Nolan, through repeated exploration and experimentation with the simulator's new interfaces, through trial and error and careful observation, finally figured out the specific purpose of the Legion Management branch options.
Understanding crystallized. Systems made sense. Mechanics revealed.
Apart from the Space Wolf entry that remained temporarily uncontrollable and unqueryable, frustratingly present but inaccessible, the other features became clear.
The success rate displayed below each prayer for support wasn't arbitrary. It was calculated. Precise. Based on measurable factors.
It was determined by Nolan himself, his weapons and equipment, and his support personnel. Load-out mattered. Resources affected outcomes. Strategy influenced probability.
For example, the currently chosen mission to support Tetim Hive City showed dynamic calculations.
The success rate achieved by Nolan wearing Terminator armor and carrying a large amount of ammunition was fifty percent. Base configuration. Standard odds.
With the addition of the full Stormtrooper squad, five elite warriors joining the operation, the success rate suddenly jumped to eighty percent.
However, annotation prompts that appeared in subsequent simulator displays also provided critical warnings to Nolan.
This was only a possibility of successful support. Probability.
If he completely believed in and relied upon the calculated success rate without independent judgment, who knows when things might completely fall apart? Complacency bred failure. Overconfidence killed.
Furthermore, Nolan had no intention of bringing native personnel into the Warhammer universe. Not yet. Not until much later. The risks were too great.
After all, offering loyalty in the face of fierce battles was a secondary concern. People could fight. People could die. That was acceptable.
The real issue was Chaos corruption. Warp exposure. Daemonic influence that could turn allies into enemies in moments.
Before there were necessary countermeasures or further preventative measures developed, before protection could be guaranteed, human personnel were off the table.
At most, Nolan could use David or the Intelligent Control Legion robots to escort him into the Warhammer universe. Machines. Soulless. Immune to most corruption.
Safer. More controllable. Less risk of catastrophic betrayal.
However, after the support target was identified and mission selected, Nolan did not immediately set off. Preparation demanded time.
Entering the Warhammer universe in his true physical form for the first time, facing those terrifying battlefields where entire armies died in hours, required being fully prepared. Equipment. Planning. Contingencies.
Then, Nolan, deep in thought and calculating needs, activated his Terminator armor. The familiar weight settled across shoulders. Power flowed through systems.
He stepped into the underground passage leading to the foundry, boots ringing against metal floors. Descending. Purposeful.
His first task was to completely upgrade the six-armed Terminator armor into fully powered armor. Restore functions. Enhance capabilities. Prepare for war.
After Nolan arrived at the foundry hall on Second Son Island, heat washing over him in waves from active furnaces, he spotted Doom.
The sorcerer was dismantling an old power armor set in front of a casting platform, components spread across workbench surfaces. Focused. Absorbed. Learning through deconstruction.
"Doom, where's Raditus?"
Nolan stepped forward, ceramite boots clanking. He glanced around the foundry hall and asked Doom, who remained completely absorbed in his work. Concentration unbroken.
"Hmm? Nolan."
Doom's head rose, green eyes refocusing. Recognition dawning. "Raditus said it encountered a research bottleneck, so to calm itself down, it went to torture those automated servo robots."
With helpless expression crossing his features, Doom shook his head and addressed Nolan. The tech-priest's coping mechanisms were... distinctive.
Hearing Doom's explanation, Nolan nodded subconsciously. Understandable. Predictable. Raditus had patterns.
As he gestured to nearby automated servo robots that were moving materials back and forth, he gave orders. The machines immediately began approaching to disassemble his Terminator armor with practiced efficiency.
While this occurred, Nolan addressed Doom solemnly, "Doom, go and bring Raditus back. I have something important for both of you to do. Time-sensitive."
"Understood, I'll go find it now." Doom raised an eyebrow and immediately nodded in agreement. No questions. Just compliance.
He casually wiped oil from his palms onto a rag, leaving dark stains. Then turned to run toward the foundry's assembly line where Raditus typically "disciplined" malfunctioning equipment.
Soon after, moving faster than Doom could physically run, Raditus powered by its anti-gravity engine returned to the foundry hall first. The servo skull arrived in David's typical cloud of electronic aggravation.
Before it could even exchange pleasantries with Nolan, before greeting protocols could complete, Nolan cut through formalities.
He expressed his request to Raditus without hesitation while servo robots worked to disassemble his armor piece by piece. Direct. Clear. Urgent.
The six-armed Terminator armor needed complete overhaul. Total reconstruction. Full upgrade.
Any combat functions that had been present in the original Terminator armor configuration needed reinstallation and optimization. Weapons. Defense systems. Everything.
The servo skull Raditus did not refuse the challenge. Its optical sensors brightened with interest.
It hesitated for only a moment, processing specifications. Then spoke to Nolan, who stood surrounded by automated servo robots like a metal giant being disrobed by mechanical attendants.
"My Lord Primarch, with our current productivity and technological capabilities, your request is not difficult." Raditus's mechanical voice carried confidence. "If you are willing, I can combine the technologies we currently possess to tailor a more advanced Terminator power armor for you. Something unprecedented."
The offer was tempting. Innovation. Improvement. But requirements mattered more.
"Raditus, I only have one request for you..." Nolan's voice emerged firm. "Optimize as much as possible and add as many new features as you can, without compromising any existing combat functionality. Function over form. Reliability over novelty."
Then he paused. Additional requirement surfacing. "By the way, what's the smallest size you can currently manufacture for tactical nuclear weapons?"
At that moment, Nolan's gaze passed through the mechanical tentacles working on his armor. His cyan wolf eyes fixed on Raditus with intensity.
The question caught the tech-priest off-guard. Raditus's anti-gravity engine stuttered slightly, altitude wavering.
"Smallest size? I could barely reduce the dimensions of a tactical nuclear weapon to about half a meter, and reduce its weight to approximately thirty kilograms?" Raditus's tone carried uncertainty mixed with professional assessment.
The skull bobbed, red optics pulsing. "But in this configuration, not only will the explosive yield be only about fifty tons equivalent, but the kill radius will be far greater than any practical launch distance. The user would be caught in their own blast! It's simply not tactically viable!"
Upon hearing Nolan's question and providing technical analysis, Raditus bobbed back and forth in mid-air. Its sensors flickered with puzzlement.
"Primarch, I haven't heard of any missions or operations at the base lately requiring nuclear ordinance. What do you need this for? What application requires such specifications?"
"Don't ask about the specifics. I'll tell you when the time is right." Nolan's voice carried finality. No elaboration offered.
"When you're reforging the six-armed Terminator armor, just manufacture one miniature nuke for me too. Set the detonation method to have two operational modes: remote detonation and impact detonation. Versatility matters."
With eyes narrowed and face expressionless, Nolan gave the order to Raditus. Command. Not request.
When he had completely removed the Terminator armor, standing in just his underlayer bodysuit, Nolan gave Raditus and Doom, who had just returned slightly out of breath, a few additional instructions. Details. Specifications. Timeline expectations.
Then he turned and left the foundry hall, leaving the two to their work. His part done. Their expertise needed.
Only Raditus and Doom remained behind, already deep in animated discussion. They began debating how best to upgrade the Terminator power armor, possibilities multiplying as collaboration sparked innovation.
After Nolan returned to Primogenitor Isle base, crossing the ocean between islands via transport, he immediately sought out David without delay. Urgent conversation required.
At this very moment, David was directing teams of automated servo robots. They were putting finishing touches on the latest Emperor statue, final details being carved into bronze surfaces.
David turned its metal head at Nolan's approach, motion smooth despite the machine's age. Its blue optical sensors gleamed as it addressed him.
"My lord, did you summon me for something specific?"
"David, there's something I'd like to discuss with you." Nolan slowly stopped in his tracks, positioning himself directly before the ancient machine.
He looked directly at David and spoke without any pretense or diplomatic softening. Honest. Direct. Vulnerable even.
"Thanks to the Emperor's 'blessing,' I can now travel to your hometown through what calls a 'miracle.' Physical transportation to your native universe."
His voice continued, laying out reasoning. "To acquire greater power and precious technology, and also because of the inescapable responsibility I bear as the Primarch, I must undertake support missions there."
Then came the request. The ask. "To be honest, I don't feel very safe taking other people with me there. Humans are vulnerable. Corruptible. So I want you to come with me, back to the territory of the Human Imperium."
He paused, ensuring clarity. "Of course, if you have any concerns or reservations, I won't force you. Your consent matters."
His tone softened. "After all, this is not an order from commander to subordinate, but a request between friends. You have the right to refuse."
Hearing Nolan's sincere words, hearing the vulnerability beneath command authority, David responded without hesitation.
With blue light gleaming brighter in its optical sensors, the ancient machine bowed deeply. The gesture carried profound respect.
"My lord, I am your most loyal servant. Since you do not mind having an abominable intelligence at your side, I am naturally willing to accompany you..."
David's mechanical voice took on something approaching emotion. "It is an honor for me, a wanderer from another world, to occasionally return to my homeland. To see the Imperium again after so long."
Then pragmatism reasserted itself. "However, there is one thing you must not have considered fully..." David's tone carried warning. Caution born from experience.
"If I, as a man of Iron, were to rashly appear in Imperial territory, would it cause some unnecessary trouble? Complications we don't need?"
The ancient machine's concerns were valid. "After all, the mere covetousness and desire from the Adeptus Mechanicus might put you in a difficult position. They would want to dissect me. Study me. Claim me as holy relic."
Nolan's response came immediately. Fierce. Protective. Absolute.
"David, you are my loyal servant. As for the other Imperial forces, they are not your masters... If they are not afraid of death, then let them try to take you!"
His voice carried iron certainty. Then pragmatism. "Of course, I have also thought about the problem you mentioned. I'm not blind to political realities."
Nolan stared at David before him. A slow smile appeared on his lips, expression carrying confidence and hint of cunning.
"And I have found a temporary solution. Something that should satisfy both necessity and caution."
The smile widened slightly. Plans within plans. Primarch thinking applied to practical problems.
"Trust me, David. We'll handle the Mechanicus. Together."
The ancient machine's optical sensors brightened. Trust given. Faith maintained. Partnership reaffirmed.
And somewhere in the foundry, Raditus and Doom were already designing armor upgrades and nuclear weapons.
The pieces were moving. The mission approached. And Nolan was bringing his oldest friend home.
Even if home had forgotten what Iron Men truly were.
They would remember. Eventually.
One way or another.
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