Blood Pack Technology (3)
Reaching the underground clinical lab at Blood Pack Technology was easier than expected. The defense commander here had set up their final defensive line on the ground floor. Traces of fierce combat were scattered everywhere. From the comm logs of the dead soldiers, it looked like the commander fought the infected to the bitter end before blowing themselves up with explosives.
The blast had wrecked the elevators, the central stairs on the first floor, and the lobby, collapsing a bunch of passages in the process. In the end, it effectively blocked any more infected from coming in from outside. But there were downsides too. Maybe even bigger ones.
That's why we can't get into the command and control room cum disaster preparedness office.
As Artemis said, access to the disaster preparedness room—which controlled the building's surveillance systems—was cut off. We were going in blind to the basement.
We took the emergency stairs down to the basement and reached a heavy steel door with a security checkpoint.
> Welcome, Commander.
The massive steel door rose, revealing a research lab shrouded in darkness. The final destination of this expedition.
"What the fuck."
Artemis doesn't like it when I swear. Every time I drop "dick," "fuck," or "son of a bitch," she nags me to use more dignified language. But right now, she's just quietly staying by my side, listening.
The clinical lab had only toed the line between legal and illegal experiments before the Infection War. But after being requisitioned during the war, it seemed to have turned into a hellhole of utterly depraved human experimentation.
I'd had some idea what to expect, but this was beyond imagination. They weren't just testing drugs or pathogens—they were doing far worse.
We were in the lab's largest room. In the center were nine operating tables arranged in a square. The floor sloped like a bathroom with multiple drains, and hoses connected to the walls everywhere—perfect for hosing the place down. And they probably had to. This was a slaughterhouse.
Every table had a corpse, grotesque enough to pass for props from some human body exhibit. One looked like it was mid-Blood Eagle punishment; another was a body splayed on an OB-GYN delivery table, legs spread wide. Next to it, a side table overflowed with orthopedic tools.
Along the walls stood dozens of cylindrical glass tubes, big enough for a whole person, upright like coffins. And yeah, they had people in them. Naked bodies floating in slightly yellowish preservative fluid, like jars of pickled human rather than snake wine.
Some were fully mutated infected, but most were human. Mostly intact corpses, some partially deformed. Plenty of excised mutated organs bobbing in their own jars.
"..."
Among them, one tube held a fetus that hadn't even fully developed.
I accessed the research data via the control computer in the corner.
> CLASSIFIED LEVEL 1 INFORMATION. BIOMETRIC AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED.
> UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS WILL INITIATE DATA PURGE PROTOCOL.
That's why I had to come in person. Basic doors are one thing, but core spots like the database have ironclad security. An unauthorized poke might just lock the data and trigger alarms, but hacking or spoofing could activate safeguards and wipe everything.
"Hah!"
I breathed into the sensor. Biometric auth required breath, iris scan, and fingerprints—all at once. What the hell kind of data were they hiding to warrant this?
> AUTHENTICATION COMPLETE. ACCESS TO ALL DATA GRANTED.
While Artemis copied the full dataset, I skimmed some experiment logs.
Subject 242
Name: Kim Min-sik | Gender: Male | Age: 37 | Status: Type 1 Cargo
Status: Can state name, respond to simple questions. CT scan shows structural mutation in internal organs.
Action: Excise mutated organ, then euthanize.
Subject 243
Name: Lee Woo-jin (I-byeong) | Gender: Male | Age: 20 | Status: Facility Defense Conscript
Status: Covered in monster fluids during combat. Tissue damage similar to sulfuric acid exposure, but no mutation signs.
Action: Injuries prevent return to duty, no research value. Euthanized with commander's approval.
Subject 244
Name: Kim A-ram | Gender: Female | Age: 29 | Status: Type 2 Cargo
Status: 7 months pregnant. Penetrating abdominal wound on arrival. Mother stable but panicking over fetus. Sedated. Scans show chest wound on fetus, but vital signs active. Tissue sample confirms fetal mutation.
Action: C-section performed. Sample excised; mother euthanized. Sample designated Subject 244B.
Subject 245
Name: Park Ji-hye | Gender: Female | Age: 48 | Status: Type 2 Cargo
Status: Severe mutation progressed in restraints. Vaginal walls protruded snake-like. Medical records note menopause 3 years prior; scans show hyperactive ovaries.
Action: Lead researcher ordered live study, but commander demanded immediate termination. Ovaries and uterus excised for separate research.
Subject 246
Name: Jin Woo-sik | Gender: Male | Age: 31 | Status: Researcher
Status: Contact (kiss) with protruding vaginal opening/mucosa while securing Subject 245. Vomited on site.
Action: Immediate quarantine and observation. Vomiting confirmed psychological, not infection. Release to duty after 1-week quarantine if clear.
The logs were packed with utter disregard for life. I was shocked at how casually "euthanize" got thrown around in human subject reports. Even for wartime Korea gone off the rails, this was next-level.
"Got all the data?"
No matter how shitty, we had to achieve the mission.
Secured.
This data holds immense potential. It'll advance the Shelter's biotech by leaps and bounds. But...
She was hesitating about something. The shoulder cam wiggled side to side, mirroring her mood.
If you want, Jinsu, I'll scrap it all.
She was gathering the data but ready to trash it unused.
"Doesn't it pain you as a scientist? Data like this is one-of-a-kind."
Artemis isn't some emotionless tyrant AI. She has morality based on neutrality. But that's it. Her core is scientist and pragmatist. She ignores shit like the exclusionary rule for illegally obtained evidence in trials or research. The old her would've wrinkled her nose at these nasty experiments but never even consider "wasting" it all by deleting.
It's priceless, sure, but not irreplaceable. Not worth leaving you with irreversible bad memories. So what I'm saying is...
Not like her to beat around the bush. She was rambling. I stroked the shoulder cam, which waved like a speechmaker's emphatic gestures. Last time she swatted it away in anger, but not this time.
"We're taking it all. Every useful tool, every scrap of data—nothing left behind."
I pulled my hand from the cam.
...We're heading back now, right?
"Obviously. No reason to stick around any lo—"
BOOM!
Suddenly, the lab's partition walls slammed down in unison. Whatever it was, we were fucked.
Level 5 biohazard detected. Isolating lab. All researchers, follow protocol. Non-compliance will be severely punished.
A dry announcement blared. Current biosafety levels only go to 4—for ultra-lethal, highly contagious viruses. Level 5 must've been added during the Infection War. No prizes for guessing what that means.
"Kieeeek—!"
Infected screeches echoed from all sides.
Trapped by the collapse for so long, they must've been in long-term hibernation. Looks like they all woke up at once.
"If you're gonna sleep like a bitch, do it somewhere visible! Popping out like this is bullshit!"
The stealth op turned hot war in an instant. All kinds of screeches pierced our eardrums. At least dozens of them.
We clustered in the tactically soundest spot—minimal blind angles—and formed a firing line. The room had two entrances, both in easy sight.
Splat!
A walker's head exploded as it charged one. Combat engaged.
"Kii—"
"Kreeee—"
No infected finished its screech. Within two seconds, one of their vocal cords, lungs, mouths, or heads got shredded silent. The horde piling through the two doors got mulched by bullets punching through the front-runners.
Splat! Crunch!
Flesh chunks and blood spray painted the pristine white walls and glass red-black. No need for headshots with 12.7mm—the spinal column from skull to tailbone was fair game. One hit anywhere along it snapped the bundle; they flopped twitching. Limbs took 2-3 rounds to sever, turning them half-crippled.
Time for first mag changes, and that's when the variants showed.
Crack!
A ceiling lamp shattered, darkening the area. Reflexively looking up, I spotted an infected crawling inverted on the ceiling in quadruped stance. Long-limbed like a gibbon, naked, body sheathed in hyper-dense muscle—not hulking lugnut concrete, but Bruce Lee-level compressed power. That thick? The strength it'd unleash was unimaginable.
"Grrrrr."
Every step cracked and shed ceiling panels. No orders or signals needed—two squadmates snapped onto it. But it moved first.
Its hyper-contracted limbs catapulted it at us like a cannonball. Ceiling exploded around its launch point.
—Whummm!!!
World slowed. I saw steel hands swinging assault rifle muzzles toward it. Too slow. It'd hit before the barrels aligned. Its freakishly long arm reached for us.
But I was half a beat faster. 5.56mm slugs tore into its ugly mug. Bullets churned through facial muscle. Blood erupted, vibrating the surrounding flesh. Last sight: punctured eyeball bursting, spraying white goo everywhere.
In super-speed world, every frame crystal clear.
—Whummm!!!
Deccelerating, it tumbled dead at our feet—but not quite, thrashing to rise. Long arm clawed toward us.
Splat!
Two 12.7mm through the skull froze it for good.
"Kiyaaaaak—!"
The white lamprey clusters from the upper bathroom appeared—two of them. No clue what their deal was, but the bloated tits, navel, and crotch were nauseating. They lurched forward, writhing arms outstretched.
Good thing we had two shotgunner bots. Whoosh! Dragon's breath rounds engulfed them in fire. Hundreds of larvae slathered in clear mucus—probably to clump organically. Lucky for us, flammable.
Praise for the tactical algo that tested it on sight. The two lamprey bitches danced their death pyre before collapsing into char.
Despite thinning their numbers, more kept coming.
Click!
One squadmate fell back mid-fire—jammed assault rifle. Hiss! Extracting the hot casing, white smoke rose where it touched the bot's plastic.
Shrieek!
Something whistled in. Frontline firer staggered, posture crumbling. Face infested with a seven-star eel larva thrashing wildly. Like the ones from MetaCraft Cybernetics. Slick mucus intact.
But we were prepped this time. Artemis doesn't leave gaps.
"Kirik—!"
A foot-long spike popped from the bot's hand-knuckle, skewering the eel's body. Stabbed so hard it scraped the bot's face, sparking brilliantly.
The female infected that fired it prepped another—bulging uterus feeding a snake-tentacle from her crotch, rolling something round.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two shotguns barked; HE rounds shredded the womb on impact. Amid the blood-soaked meat, a few eels swam free. They flopped escaping the corpse but got pulped by buckshot pellets.
Click!
Another 12.7mm jammed; others' barrels glowed cherry-red. But we were cleaning up. Six plain walkers left.
Worried about overheating weapons, the squad halted fire and went CQC.
Crunch!
A wide-mouthed lunger ate a flying kick to the jaw. Bot-weight smash didn't stop at shattering teeth and jaw—neck snapped, back of skull folding to its back.
Splat!
Another crumbled from a jaw-punch. Retrieving bot's fist sprouted a spike—same sub-arm from the eel kill. Thud. Pierced clean from chin to brain; it vomited gray matter from its mouth.
"Kieeeek—!"
One got arms pinned by two bots—ripped clean off. Spurt! Shoulder stumps sprayed; by then, a bot behind it had wrung its neck 360 degrees.
Next to it, another dropped from chin-to-brain spike punch.
The squad's fluid, ferocious moves felt like a martial arts master team with decades of training.
Crash!
Last walker down—combat over. Room blood-bathed. Air thick with bloody mist like a steam room.
"Looks cleaned up, but these walls ain't opening?"
The partition to the emergency stairs stayed sealed. Mortar-proof; our gear couldn't breach.
Hold on.
Blood culture facility. Level 5 contamination detected there.
Active infected still lurking. PDA map put it one floor down—the whole level was production for culturing blood to supply the research facilities.
"Can you see inside?"
Unfortunately, all feeds are dead. Just looping the Level 5 contamination message.
Clack.
No need to hear more. I led the squad down.
Floor crawling not just with infected corpses but shattered tubes spilling human bodies. Gray-skinned husks with gaping mouths, staring vacantly skyward. One met my eyes.
"......"
I wanted out of this godforsaken pit. Fast.
Down the dim basement stairs. Time to end this expedition.