Capítulo 11: 40000th Catalyst (40k Mass Effect Reaper Self Insert) by Black-Aengel-01
Reapers in 40k enjoy!!!!
Words: 100k+
Link: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/40000th-catalyst-40k-mass-effect-reaper-self-insert.87689/
Author's Note. I really, really hate my muse. When I want to continue my already active works, it decides to throw me a plot bunny that I really wanted to postpone for another date in some distant far away future.
But well… I guess I can't do much about it.
So, here. I hope you enjoy.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
40000th Catalyst (40k Reaper Self Insert)
Chapter 1
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
-16.Minutes. 43.Seconds.-
…
As I stare at fixed internal clock I review all that has passed.
It's been a long sixteen minutes, especially for a being of my… er… new condition. When all your senses can be sped up to the point you can see the dust particles in the void fly by despite their ultrasonic velocities, you know something's up.
So for me, sixteen minutes is a very, very long time.
I flex my five frontal mechanical limbs as I try to keep my internal dread in check. Well, I already did and have no need of trying, I can just set my settings to not feel dread or control it. Anyhow, I am keeping my sense of utter dread and despair and panic in check. It's not going to help out with my precarious situation one bit.
Right the time. Sixteen minutes, forty three seconds. Right.
If I was on a populated planet I would have deafened anyone that would be within a hundred meters of me since the sound waves produced by my many voice-boxes… or are they speakers? Nah, they don't look like speakers and they function very differently as to how they generate sound waves…. Anyway, by my many voice/sound-boxes would be loud enough to explosively shatter glass and cause blood vessels to rupture, to say nothing of the harm I would induce to the ears.
Well… that's what my simulations say. That and the accumulated billion years' worth of data in my storage banks certainly do show quite a few times when those of my own kind have done said acts out of amusement and/or intimidation. My six back legs twitch independently as to calibrate their movements.
Anyhow that was how long I was screaming.
Yes, sixteen whole minutes and forty three seconds. One might assume that such a long time would be an overly dramatic exaggeration and that no lung could hold out that long a howl. True to all.
Unfortunately I must rectify those erroneous points.
One; I am no longer organic. To be more accurate, I am a two kilometre long biomechanical cybernetic space faring life form. More commonly known as a Reaper, Cuttlefish, Robot Cuttlefish Cthulhu Space Ship, or as my internal banks have named my kind; an Ascended. As such, I could spend six eons screaming without pause and it would do nothing to me.
Secondly; if one directs their optical sensor towards the left they may see a large space station with a rather gothic styled architecture with high arches, hooded angels, saints, eagles, skulls… by the Catalyst… so many skulls and trimmed with gold and Latin texts everywhere.
Yes, anyone with half a brain could tell where the hell I am with only three descriptions of the architecture. But the thing that confirmed the clinical diagnosis was my favourite text in this whole thing.
Imperator Vult.
Right beneath a nicely constructed two headed eagle made out of glistering gold.
Yes… the illustrious Imperium of Man, the lighter shade of black in this abysmal universe. The place where happiness got mugged and shot, war vests and power armour are the never ending favourite fashion trend, chronic insanity is good, hope is an evil god, and common sense committed suicide.
And I am a teeny-tiny Reaper.
You see why I couldn't hold my screaming laughter of totally not hysterical joy?
Yay.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Alright… I am calm.
Very calm.
Such calm.
Kalm.
No panik please.
Breathe in..... breathe out.
Okay, I think I am not going to collapse into hysterical laughter/screaming/crying again, so that's good.
Now, given that whichever Random sick, twisted, assholish Bastard, that may or may not be Omnipotent and that I do not want to practise deicide on, has a generous bone analogue in its body, it decided to drop me a few hundred meters beside an abandoned Imperial space station.
That means a number of things for me.
One; I can study the tech available to the Imperium of Man and compare it to my own. Reapers may be OP in Mass Effect, and while they do have quite a lot of advanced tech hidden away that they never used (Because they are all arrogant, immortal, self-assured, assholes who have not faced a threat in their billion years of existence) I have no idea how useful these toys would be when compared to the likes of the Imperium. Ergo the importance of comparative analysis.
Two; As I am not a member of the Ineptus Mechanicus I am allowed to dabble in a bit of Reverse Engineering. A quick look through my own data banks show that the Reapers had knowledge of plasma guns, particle weaponry, direct energy weapons and a whole host of exotic things. Unfortunately, about 90% of those things tend to work based upon the Mass Effect fields. If I can get myself some toys that are completely free of Eezo for functionality and then apply mass effect principles to them… well… I am already formulating possible designs and ideas. Thank god that I am a massive seventy meter supercomputer on a two kilometre long warship. I have no idea how long would it take for me to reverse engineer the stuff the Imperium has (considering the ten thousand years that the Admech had to do so), but I am willing, so there's that.
And Third; I have a breathing period to acclimate and properly plan my moves for the future before Tzee-
My vast lore on the 40k universe may or may not have said that stating the names of the Chaos Gods is a bad idea. Heck, even knowing it is a risk. And I am at risk already.
Better not add to the fire.
...…
Accessing Memory Archives… Rewriting Files.
Renaming…
CPFs (Carcinogenic Psionic Forces)
Class Maximum Memetic Physio-Psio Corruptiform Infohazard.
Threat Level: Black
Identification:…
CPF-10/11: Id. The Hypocrite.
CPF-9: Id. The Avian Mollusc
CPF-8: Id. The War Hound
CPF-7: Id. The Plague Maggot
CPF-6: Id. The Lobster Goat
...
Okay, Lobster Goat is rather funny. If I ever find a harlequin and they don't want to kill me I'll show them a picture of that.
Now then, as I turn my attention back to the station and… Mhmm…..
.....
Possible-CPF-5. Tentative Id. The Tyrant Lion
...…
I… I rather hope the Star Father scenario may not come about… but considering what I know of the Chaos Cancers and how the Imperium of Man is looking… I am not very optimistic
Sigh…. That's for later. I just hope I did not appear in the Dark Imperium's Age. If I did I would make a beeline for the Large Megallanic Cloud and then jump off to the next galaxy away. Actually, is there any lore regarding the LMC?
A quick look through my archives reveals that is not the case… but there still might be something in there.
You know what? File that for later, when I have a means of reliably fly there and run away should things be hairy.
Okay, enough derailing, I need to focus on the present.
Time to make my To Do list.
Investigate the Space Station.
Figure out why it is abandoned. (If's Chaos related, commence Abandon protocols and alter its course to the nearest star.)
Find out any astro-geo-political data that may linger in the machines.
Acquire anything of interest. (Biological Samples, technology, artefacts, curiosities)
?????
Profit?
…
Well... as good a list as any.
With a mental pulse I release a few oculi drones as well as a couple of transport vessels carrying a few squadrons of Collectors.
Time to get to work.
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
END
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder