A moment later, everyone had changed into fresh clothing.
The supervisor issued his first command through the loudspeaker.
"When you hear your name, step into the transport pod I've opened. Marzachs, enter."
A door appeared in the changing room wall.
It opened directly into a metallic transport pod. The interior was rather cramped, accommodating two people at most.
An able-bodied young man named Marzachs stepped inside. The door sealed shut, and the transport pod pulled away along its guide rails.
Another pod slid to a halt before the door, its entrance sliding open for the crowd.
"MacTonson, enter."
One by one, the transport pods whisked the apprentice workers away, each carrying only a single passenger.
Before long, Lino was the only one left in the changing room.
"Lino, you are currently the only apprentice worker here who has yet to come of age. Physically, you fall short of the others, but the difficulty of your training will not be lowered. As compensation, I will personally guide you through your first training session; the others will only have my recordings to listen to. Enter the door."
"Understood, Supervisor."
Lino followed the instructions and stepped into the transport pod.
The pod began to glide, gathering speed.
Judging by the physical sensation, it was traveling diagonally downward.
After a short while, the transport pod came to a halt, and an eerie, subterranean tunnel appeared directly in front of him.
Illuminated by the pod's lights, the tunnel's air was foul and murky. Thick dust motes drifted sluggishly, and a suffocating stench of rot and dampness washed over him.
Farther down the shaft, well beyond the reach of the pod's glow, crouched a darkness so dense it seemed impenetrable—like the gaping maw of a ferocious beast.
"What is this place?"
Lino stood frozen in place, thoroughly caught off guard.
Weren't they supposed to be doing training?
Why had he been dragged deep underground?
"This is a training facility constructed to simulate the Underhive environment. Do you see the respirator mask and air tank on the wall? Put the mask on, strap on the tank, and make it quick."
Bracing himself, Lino did as he was told.
The respirator mask was a full-face model that sealed completely over his features.
It featured dual filter cartridges, each connected to the air tank—one regulating exhalation, the other inhalation.
The air tank itself was as thick as an adult man's thigh and carried serious weight. It came fitted with a purification unit and a battery pack, allowing it to filter and recycle exhaust air in real time.
A voice chimed inside his ear:
"You are currently equipped with the Fungal-Mat Walker Respirator Suit. Barring any physical damage, it can operate continuously for well over a hundred hours."
Lino glanced toward the source of the sound and discovered a miniature speaker clipped near his collar.
"Once you confirm your breathing is steady, keep moving forward. The mask's visor integrates a lightweight night-vision module."
As the voice faded, Lino's vision shifted. The pitch-black tunnel flared into bright, clear focus.
Mustering his courage, Lino walked forward.
The surrounding atmosphere was bone-chilling.
With every breath he took, a heavy rasping sound echoed inside the mask, making the already deathly quiet tunnel feel even more suffocating.
"Your heart rate is spiking—up to one hundred and twenty beats per minute. Calm down, boy. This is merely an instructional session. As long as you strictly follow my orders, you won't encounter any danger."
Lino took a deep breath, trying to rein in his pounding heart.
"So what you're saying is, there actually is danger here? If I fail to follow your orders, danger will show up. Is that it?"
"Heh, you could look at it that way. Do you see the pauldrons up ahead? Put them on."
Mounted on the wall a short distance away hung a pair of futuristic pauldrons.
Flanking the left and right sides of the shoulder armor were two mechanical arms.
The left mechanical arm ended in a heavy drill, while the right ended in a mechanical claw boasting three articulated fingers.
"Those are the Fungal-Mat Walker Engineering Pauldrons. The left arm is fitted with an impact-type ceramite drill designed to help you bore through solid rock. The right arm's mechanical claw is as dextrous as your own right hand—provided you grow accustomed to its presence."
Lino strapped the pauldrons on and shifted his shoulders, feeling the heavy downward drag on his frame.
"May I ask, how am I supposed to control these mechanical arms?"
"Keep walking forward and you will see a helmet. That is the Fungal-Mat Walker Multi-function Helmet, equipped with an integrated vox-array and a brainwave controller. The brainwave controller allows you to manipulate the mechanical arms directly with your thoughts."
Lino found the helmet and slipped it over his head.
The semi-enclosed helmet sealed over both ears. Following a brief hiss of static, the vox-array booted up, shifting the voice comms directly inside the helmet.
At the same time, Lino felt as though he had sprouted two extra limbs—namely, the pair of mechanical arms mounted on his shoulders.
He tried moving the mechanical arms using his thoughts alone, and was astonished to find the entire process seamless. It felt entirely natural, as if he had been born with these two extra limbs.
"Your brainwave synchronization progress is nothing short of perfection. This indicates an exceptionally high compatibility between you and bionics. You have the potential to become a tech-priest."
'Me, become a tech-priest?'
'No thanks.'
'I'm still a virgin—I haven't even held a girl's hand yet...'
Lino grumbled inwardly.
"Don't stop. Keep moving."
"Copy that."
Using his thoughts, Lino folded the two mechanical arms inward to keep the drill and claw from scraping against the rock walls.
After advancing a short distance, an uncanny luminescence bled around the corner ahead.
The glow was blue-purple, its intensity pulsing erratically from bright to dim. The hue shifted alongside the fluctuations in brightness, flickering back and forth between blue and violet in a bizarre, hypnotic display.
Faint crackles of static danced across his earpiece as the communication signal suffered interference, though the link itself held steady.
"Signal interference is a normal occurrence wherever the blue-purple light appears," the supervisor explained casually before letting out a smug chuckle. "Heh heh. Not long ago, I formulated several new chemical recipes. Because of this, I received an invitation from the Kram Family to enter their service."
"The tobacco and pharmaceuticals synthesized from these new formulas offer unrivaled analgesic and stimulating effects—enough to completely crush comparable products across the Imperium of Man. The market potential is boundless. Lord Vugas immediately ordered the Kram Family to begin mass-scale experimental production of the finished goods."
"The crucial ingredient for these formulas is a peculiar and exceptionally rare wild fungus. Your job entails harvesting this very fungus down in the Underhive."
'A fungus?'
Lino's eyes flickered slightly. His heart rate picked up again, this time surging with anticipation.
The supervisor abruptly added a sharp warning:
"Do not let your guard down just because your target is a fungus. This species exerts a distorting influence on the surrounding space, inducing hallucinations in anyone who draws near."
"Hallucinations? What kind of hallucinations?" Lino stopped dead in his tracks, his vigilance peaking. "I'm looking at that blue-purple light right now. Is that a hallucination?"
"No, it isn't. The primary symptoms of the hallucinations involve hearing overlapping, whispering voices and feeling as though your body has gone weightless, like you're drifting through the air. Given the nature of the work, the probability of you experiencing these hallucinations is nearly 100%. Next, I will teach you how to function while under the influence of mild hallucinations."
The supervisor's tone turned stern and heavy:
"First and foremost: never listen to the whispering inside the hallucinations. The more curious you become about the contents of the whispers, the easier it is to sink completely into them. If you fixate too deeply on the murmurs, you will eventually be reduced to nutrients for the fungus—absorbed, siphoned dry, and devoured until you die without ever realizing it."
The spoken instructions sounded downright terrifying, yet Lino felt a thrill of excitement.
If he hadn't possessed a deep passion and utter obsession with fungi, he would never have chosen applied mycology as his scientific research field in the first place.
"May I ask what this fungus is called?"