Content warning: violence, suicide
Amorphous grayscale blobs populate the grid. The blobs are cut, whittled, and colored. Shapes become forms and inherit meaning. A prism learns to become a building and is then cloned into a city. Laws and limitations are applied. Simulated gravity comes alive and light appears.
The Grand Machinist installs deadly flechette cannons to a row of bipedal Centurion-class mechs the size of sequoias. Armor plating descends from cranes onto broad shoulders, shielding the tender circuitry. The polygons on her brow bend to make an expression to make an emotion to make a character. Heavy with worry and unyielding in duty. She takes pride in her craft, and deludes herself into believing her hands are clean.
Civil unrest is personified in the Plague Wards. The city is rotting under corrupt leadership and outdated tradition. The Hallowed still dominate a public consciousness seeking answers to their suffering. Cells of a rogue faction enlist disillusioned veterans to take up arms with what little life they have left. War wages far beyond the stars, and the Emperor wouldn’t expect an attack from within.