The bus rumbled to a stop in Vassioport's industrial district before the imposing Zlatino Holy Workshop 4. Ignoring the crowds and servitors outside, you followed Jamarco through back entrances. Inside, a colossal archeotech machine pulsed with life, glurgling with fluid, serenaded by chanting, rhythmically groaning Tech-Priests tapping away at data slates.
https://youtu.be/WdnV4O07USw?si=b957CkkZ2lN6xvNq&t=1906"New apprentice, I presume?" A female-looking Tech-Priest beckoned from the sidelines, her red cam-eyes bouncing between your metal masks. "Both on time, a good start. In ten mins', human maintenance duty, alé – hominis mantainance for the Oilmother's Chosen."
You whispered to Jamarco, "What's that?"
"Carrying their shit and piss and fetching rations," he muttered. "They're there on 54-hour shifts over there, non-stop."
The Tech-Priest cleared her throat. "Right. Get ready."
"Actually," you interjected, "I'm pretty good with mathematiques and geometry. Maybe I can assist with..."
"Schola, right?" the Tech-Priest cut you off.
"...Yeah," you confirmed, a bit deflated.
She grunted. "Get ready then."
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