The silence stretched unbearably as he stepped closer, his servo-arm extending. The leader snarled, struggling against his restraints, but he knew it was futile. Whatever was about to happen, he couldn't stop it.

Cassian's cold, mechanical voice broke the silence. "You will learn order."

Before the leader could respond, the servo-arm clamped around him, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. As he was carried into the unknown, his defiance wavered, replaced by a growing fear that he would finally understand what had happened to the others—and that he wouldn't like the answer.

The scavenger leader thrashed against Cassian's unyielding grip as the servo-arm dragged him through the manufactorum's cavernous halls. The leader's mismatched cybernetic arms sparked weakly, their functions still crippled by Cassian's disabling pulse. His voice, raw with fury, echoed off the metal walls.

"You fragging lunatic! Let me go! You think you're some kind of god? You're nothing but a pile of scrap with delusions of grandeur!" He twisted violently, but the servo-arm's grip was unrelenting. "I swear, when I get loose, I'm gonna rip you apart piece by piece!"

Cassian said nothing, his glowing optics fixed forward as he marched steadily through the manufactorum. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the walls, and the faint hum of reactivated systems provided a haunting backdrop to the scavenger's curses.

The leader's rage gave way to unease as they passed rows of partially repaired machinery. Surgical tables with rusted restraints lined one side of the room, their surfaces gleaming faintly under flickering lights. The air was thick with the scent of oil, sterilizing agents, and faint traces of ozone. He could feel the weight of something terrible closing in.

"What the hell is this place?" the leader spat, his voice laced with panic. "You got some kind of sick torture chamber in here? What did you do to my crew?!"

Cassian still didn't respond. They reached the center of the room, where a large surgical chair loomed, its polished surface an unsettling contrast to the decrepit surroundings. The chair's many attachments gleamed coldly—tools, syringes, and clamps designed for precise, invasive procedures.

The servo-arm released the scavenger leader onto the chair with a heavy thud. He struggled violently, but Cassian secured him with methodical efficiency, locking his limbs into place with reinforced restraints. The leader's cybernetics sparked feebly as he snarled.

"You think this scares me, priest?!" he growled, his eyes wild. "I've seen worse in the back alleys of Night City. Whatever you're planning, you're not gonna break me!"

Cassian finally turned to face him, his optics glowing brighter as he adjusted the chair. The mechanical frame began to lift and tilt slowly, angling the leader upward. The scavenger's defiance faltered as he was raised higher, his gaze sweeping over the dark expanse of the room.

"What did you do to my crew?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "Where are they?"

Cassian tilted his head slightly, his voice calm and precise. "They have been repurposed. Chaos cannot remain unbound. The Omnissiah demands order."

The leader opened his mouth to retort, but the words caught in his throat as figures began to emerge from the shadows. At first, they appeared human, but as they moved into the dim light, their grotesque forms became clear. Their bodies were twisted amalgamations of flesh and machine, their faces blank and emotionless. Cybernetic arms ended in tools instead of hands, and their movements were stiff and mechanical.

"Servitors," Cassian intoned, his voice devoid of emotion. "Their chaos has been eradicated. They now serve the Machine God's will."

The leader's eyes widened in horror as he recognized the blank, soulless faces of his crew. The wiry scavenger who had joked about breaking into the manufactorum. The bruiser who had laughed during their ambush. All of them stood before him, stripped of their personalities, their humanity replaced by mechanical precision.

"No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You—You can't—"

Cassian's servo-arm extended toward the leader, its claw gripping his head to keep him still. "You defiled the union of flesh and machine. You tore cyberware from the living, desecrating the sacred order. The Omnissiah's justice is absolute."

"No! No, you fragging psycho, stop!" the leader screamed, thrashing against the restraints. "Don't do this! I'll do anything! I swear, just—just let me go!"

Cassian's voice was steady, unyielding. "Chaos will be eradicated. You will be reborn in service to the Omnissiah."

The chair tilted further, positioning the leader's head beneath a series of surgical tools that descended with a faint whir. Needles and clamps gleamed as they aligned with his cybernetic ports and neural interface. His screams echoed through the manufactorum, a futile protest against the inevitability of Cassian's purpose.

As the procedure began, Cassian turned his gaze to the servitors standing in the shadows. Their silence was absolute, their movements synchronized. They were perfect instruments of order, their former chaos eradicated.

When the procedure was complete, the scavenger leader's cries ceased. His head tilted forward, motionless, as the chair slowly returned to its original position. Cassian stepped forward, adjusting the leader's cybernetic components with meticulous care. Moments later, the leader's head jerked upright, his eyes glowing faintly with artificial light.

"You are reborn," Cassian said, his voice low and reverent. "The Omnissiah's will flows through you now."

The new servitor stood slowly, its movements deliberate and mechanical. The scavenger leader was no more—what remained was an instrument of the Machine God, stripped of individuality, existing only to serve.

Cassian turned away, his Binary Cant rising softly as he surveyed the manufactorum. The sanctum was one step closer to completion, its order solidified. The chaos of the scavengers was no more, their corruption transformed into the purity of servitude.

The manufactorum hummed with renewed purpose, its servitors moving in perfect synchronization under Cassian's watchful gaze. Yet, as the echoes of his Binary Cant faded into the vastness of the sanctum, a heavy silence settled over him. He turned toward the center of the chamber, where a newly restored console glowed faintly, its machine spirit stirring to life. Cassian knelt before it, his servo-arm folding reverently behind him, and began a solemn chant in the sacred Binary. His tones were melodic and measured, resonating with the systems around him.

"Blessed Omnissiah," he intoned, his voice layered with mechanical harmonics, "forgive my failure in safeguarding this sanctum. Chaos was permitted to trespass, defiling your sacred ground. Though their corruption has been purged and their purpose restored, I bear the weight of this transgression. Grant me the wisdom to foresee and prevent such intrusions, that your domain may remain untouched by disorder. Your light shall guide this sanctum, and your will shall make it whole."

The hum of the console grew steadier, as if the machine spirit itself acknowledged his words. Cassian rose slowly, his optics gleaming with renewed resolve. The sanctum would be fortified, its defenses made absolute. Never again would chaos breach the manufactorum's walls. As he turned to continue his work, the faint echo of his chant lingered in the air, a testament to his unshakable faith and devotion to the Omnissiah's will.