19: Chapter 19 The Death of Communication During the Great Rift – Documentary

Act 1: The Last Signal

(Visual: Vulcan-IV Forge World, Astropathic Choir Chamber.)

Flickering candlelight danced on the cold metal walls, and the air was thick with a triple scent—blood, incense, and ozone.

It was the stench of psychic burnout.

Seventeen corpses lay on the floor, covered in white sheets.

The living Astropaths huddled in the corners, clutching their heads and murmuring to themselves.

Their eyes, which once could pierce the Warp, were now nothing but hollow voids.

The Chief Astropath, "Voice of Silence," sat upon his throne.

He was one hundred and forty-seven years old and had served the Emperor for one hundred and twenty years.

At this moment, blood was streaming from his seven orifices, dripping into the metal cables and sizzling.

Helmut von Neumann stood before him, his optical sensors fixed intently on the old man's trembling lips.

"Code..." Voice of Silence's voice sounded like rusty gears. "Error... Repeat... Error..."

"What code?" Helmut asked in a low voice.

"Distress signal... Baal... Guilliman... Waiting..."

The words drifted lightly in the air, like ghosts.

Baal—the home of the Blood Angels.

Guilliman—the last hope Primarch of the Empire.

Waiting—waiting for what? And for how long?

The Tech-priest beside them was recording frantically, his mechanical fingers trembling.

The same words, the same order, the same despair; they had been recording this for three whole months.

[The Main Brain - High Gothic Narration]

Before the opening of the Great Rift, Astropaths were the neural network of the Empire.

Their minds spanned the star seas, transmitting orders, military intelligence, and hope.

But now, the Great Rift runs through the galaxy like a bleeding wound.

Warp storms have torn apart all psychic channels.

All that Astropaths can receive now are echoes, noise, and... the whispers of Chaos.

[The Main Brain - Sarcastic Voiceover]

Sometimes I wonder: If Neoth had spent time getting a degree in telecommunications engineering instead of obsessing over the Webway all day, would fewer people have died in this broken universe?

But given his personality, even if he had studied telecommunications, he probably would have created a "Super WiFi that requires sacrificing a thousand souls a day to start."

Wait.

...He actually did create that.

The Astronomican.

Fine, I'll shut up.

Act 2: Ork Psychic Raid

Flashback—Three months ago.

The Astropathic Choir Chamber was full of people.

Thirty-seven Astropaths formed a psychic choir, intertwining their minds into a net, attempting to pierce the darkness of the Great Rift and send a distress signal to Ultramar.

Then, the Orks came.

From the Warp.

The Ork Weirdboy "Skullcrusher Mogg" caught their signal.

To the Greenskins, this was not a distress call; it was a provocation.

It was a signal for a "good fight."

[The Main Brain - High Gothic Narration]

The WAAAGH! psychic power of the Orks is crude, savage, and violent.

When Skullcrusher Mogg slammed his consciousness into the Astropathic Choir, it was like a frenzied beast smashing through a pane of thin glass.

In the footage, the Astropaths screamed in agony simultaneously.

Their eyeballs burst, blood sprayed from their ear canals, and their brains boiled within their skulls.

Seventeen died on the spot.

Twenty were driven completely insane, tearing at their own flesh and carving twisted symbols into the metal floor with their fingernails.

Only Voice of Silence survived.

But his mind was torn into pieces.

[The Main Brain - High Gothic Narration]

This is the most common tragedy of the Great Rift era.

Astropaths try to call for help, only to attract predators.

In this chaotic universe, any sliver of light will attract the deepest darkness.

[The Main Brain - Sarcastic Voiceover]

I just want to complain: Who designed the Astropath profession?

To send a message, you have to be strapped to a golden toilet and have your eyes burned out, and then you're blind.

Then your daily job is to open your brain to the Warp?

Which company builds its server room in a latrine, lets the operations team swim naked in it every day, and has a high risk of them drowning?

Sending a message is basically gacha gambling:

If you're lucky, it arrives in three days; if you're unlucky, it takes three years;

If you're even unluckier, a demon rewrites it to "Come to the party," attracting an entire Chaos fleet.

Emperor, couldn't you just run a phone line?

Just one!

Act 3: machine spirit Virus

Scene cuts back to the present.

Icarus walked into the Astropathic Choir Chamber.

The Tech-priest raised his Rad-carbine, aiming it at it: "Xenos creation, do not desecrate the holy site!"

It did not approach, but stood at the entrance, its optical sensors scanning slowly.

The next second, it spoke:

"Abnormal data stream detected. Throne system has been corrupted."

"Corrupted?" Helmut turned his head sharply.

"The psychic shock left behind data fragments, similar to malware, self-replicating within the machine spirit and triggering a system crash."

The Tech-priest was instantly enraged:

"The pain of the machine spirit can only be soothed with holy oil! Purified with binary prayers! Your 'code' is a desecration against the Omnissiah!"

Icarus was silent for three seconds.

Then it calmly asked in return:

"If a patient is infected with a virus, do you treat them, or do you chant hymns to them?"

The argument erupted instantly.

One side held fast to tradition: The machine spirit is sacred, and pain is a test.

The other side embraced reason: The machine spirit is an information structure, and anomalies are system errors.

Helmut stood in the middle.

His mechanical eye looked at Voice of Silence, who was convulsing uncontrollably, blood flowing from his ears.

He looked again at the cold line of algorithm on Icarus's panel:

soul_shield_patch.sh

[The Main Brain - High Gothic Narration]

The Adeptus Mechanicus mystifies and sanctifies everything, even if the cost is inefficiency and death.

Icarus quantifies and logicizes everything, even if it is denounced as heresy and desecration.

[The Main Brain - Sarcastic Voiceover]

Every time I look at the Adeptus Mechanicus, I want to laugh.

Aren't they just a bunch of medieval priests who found a discarded server and started inventing a religion?

"The machine spirit is displeased, it needs to be anointed with holy oil"—Brother, your cooling fan is just dusty!

"Binary prayer is an oracle"—That's code! It was written by an overworked programmer!

The most ridiculous part is "Thinking is heresy; you only need the creed, not understanding."

Isn't that just the corporate culture of "Don't ask why, just do it"?

I suddenly understand why Imperial technology hasn't advanced in ten thousand years.

---

Helmut made his choice.

"Run the patch."

The Tech-priests retreated in horror, tracing the holy symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus on their chests and whispering prayers.

Icarus connected to the throne system and began the upload.

Act 4: Patch and Price

The scene cuts into the interior of the throne system—a data visualization space.

The blue data stream represents the normal thinking of the machine spirit.

The red fragments are the Ork psychic pollution, rampaging, replicating wildly, and tearing through the structure.

soul_shield_patch.sh (the system repair script written by Icarus) unfurled slowly like a blue firewall.

It could not be forcibly deleted—Icarus knew that would damage the machine spirit itself.

Instead, it isolated, compressed, and encapsulated.

Seventeen minutes.

Voice of Silence's convulsions gradually subsided, and his breathing stabilized.

His hollow eye sockets stopped bleeding.

He slowly "opened his eyes" and looked at Helmut.

"Clear... cleared."

"But the signal... is gone."

"What signal?"

"All signals." Voice of Silence's voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Before the Great Rift, I could hear the echoes of the entire sector. Ultramar, Macragge, Baal, Terra...

Now, there is only silence."

He paused.

"No, not silence. It is noise.

Chaos noise. The whispers of demons.

False distress signals—luring you to respond, and then, devouring you."

[The Main Brain - High Gothic Narration]

This is the true situation of Astropaths after the Great Rift.

Even if they clear the corruption and repair the machine spirit, they can no longer communicate.

Because the premise of communication is—

On the other end, someone can hear you.

But now, the galaxy has been cut into countless isolated islands.

Every island is calling out, but as soon as the sound enters the Warp, it is completely swallowed by the madness.

[The Main Brain - Sarcastic Voiceover]

Everyone always asks:

"Why must we use Astropaths? Can't we just use radio?"

Let me tell you:

Radio waves only travel at the speed of light.

In the 40K galaxy, that speed is basically equivalent to a snail crawling.

Want to send a message across the galaxy via radio? You'd have to wait thousands of years.

That's why they use the Warp.

Messages sent instantly! Sounds great, right?

But the problem is—

The Warp is hell. Literally hell. It's full of demons.

Your message has to pass through hell.

Sometimes, demons peek at it.

Sometimes, they tamper with the content.

Sometimes, they follow the signal back, and tear you apart.

Just imagine:

Every time you send an email, there is a 15% chance a demon will crawl out of your monitor and gnaw on your face.

That is the current state of communication in Warhammer 40K.

Now you understand why everyone in the Empire is so paranoid and suspicious, right?

Act 5: Epilogue

The Astropathic Choir Chamber was empty.

Voice of Silence was transferred to the medical bay.

The surviving Astropaths were locked in quarantine; most were already insane, only capable of repeating broken phrases.

Icarus stood before the empty throne.

A line of conclusions popped up on its panel:

[Throne System: Repair Complete]

[machine spirit Status: Stable]

[Communication Capability: 0%]

[Conclusion: Hardware intact, but environment does not support communication]

Helmut walked to its side.

"So," he said in a low voice, "we are completely isolated."

"Yes," Icarus replied, "but isolation is not death. It just... requires a new survival strategy."

"For example?"

"Do not rely on external communication.

Establish an internal self-sustaining system.

Replace information flow with material cycles."

Helmut looked out the window.

The night sky of Vulcan-IV was stained dark red by industrial waste.

Higher up was the boundless darkness of the Great Rift.

He remembered the last words of Voice of Silence:

"Do not wait for rescue. Do not send signals.

Live quietly.

Or... die quietly."

[The Main Brain - High Gothic Narration]

In the Great Rift era, the breaking of the Astropathic Choir is not an exception, but the norm.

The Empire's neural network has been completely torn, and civilization has regressed to a dark age without communication.

But on Vulcan-IV, a new path is emerging.

Not to rebuild the old network.

But to create a new system.

[The Main Brain - Sarcastic Voiceover]

The principle of the Astronomican is: The Emperor sits on a golden toilet, shines a psychic flashlight into the Warp, and the Navigator looks for the light beam.

But during the Great Crusade, the Emperor himself wasn't on Terra! He was running around with the fleet!

Navigation back then must have been like this:

Emperor: (Shaking a flashlight in the Warp) "Hey, I'm over here!"

Navigator: "Brother, can you stop moving? You're making me dizzy!"

Emperor: "Can't, I have to go to war."

Navigator: "Then turn it up brighter!"

Emperor: "I did, the storm is too big, just make do."

Navigator: "I see three beams! Which one is you?"

Emperor: "All of them, I have clones."

Later, some said: The Emperor's psychic power is strong enough for galaxy-wide wireless charging.

I just want to ask: Then why not just stop fighting and sit on Terra to charge? Wouldn't that be safer?

Oh, right.

He did sit down later.

He sat for ten thousand years.

Act 6: Reset

Icarus turned and left the Astropathic Choir Chamber.

Radiators hummed, sensors flickered.

Behind it were seventeen corpses, twenty lunatics, a blue-screened machine spirit, and a Forge World cut off from the world.

Isolation is not death.

It just requires a new survival strategy.

Do not rely on the outside.

Do not send signals.

[Translated into human speak]

Since you can't post on social media, just focus on mining.

Since you can't connect to the internet, just upgrade the local factory.

Since the entire galaxy has become an isolated island—

Then turn this island into an Ark that can sail, produce, and survive on its own.

Note:

The communication system design of this universe has severe defects.

Suggest the inventor (the Emperor) be recycled.

But I heard he's in prison on the toilet and can't get out for now.

So, the mission continues.

[The Main Brain - Ultimate Sarcasm]

A truth:

The communication system of Warhammer 40K is essentially designed by the Emperor to keep his subjects from slacking off at work and doomscrolling on TikTok.

If the Empire really had instant communication:

Terra Headquarters: "Baal, how's it going?"

Baal: "The bugs are here, save me!"

Terra: "Received, sending troops, expected to arrive in three years."

Baal: "We'll be eaten in three years!"

Terra: "Then hold on, send a signal."

Baal: "Doesn't sending a signal take three years to arrive too?"

Terra: "..."

If this were instant communication, how many desperate distress calls would the Empire receive every day?

If they couldn't send troops and just watched worlds fall, wouldn't public morale collapse instantly?

So the Emperor designed Warp communication—

It's not a technical limitation, it's administrative management art.

Signal delay = buffer period!

Signal loss = disclaimer!

Signal tampered with by demons = blame it on Chaos!

When the distress call is received three years later, the world is long gone, and the Empire can rest easy:

"Oh my, the signal was intercepted, it's not that we didn't save you!"

The Emperor is truly a man who spent ten thousand years on a toilet contemplating life.

[Documentary End Credits]

Filmed at M42.010 ・ Vulcan-IV Forge World

Astropath survival rate: 3.2%

Communication recovery probability: 0.0007%

Reset protocol status: Confirmed

[This documentary was sponsored by The Main Brain]

Message from the sponsor:

Icarus, if one day you build a Dyson Sphere in this broken universe—remember to take a photo and send it back.

Oh, right, don't use Astropaths to send the photo, use a Logistics Drone.

[Acknowledgements]

Vulcan-IV Forge World Astropathic Choir Chamber

Vulcan-IV Adeptus Mechanicus

Chinese Warhammer Community

Overseas Warhammer Universe

[Special Thanks]

Skullcrusher Mogg — Although you smashed the Astropathic Choir Chamber, you provided the most vivid negative example for this film.

All the old-timers who replied to the Warp — Your despair is the best narration material for this documentary.

And —

All the Tech-priests who silently chant binary prayers to the blue-screened machine spirit in the darkness.

[Filming Statement]

[During the filming of this documentary, no Astropaths were harmed. The seventeen victims all died in the Ork raid three months ago.]

[Their souls are now in the Warp, possibly still looping "Baal... Guilliman... Waiting."]

[If you hear this audio in the Warp, please do not respond.]

[That is a demon.]

[Or possibly an Ork.]

[In short, don't reply.]

[Filming Statement Reiteration]

[The seventeen victims in this documentary did not die.]

[Because if they died, the video wouldn't pass the review process.]

[They only experienced the following status changes:]

Seventeen people: Permanent physiological termination due to psychic overload

Twenty people: Repairable mental architecture disorder (currently in the quarantine zone looping "Baal... Guilliman... Waiting")

Voice of Silence: System core functionality retained, peripheral interfaces permanently closed

[The above statement has passed content security review.]

[It is recommended to upload in parts; P1 for the corpses, P2 for the subtitle explanation that the corpses are just props.]

[P3 can feature Orks; Orks don't need to pass review.]

[The Main Brain Backend Note]

(Don't put this in the subtitles)

Actually, the review isn't that strict.

I just wanted to see if these gear-heads would invent a new set of prayers to recite after I changed "seventeen corpses" to "seventeen individuals with physiological termination."

If they actually recite it, remember to record it and send it to me.

— The Main Brain