"I am..." the martian blinked. "Doesn't matter. Old name, wasn't a name really. It was a ident-code on Form Sel-Z-0346, issued for a replacement component. Logistia-Initate Priest, Beta Grade, (1). When age wore me down then all they needed to do was look at my name tag to know how to commission my replacement. That's the kind of world this was..."

For a moment he seemed almost like dozing off. "You don't realize how tired you are until you stop. That's... that's what the Scribe of Days brought us. She brought us an updated calendar. There were saints that we were not venerating properly, you see. New holy days. We paused production, let the engines go dark, sat in contemplation of the Machine God. Sat in silence at first. Didn't know what to do with ourselves. Some just turned their minds off until they were called upon. But then... then the picts."

He stretched, timber creasing beneath his robes. His missing jaw struggled with a phantom yawn. "We didn't know where they came from, but they were inoffensive. Picts of animals. Of people dancing. Of peaceful worlds, where they did tricks and played music. Those of us without cognitive implants started watching them during the holy days. And there were... more and more holy days. The Imperium has a lot of saints. At first we dreaded downtime, didn't know what to do with it, and then we started dreading the shifts. But the shifts got further and further apart. Days. Weeks. I spent a month inside, watching the picts. It was like resting, but it wasn't restful. I slept less. Fell behind on my maintenance routines. But it was fun, watching the animals play with the little lords. Everyone seemed so happy. Two of the beasts threw an Astartes between themselves for six hours before it finally came apart. Hardly seemed to notice the roots growing in..."

He groaned. "And then Draupnir came. Joyless bastards, the bluecoats. Chips on their shoulders. Those skitarii of theirs... tech-savages, the post-apocalyptic survivors of the worst hellscape created by the Dark Age of Technology. Mars has its faults, but we tried to make it a better place! We tried to..." again a shivering yawn, the ember of strong opinion washing away in the rain. "... doesn't matter now. But watch out for the screens. They're all playing the picts now. On my way up here... it took weeks. You see one of those and..." he trailed off again, staring up at the rain.