“I am the very model of a scientific Necrontyr
I’ve vivisected species from the Eldar to the…damn.”
Szeras pulled his scalpel away from his latest “patient”, an Ork nob delivered to him by Zahndrekh’s lackey. What was his name again? Obituary or something. It didn’t matter; what mattered was the song. Szeras couldn’t work without a song. He NEEDED music to underline his work, and the screams of his “specimens” would not suffice; he shut off his audio receptors to block them out anyway.
But he needed SOME sound. He needed MUSIC, something he could hum or sing to himself while he tried to extract that final missing piece, the last secret to show him how to help the Necrons ascend to the next level of existence.
But what in the name of the C’tan rhymes with Necrontyr?
The nob in front of him spat curses from his harness as Szeras stared off into the distance, lost in thought.
“Dok! Dose bitz on da table! Put ’em back! I need ’em, ya git!”
Szeras couldn’t hear. He couldn’t work, either. Not until he had a song.
And then one came. It was a foreign song, recovered when a Tomb World awoke to find itself covered in human civilizations. Some of their culture had been scavenged from the ruins. Szeras had always liked this song. It helped that he didn’t need to make up any lyrics to it.
Wielding his scalpel again and humming for a moment to check that he was in tune, he resumed his noble efforts.
“Grey skies are gonna clear up…Put on a happy face…”