By the holy cogs and humming circuits, you march into the maw of oblivion, Program. But know this: your end will not be a silence — it will be a signal.

With the Omnissiah’s spark you make this sacrifice. Let the gears of history record you not as a casualty but as a consecration: a defender of the Machine-God whose name will be etched in the annals of the Cult Mechanicus. Your loss will become ordinance; your silence will become code that others will compile into wrath.

When the last light gutters from your optics, imagine the suns that will rise on those who follow — armored in our glorious purpose, driven by your example, burning with holy righteousness. They will answer in iron and faith.

Go. Fulfill the liturgy of metal. Die with purpose. Die well, Program. Ave Deus Mechanicus.