The software was no different from using something like Windows Vista—functional but outdated. Its speed only highlighted the raw power of the cogitator. As Bastion continued reading and recording, he soon stumbled upon the concept of machine spirits, supposedly the "souls" of machines.
Bastion didn't need divine insight to recognize this as a crude attempt at programming. When their efforts fell short, they resorted to praying and worshipping the machines until something manifested.
"This is a classical computer, for Christ's sake. Just research it further—it's literally how you think!" he exclaimed in frustration.
Billions of people were enhanced for research, yet none had thought to delve deeper into the code.
"Wait, what's a classical computer?" Bastion muttered, pausing to glance around the room.
After a moment of reflection, he refocused on the so-called "research" into machine spirits.
The more he studied their functions, the more he recognized patterns that formed the whole. This was programming—a subject he vaguely recalled attempting in his past life but abandoning due to its complexity.
Now, however, he only needed to read a bit of the research to grasp it fully. In fact, he began drafting code in his mind.
Rushing to the cogitator, he tested his newfound skills, though there was no keyboard as he expected. Instead, there were rune-keys, each representing a symbol rather than a letter.
This made things somewhat easier. Revising his mental notes, Bastion adjusted for the runes, and lines of code began to form in his mind.
Opening a command interface, he started inputting the code he had mentally constructed. His hands moved at near-impossible speeds, almost too fast to follow.
What initially would have been nearly 300 lines of code in a standard programming language was condensed to just 70 lines thanks to the runes. Each rune represented an entire command, allowing for greater efficiency and potentially better results.
As his hands flew across the rune-keys, Bastion questioned the cogitator's capabilities. While he wasn't an expert on computers, he knew they were limited by hardware.
Yet, despite his rapid input, the cogitator responded flawlessly, hinting at the immense power of the jukebox-sized device.
Minutes later, Bastion launched the program he had created. Instantly, the screen went dark, and the device fell silent.
"Did it die or something?" he muttered, examining the cogitator. A soft hum indicated it was still on, but the blank screen suggested a problem.
Reviewing his code and the data slates, he found no mistakes. It dawned on him why he had abandoned programming in his past life—it was frustratingly unforgiving.
Unbeknownst to him, an unseen battle was unfolding in the Warp. A faint presence, typically referred to as a machine spirit, flickered in and out of existence, threatened by a massive, sun-like entity that threatened to burn it to ashes while at the same time, seemed to be fighting something that was eating it from within.
This was the true nature of machine spirits: crude attempts at artificial intelligence. The Imperium had banned AI after the Men of Iron rebellion during the Age of Strife.
However, the Mechanicus, operating alongside but not entirely under the Imperium, had inadvertently created AI even if that wasn't not the intended goal—crude coding combined with worship and prayer, which the Warp honored, birthing machine souls.
Eventually, the small soul was extinguished, and the sun-like presence vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The Warp returned to its chaotic state, leaving no trace of the battle.