Last Duty Log - A Very Minor Rule Violation (2)
After cutting off communication with Stephanet, he immediately connects to the security line linked to the nearby security team members. He could just chat casually, but accessing the line directly was more efficient for flexibly utilizing Stephanet. Whoever was lurking beyond that corridor aimed to overload their line and sneak quietly into the research building—and thanks to remembering one rotten trainee from his unit, he could anticipate their plan a bit in advance. No need to guess their goal. They were either eco-terrorists planning to unleash bioweapons from the A3 Biology Research Building, or operatives from a rival corp pretending to be. He'd figure that out after capturing them.
He takes a deep breath. The security channel is noisy and chaotic, likely due to excessive internal comms traffic. The employees' minds must be swirling with just as much static and confusion. He has to speak up.
"Shepherd One, this is Shepherd Six. Should I give a quick situation brief?"
The security channel buzzes, but it's from the high volume of chatter among those resolving the incident in the employee building. There's no anxious whispering here. Anxiety breeds inefficiency.
Shepherd One—the security team's callsign for the chief. Right after his voice command ends, a prompt asks if he'll accept command authority. He swipes his finger over the virtual confirmation window. The sound of another deep breath catches on the mic.
The burden melts away in the trust laced through those words. Bolstered by it, he voices the plan sorted in his mind.
"Guard Post 4, this is Shepherd Six. Currently, eleven terrorists are waiting inside the employee corridor. Seems like the employee building terror—triggering the alarms—is a diversion to infiltrate the research building. The A3 Biology Research Building shield doors..."
> "Shielded with the alarm! Other research buildings too!"
It'll take those bastards time to breach Guard Post 4 and then the research building shield doors. He worried the alarm might tip them off to their response, but from their perspective, the alarm was part of the plan. So the terrorists would... target the moment the guard post defending the research front pulled personnel for the employee terror, thinning their numbers. They'd wait a bit longer. No way they'd expect the guards to charge in first.
The places connected to the employee corridor where they hid: five in total. Decent for an employee corridor. It was called that, but it was a passage letting armed security move without unnerving unarmed staff.
Splitting up to push all four entrances simultaneously... No. Risk of crossfire, and small groups roaming the company in this situation might draw suspicion from other security.
He pulls up a map of the entrances on his display and scans it by eye. Seal corridors to entrances 1, 3, and 4, making a straight line from 5 to 2.
"Seal security employee corridor entrances 1, 3, and 4 to straighten the path, then herd the enemy infiltration team to entrance 2. Seal that too afterward for a clean catch. Stephanet, kill all emergency lights inside the employee corridor, then seal 1, 3, 4."
Textbook, basic tactics. He wasn't some tactical genius. Just capable of executing what he'd learned—and he knew that well.
No need for orders; everyone activates infrared vision in their cybernetic eyes. They gather at the employee entrance—wide as a two-lane road compared to research doors. He grips the rifle's heat shield, ready to breach.
Another deep breath, then: "Neutralize without killing if possible. These guys likely have more intel on the incident than the decoys outside. Send 'em to intel processing to scrape every bit from their gray matter."
A chorus of muffled "Confirmed" echoes in the channel.
He glances at the Supervisor. Knowing he's about to hand back command, the man shakes his head. Finish it.
"Shepherd Four. Prep to open the door. I'll take point. Stephanet, seal entrance 2 the moment the first shot rings out."
"Confirmed, Shepherd Six. You're clear to enter."
Infrared overlays the door: faint ripples inside. At least human-sized. A tense silence falls. Shepherd Four holds up three fingers, folding them one by one. Three, two, one... The last folds, and the leader scans his employee badge. The door slides open with a clean hiss. Could ask Stephanet, but AI openings trigger warning lights for safety—human hand is quieter, cleaner.
Silhouettes sharpen into full humans. Cybernetic implants would show darker shades, but infrared reveals unmodified bodies. Pure humans, proud of their unadulterated flesh. No Life Support Device even—non-lethal takedowns would take effort.
One in Francis's security uniform raises his gun first. Slow. Definitely pure humans, no augments. First shot to the unprotected wrist, second to the flapping pants' thigh. Noise cancellation muffles screams.
They have pistols or crude homemade guns—poorly armed for infiltrators. Better to arm the real team properly than waste these as bullet sponges outside? Then again, anyone thinking that strategically wouldn't infiltrate a megacorp like Bellwether.
Pure humans are fragile to pain. Single shots to the knees roll them easily. But these eleven aren't scattering—they're clustering, protecting someone. Not a secret weapon or augmented superhuman. Obvious: a mutant.
The Supervisor with his sniper rifle from the rear shouts the same realization.
"Mutant in the center! Take it out first. Don't let the witch live!"
Ten meat shields, one mutant. Not unprepared. As he clears the front shields with bullets, the woman in the middle glares wide-eyed and intones:
"No—stop, all of you."
Oddly, no movement hindrance. Hallucination mutant? He pauses—then his duty AI outputs tonelessly.
He stifles a chuckle.
"Visual neural disruption signal blocked by visor. Lethal force authorized."
Bellwether stays ahead. The woman's outstretched hand twists in terror. He pulls the trigger. Hand Tremor Prevention steadies the recoil on the heat shield grip. That's it.
Mutant neutralized. Eyes—source of mental interference—disabled. Last resort foiled by standard-issue helmet coating. Terrorists panic and flee. Screams swallowed by noise cancel.
He aims for legs, crushes wrists reaching for guns. Of eleven, only the Francis-uniform guy and mutant killed.
Safety on: "Situation clear. Shepherd One, report to Shepherd One. Infiltration team fully captured—sending to intel processing for full brain scrape. These guys, well..."
Grabs a kneecapped one's collar, flips him. Rips open the employee shirt: group name on the tee underneath. Fearless or city’s dumbest terrorists.
"'Natural Humans Are Beautiful' types, looks like. That's the org name. Could be impersonation. No room in this city for idiots sending teams in org tees."
The terrorist in his grip snorts, grinning like it's hilarious, locks eyes.
Like waiting for his one counterpunch post-subjugation.
"Infiltration team? We're the rescue squad, you kebab-skewered fuck. Real infiltrators hit inside hours ago. Should've sent more kids..."
Hand Tremor Prevention locks his fist, carbon-fiber reinforced knuckles smash the nose flat. He turns. Beyond their security employee entrance, the A3 Biology Research Building shield door grinds open.
Shouldn't be open yet. No time for Shepherd One report. If real infiltrators emerge, they'll pack real firepower. When did they slip in? Disguised as researchers? Unknown numbers.
Supervisor smirks at his panicked face.
"Hand back command, Shepherd Six. I'll leave the rescue team to you—but let me claim my share."
"Yes, sir. Command authority relinquished. Voice confirm. Done."
Two minutes till full open. They lock down neutralized terrorists, weapons stripped, in the security corridor. Guard Post 4 heads to the corridor before the A3 Biology Research Building.
Foul blood stench wafts from the gap. Guard failure, basically. Duty to protect those scientists—failed. At least clean up properly.
But firefight in open corridor, no cover? Inefficient, dangerous. Supervisor knows. He swaps sniper mags, calls Stephanet.
> "Stephanet, A Corridor: barriers at 139 and evens x5, 338 and evens x5. Request support from Shepherd One, scan inside A3 Biology lab now. If escapees possible, broadcast to all Post 4. Got it? Yeah, good."
Stephanet's voice now private to him. Meaning clear quick. Soft motor hum: floor tiles split, temporary barriers rise. First time seeing it despite working here.
Supervisor's a sniper. Sniper cybernetic eye, designated marksman rifle. Rear best for assessing and directing.
Swallows tension, fear with another deep breath.
"Can I take point? A3 was my sector, and Shepherd Seven—co-handler—is out. Best to check for surviving researchers bolting out."
And... to quiet nagging that overlooking minor violations led here, leading calms the mind most.
Supervisor chuckles dryly.
"Shepherd Six, gunning for youngest supervisor? Fair point, though. Shepherd Six takes point. Support inbound: outer perimeter Guard Post 2's Border Collies en route. Hold till then!"
Perimeter guards coming means big trouble. Rescue team might be the thrown-away pawns. Hunkers behind barrier facing familiar A3 Biology Research Building shield door.
Tension surges endlessly. Breath quickens; follows AI's accelerating breath-guide tones to slow it. Safety off full-auto. Shifts shouldered rifle, body minimized behind cover. Waits for full open.
Vague daily for arms corp security—not routine, but not rare.
Half-open door: inhuman roar. Human-ish, but not voice. Too grotesque for person. Throat-scraping bloody. Volume unnatural—too loud for human.
"Guard Post 4, got lab data. Inside A3 Biology Research Building: test subject for Posthuman IV Augmented Body performance upgrade. Mid-regeneration enhancement experiment—logs cut off."
Posthuman series: Bellwether's flagship augment. No-aim eyes, instant clotting endurance, superhuman specs. Seen ads: shove in a brain, get super soldier.
"Marked for disposal—likely extract brain, preserve subject, scrap body. Escaped. Don't stop shooting till fully neutralized. Regen enhancement succeeded."
Murmured confirmations all around. Human but not: if regen treats aging as damage, a horrific flesh monster emerges.
> "Shepherd Six, used issued flashbangs?"
> "Negative. Still dual-linked per manual. Use now?"
> "Others could learn... Toss right as shield door fully opens."
Double shield two-thirds open. Massive, claw-tipped hand—like giantism patient—thrashes the inner bars. What did they make? Voice tries words, but treats vocal cord rips as wounds—turns to roar quick.
Flashbang now risks snagging bars. Door slow, but bars snap open. Slings rifle, grips flashbangs. Test subject presses face to bars: red light gleams on melted, stuck flesh—humanoid horror. No intelligence, just hatred for ceiling strobes.
Shaking bars: door fully opens, bars sucked into walls. Hand crushes against wall but writhes, regenerating.
Not normal. Hurls flashbang inside. Holo-sight predicts arc with arm strength—easy pick. But Posthuman IV Augmented Body outperforms: grotesque speed. Bang bounces, pops—he's in front in that blink. Elongated forelimbs like paws propel him. Fifteen cm away in under a second.
Grab rifle, full-auto no aim needed this close. Reaches for slinged gun—but claw pierces cover first.
Not just cover. Exhaled breath reeks blood. Inhale fails—lungs collapsing. Heart stutters. Chest impaled.
Head-pounding voice—duty AI.
"Life Support Device activating. Injecting analgesics and preservative fluid. Stay focused. No further damage: 3 minutes activity viable. Evac to safety..."
If chest weren't biotech horror's talon skewer, maybe. Analgesics hit, blue preservative floods brain—body responds.
It mocks or tries speaking: mouth works silently. Eyes struggle under flesh. Limp hand twitches with strength. Preservative sustains motion sans blood.
Draws grenade from belt. Yanks pin, shoves into maw fist-first. Sharp pressure, but neck Life Support Device's high-dose numbs it.
Pulls arm free—hand stays inside. Dizzy haze, unreal. It hacks obliviously; fourth hack...
Detonates. Still skewered, head snaps back, world spins away.
After: vague. It thrashes in agony, shoving head to dislodge impaled body.
One more: Border Collies to SWAT fastest off-shift, curses maybe. Or just thought.
Eyes open, vision blacks like shorted lights. Three minutes up? Time sense dies; consciousness sinks into dark display void.