Sometimes it was impossible to figure out what possible purpose the cogheads could possibly have for doing what they did. This was one of those times. 

The screams of mechanical agony that reverberated through the halls were certainly a new experience to Ramona, and while she normally welcomed that for the new insights they might provide, here it was hard to immediately glean anything of use. It brought to mind nothing so much as the aftermath of a chemical fume flashfire deep in the depths, an errant spark too soon after the runoff gates opened setting the air ablaze. The screams afterwards often had the same cadence, if more variety. 

Passivity demanded a sugn of faith. Well, Ramona was no heretic, even if the most pious might claim otherwise. 

“Glory to Him, and Holy Terra.” Hands briefly crossed over her chest in the sign of the Holy Aquila, memories flickering in the back of her skull— the face of a dead man, a true believer, who had pushed her to be better. 

As her hands fell back to her sides, her eyes roamed both Passivity’s metal-and-flesh features, and the surrounding cacophony. Vigrid had asked the question they had come to find an answer for, and the lad had been the one to twig onto the possibility of a machine doing the deed besides. That gave Ramona the opportunity to scrutinize, pick apart, study… somewhere in this blasted factory-cathedral were answers. She just needed a window to turn the screws in.