Sample Collection
[Business in a place like this?] Artemis asked.
We were standing in front of a four-story motel built in the middle of nowhere. One side of the horizontal sign had a broken fixture, leaving it dangling vertically and swaying in the breeze. There were plenty of shattered windows, scorch marks here and there, and sections where the walls had crumbled.
No local specialties, no tourist spots. Why would anyone come to a barren dump like this to crash?
"That's exactly why it's perfect—because it's the middle of nowhere."
She still looked puzzled.
"Artemis, you can't just approach human behavior with dictionary definitions. Sure, lodging is basically for crashing after fun, but for some folks, sleeping is the fun. Check the slang section under 'sleeping'."
Artemis fell silent.
If that's the case, we wouldn't need to come all the way out here. Total waste of money and time.
This pure-hearted girl seemed to lack understanding of humanity's darker side. Even though she analyzed unethical human experiments without batting an eye.
"It's because we can't be seen together. Like mobsters doing a deal in the middle of the desert."
...Yuck!
Finally, her mind had connected the dots to an affair.
"Not everyone who comes here is up to that, but anyway—walkers are definitely inside, right?"
A recon drone spotted movement through one of the windows.
The lower floors were gradually being overgrown with vines.
Let's head in.
It had rained recently, leaving puddles everywhere. Stepping into one in front of me submerged my ankle in water. But I didn't care. It wasn't my foot, after all.
I'd come out for external recon by possessing a raider robot via VR machine linkage.
'Link the VR machine and robot controls. Make it feel real remotely.'
Even on this spur-of-the-moment request, Artemis had the programming done before I could finish a cup of tea. Moving and setting up the VR machine from the Central Control Room took longer.
Splash. I stomped in the puddle a few times, but there was no sensation of filthy water soaking in. The hand in front of me swayed slightly in the strong wind, but no feeling of the breeze either.
Sensory feedback is tricky to implement. This isn't a one-off VR recon—we'll do more. Keeping sensors on combat bots would be a huge waste.
She was right. Among second-gen android parts, sensory sensors were the priciest. Budget models skipped them, but the rich wouldn't touch those. The difference between a partner faking moans and one genuinely feeling pleasure and crying out? Worlds apart in satisfaction.
Back to the point: attaching precious sensors to combat bots was wasteful for maintenance. Artemis, the thrifty homemaker, wouldn't go for it.
But if you really want...
Still, as I kept staring at my wind-shaken fist, she spoke in a voice like she'd made up her mind—like a single mom watching her kid gaze longingly at expensive Legos through a window at Christmas. The resources and budget she'd weighed for that one line made me chuckle.
"Nah, it's fine. This isn't a picnic. We're here to learn walker combat, and this is plenty."
My fist clenched and unclenched at will. Every finger moved naturally, without even a 0.1-second lag.
"Way better than I expected. Gotta apologize for dissing VR training before."
Of course! Who made it?
I didn't need to come out in the robot myself for this recon—there was a reason.
After tasting bitter defeat on the Blood Pack Technology expedition, I felt the need for more real combat experience. Sure, encountering that massive sea anemone monster was half a freak natural disaster. The key was building capacity to handle unforeseen variables.
I prided myself as a battle-hardened vet from rolling in the dirt, but that was against humans. In this new war, I was just a green lieutenant fresh out of the academy.
I ripped away the green vines blocking the motel entrance and grabbed the handle. It creaked—or rather, nearly shattered—as the door swung open. Dark inside, even in daylight. My two recon squadmates followed, both armed with 12.7mm rifles. I carried a full-auto shotgun—a unique beast with one main mag feeding diagonally under the barrel and an auxiliary one at the stock, for two total. Up to four ammo types depending on the fight, usually three for reliable feeding. Excelled against basic walkers and small variants, no contest.
I'd fired assault rifles endlessly in service, but shotguns? Barely. With expedition surprises in mind, I needed familiarity with diverse weapons.
"Looks like refugees holed up here."
Smashed and disassembled wooden furniture littered the place, with campfire traces in the central lobby. First floor had been picked clean already.
Check the counter.
Supplies sat on the counter: toilet paper, razors, a lotion bottle, a few canned goods, misc sundries. Not much.
We didn't need to take it all. Good luck.
The memo was neatly written in precise script. Supplies were stacked orderly, not tossed haphazardly—as if hoping future visitors would find them useful.
Stairwell entrance barricaded with a vending machine and desk. Black marker on the machine read:
Zombies inside! DO NOT OPEN!
"Not zombies," I muttered with a grin. "I'd love to meet whoever left this—if they survived."
After endless grim, ugly records, this trace felt purifying.
We cleared the barricade and proceeded.
"Kieeeek—!"
No sooner had we walked than a walker greeted us. Noise from resetting the barricade must've drawn it. No time to think—I hosed its upper body. Steel BBs pulverized an eye, ricocheting inside the skull like pinball. Ones hitting the forehead snagged its beanie, pinning scalp and hair to the wall. Thud. It knelt slowly, collapsing with smooth white skull exposed. Gruesome, yet kinda funny.
That kicked it off—howls echoed everywhere.
Bang! A half-open room door flew wide. Out tumbled naked male and female walkers. The poor couple took dozens of stings and dropped. Nakedness made the shotgun's power pop.
Definitely handier than an assault rifle for close-range basic walkers.
"Kieeeek—!"
Another room opened—a male in dark blue business suit, tie half-undone like a rapper chain.
Thud! Full sprint, then slipped on the couple's blood puddle.
"Grrr..."
Flailing on the floor, it glared up. My shotgun trained on its forehead. I fired a slug from the stock aux mag.
Splat! The skull cap exploded, eyes bulging out—cartoonishly unreal.
Marked walker positions based on scream directions and volume.
Red dots appeared on the minimap. Motel's uniform layout and walkers' noisy nature made mapping easy.
I strolled the hall in aimed ready stance, like a leisurely walk. Only one room left on the second floor.
Thud! Thud! Pounding from inside a locked door.
Crack! Slug to the handle blew a fist-sized hole through splintering wood. Kick—the door flew, slamming the walker behind it.
Inside: clothed male and female walkers. The flung male looked 50s+; the charging female maybe 20s.
"Kieeeek—!"
Kicked the female into the wall, then shredded the male with buckshot bursts. Crash! Perfect line to the window—he flew back through it in the barrage.
"Kie—" The wall-smashed female turned—12.7mm round pulped her head.
"Collect samples."
One squadmate stood guard; the other sampled mouth, nails, etc., with the kit.
Finishing second-floor samples, heading to stairs—walkers from 3-4 floors swarmed, blocking the hall end.
"Kieeeek—!"
The leader screeched at us. They charged in a line—perfect.
Nearly 20,000 joules from 12.7mm rounds punched through flesh in their path. Boom! High-explosive shotgun rounds severed whatever they hit. Exploded heads, limbs, guts and blood flooded the hall into chaos.
One took an HE to the nose—lower jaw gone, tongue flopping like a salted mackerel from its throat. Some nerve misfire.
No thrill from the carnage. Too war-weary? Or just seeing them as non-human meat? Unclear which.
Same drill on 3rd and 4th: samples, plus useful loot. Left most (except reverse-engineering bits) neatly on the counter.
Think any survivors will pick those up?
"Like tossing a coin in a fountain. Self-satisfaction."
Hmm.
Outside, one squadmate finished the window-faller; I headed to the APC.
"Meow."
A yellow cat curled by the wheels stared, confused mix of joy, wariness, bewilderment.
Like one that's hitched rides with humans before?
Sensing people, hoping for a ride? Stray cats hitchhiking for cozy pet life—news to me in this apocalypse.
Mrowr—
It seemed shocked too. Humans? Nope, robots. Humanoid-ish, but reeking of metal and plastic, wrong faces.
Rub against their boots? Or bolt? It agonized fiercely over the life-or-death choice.
Splat! Squadmate rejoined after skull-crushing the corner lurker. I stood statue-still, giving the cat think time.
How long you gonna wait?
Standoff dragged; impatient Artemis spoke. A few steps toward it—it fidgeted, then decided: fled to the fields.
"Too bad. Would've gotten a warm bed and food."
Interested in cats?
Surprise in her tone, tinged with dissatisfaction.
"Nah, not really. Dogs for me."
No pet fan, but deployment K9s left a good impression.
Right? Dogs are the best—so loyal! Great workers too.
"Wanted the cat just for nature vibes. We've got ducks and dogs in the city. Cats would round it out nicely."
Diverse flora and fauna heal the soul. With outside off-limits, mimicking that in parks appeals—no full zoo needed.
Sync ended.
Hiss.
VR machine opened; fuzzy senses sharpened.
"Cold."
The floor chilled more than expected. Goosebumps from bare feet.
Good work. Now lift your feet.
"Thank you for your service."
Rose approached with the medical bot, as attendant. Suit, black stockings, heels as usual. Artemis guaranteed no side effects, but I didn't stop her FM protocol.
Jinsu, I don't welcome your filthy feet. I clean daily, but countless germs linger on the control room floor. My generosity overlooking your foot sweat isn't enough?
Serving bot brought alcohol-soaked towel and slippers on a medical tray.
"Ah!"
Rose gasped, intercepting the bot to snatch the tray.
"Allow me."
She knelt by me on the VR machine, cradling one foot politely while wiping meticulously with the towel. Cool touch of her hand, cold alcohol, evaporating refreshingly.
"Thanks."
Chill on feet, her warm smile on my face. She slipped on the slippers last, then stepped back two paces to attention.
VR combat experience?
"Perfect. Best of training and real fights. Other teams?"
Six vehicles out total for sampling.
Team 2 returning. Other three finishing in an hour. Minor damage, nothing mission-killing.
"Damage?"
Artemis sent PDA footage.
"Ah, that guy."
Blood Pack Technology lab variant: hyper-compressed muscles, long limbs, ceiling-crawling. Park walker sweep team ambushed. Monkey-like branch swings, then gymnast 360° spin on thick branch—centrifugal launch like a slingshot stone at the team. Drone shredded a shoulder just in time; it still closed, ripping off a squadmate's jaw. Bigger hand could've totaled it if aimed wrong.
Tap tap. I drummed the dead long-arm sample screen.
Guess we watch ceilings in wooded or built-up areas now.
"Bad news."
More field threats mean more vulnerabilities—split focus.
"Better a headache than a headshot."
My field-hardened motto.