[center][h3]The False-Man[/h3][/center]

Fascinating. Truly fascinating. A veritable plethora of new sensations and stimuli to be explored, all only a touch-receptor's distance from Hesiod's curious cogitators. Condensation-steam from rusting and nigh-antediluvian pipes. Fungi left to grow by ratings dismayed and disgusted by what nutrition the mess offered. Rats! Living rats! This was a void-station not of the Mechanicus, but of common humanity. Here, he was not to blend in as one of many, but to truly stand apart as a being of significance. Of course, somewhere in his positronic databanks, he knew the implicit danger that therein lie, the risk of discovery and destruction by those who would blindly hate his very being. But for now, oh, the joys of sensation knew no bounds!

Oh? A crewman approacheth! To Hesiod, this one felt... A carmine red, perhaps? Certainly intense, with a bloody dark depth. Exciting! As his photo-receptors scanned every inch of the rough voidsman, he began to speak. Low Gothic! It had been a year or more since last Hesiod had heard the gruff tongue of the fleshed masses. Amongst the cold iron company of the Thuleans, binary cant was the lingua de jure, so cold and clinical! As Hesiod continued to wax poetic within his head, the crimson-seeming crewman spoke up again, more insistently. This time, Hesiod actually took the time to process what was being said: "[color=9e0b0f]Hey buddy, got a light?[/color]"

A fascinating question! Did Hesiod have a light? Why certainly. He had many. His photoreceptors were luminescent, and his electro-flail sparked dazzlingly when activated. Even the electoo coils on his back glowed brilliantly when he so chose. So which lights would fit the increasingly agitated bystander's request? The shipman was becoming more irritable, and once more spoke, holding a Lho-stick out towards Hesiod. "[color=9e0b0f]Look, you got a light or not?[/color]"

Now Hesiod understood. This was a test. The man wanted to see his lights. So Hesiod showed him. Every glowing device festooning the false-priest's body lit up, shining brilliantly as the Emperor himself upon his Golden Throne. The crewman screamed, stumbling back as dazzling luminens overwhelmed his vision, and scrambled blindly to reorient himself... Blindly, and dangerously, as he groped at the walls to find purchase in solid reality. Hesiod watched with silent fascination as the poor unlucky voidsman grabbed hold of a blistering heat-pipe with both hands, listened with eager audio-receptors to the screams of agony that followed. The pain was... Informative. And so, lights slowly dimming as device charges grew low, Hesiod turned to leave the depths of the station, making his way to the concourse above, abandoning the screaming, burnt crewman to his agony.

Fascinating, truly fascinating.