Chapter 125
Excitement filled the screen. [Our Great Japanese Empire has Yamato, the world's strongest battleship after Mutsu and Nagato!] A general in an old Imperial Japanese Army uniform spat fire on the monitor. While everyone else sat with grim faces, he alone burned with fighting spirit, standing tall.
[When but now will we use our great ships and big guns? Isn't it time to launch the final all-out assault with the battleships?]
It was a scene from the Pacific War in World War II, where defeat loomed against America, and he was pushing for that desperate last attack.
[But...]
[But what?!]
A general on the opposing side opened his mouth, his face heavy with sorrow.
[Abura ga nai da. (No oil.)]
[...!]
The man who'd been ranting shut his mouth. He sat down slowly, face stiff. What could you do without oil?
"Hahaha!"
I burst out laughing at the punchline.
[Hold still.]
Artemis spoke to me as I doubled over in hysterics. This was the upper-level intensive care room. I was getting physical therapy while watching a movie.
The overexertion from using acceleration too hard on the Geno Plan expedition had wrecked my muscles all over.
[It's a miracle there's no ligament or joint damage.]
"If that had given out during the escape, I'd have died right there... Ow!"
[...]
The mechanical arm mid-massage twisted a sore spot, as if telling me to shut up about useless crap.
"Ahhh."
After the punishment, she nursed the spot tenderly, like giving medicine after the blow. The medical machine fingers kneaded and loosened my muscles with flashy precision. Scents of various recovery oils wafted up.
I'd picked this movie because of the seaweed we'd recently started cultivating in the Shelter. While signing off on Artemis's approval request for cultivation, it popped into my head.
This seaweed was the product of extreme genetic engineering. We'd named it Fire Weed. It had complex roots for soaking up nutrients and water in hydroponics, topped with kelp-like stalks sprouting everywhere. Nearly black in color.
Don't eat it just because it looks like kelp. You'd end up in the hospital shitting out gallons of oil.
This stuff was a genetically modified strain for biofuel production. Extract the oil, process the leftover stalks into cellulose for explosives.
Fire and explosions. It might not fill human bellies, but it was crucial for keeping monster claws off our asses.
The Shelter's oil reserves weren't small, but they were stockpiled for running cars inside the city and limited chemical production. Once we started flying oil-guzzling helicopters and using flamethrowers or napalm, consumption skyrocketed.
Artemis had kicked off full-scale biofuel production especially after heading out for South Coast scouting. To burn the Noise Trees enough to communicate with survivors there, we'd have to use all but 15% of the Shelter's stockpiled petroleum.
[Reserve oil only for helicopter ops.]
Even with plenty coming in from robots on external ops, Artemis obsessed over self-sufficiency. To her, this Shelter had to be a flawless nest. Any power reliant on the outside was just a mirage, ready to vanish.
I got that. I'd seen firsthand how miserable a cut-off army could get.
They call corn "God's crop," right? Whoever that god was, probably a pacifist. Artemis, on the other hand, was aggressive in myths and reality alike. Infected weren't foes you negotiated peace with anyway.
Corn and Fire Weed. Both empowering crops, but while corn's god gave sustenance, Artemis gave firepower. I could still picture the napalm carpet-bombing wiping out hordes of Infected. Monsters swallowed by flames, purified—pure catharsis, exhilarating.
It was Artemis's authority made manifest.
"Ugh!"
My reverie snapped with pain.
[This next part might hurt a bit. Treating the worst-damaged areas.]
Forcing my body during acceleration had overloaded certain spots badly. Stimulating them now brought a tidal wave of agony. Even lying down, my breath came ragged.
[Not sure if this helps, but the pains you're feeling now? They'll be the last of their kind in your life.]
"What do you mean?"
The monitor showing my vitals now displayed info on artificial muscle implants.
[Muscle soreness, stiff shoulders, sprains, all muscle pains. From the moment new flesh fills your body, you'll bid them eternal farewell.]
Fifth-gen artificial muscles weren't just high-performance, apparently.
[The last sensations of their kind? Maybe enjoy them while they last?]
"I get the intent, but there's no such thing as enjoyable pain. Pain's always unpleasant."
She let out a strange, resonant hum.
[So? I'm deeply interested in what you're feeling right now.]
"Pain?"
[All kinds of bodily sensations.]
"Pain included in that interest?"
[Exactly.]
I couldn't wrap my head around it.
"Taste of delicious food, cool breeze on your skin, chill of dipping feet in cold water, warmth of a hug. Plenty of good sensations. Why bother with this?"
[Don't misunderstand. I'm no masochist who enjoys pain. I have huge interest in pleasurable ones too.]
Her tone sounded almost like savoring the words.
[I just want to feel everything. Pain can't be omitted from what defines human life.]
After that, silent massage time resumed. Beep. Beep. Machine beeps measuring my vitals in the stark white room.
We'll stay here while the rain pours.
Then we'll leave.
We'll stay here for clear skies.
Then we'll fly.
* * *
It would've been a perfect mood if it ended there, but the injuries were too severe.
After physical therapy wrapped.
"You're kidding, right?"
I asked in disbelief. I'd figured Artemis's "full-course muscle repair treatment" meant more than just massage.
But this crossed the line. A massive syringe loomed before me. Biggest damn needle I'd ever seen.
"You gonna stick this in a person?"
The needle evoked a mini drill bit, and the cylinder full of fluid? Jesus.
"What syringe is as big as my dick? Load it in a gun, and it'd kill a Walker."
[Oh my, so vulgar.]
Pffft! Lime-green liquid bubbled from the needle tip. Terrifying sight.
[Doesn't hurt much.]
"Stick it in your ass and say that!"
Artemis's cackling laughter echoed through the treatment room.
[I'd love to demo it for my Jinsu, but sadly, I have no ass.]
On the monitor, she covered her mouth in refined laughter, then stood and smoothed her black miniskirt.
No need for a composite image like her to do that. Pure performance to tease me.
But I wasn't mad. Not one bit. Her ass filled the giant screen, skirt straining at the curves, black stockings hugging thighs below. That sight blew away any anger.
[Mm.]
After giggling, she sobered up, shifting to serious mode. Fun diversion over; no more delaying the protocol.
[I've always been dead serious about your health. Explained every procedure, every anomaly in detail. Every result too.]
I nodded. Even when my lacking medical knowledge made me ask the same thing repeatedly, she'd never snapped. She'd rephrase until I got it.
[Ever seen me joke in the treatment room?]
No.
Click. I nodded, and the syringe needle spat another lime-green droplet into the air.
[Drop 'em.]
Damn it.
[And Jinsu? One correction. Very important.]
"What?"
[Your dick's even bigger than this.]
"What the fu—"
Smack! A mechanical hand like a nurse's slapped my ass, cutting me off. Then the needle plunged in mercilessly, skin parting.
But worse than the pain was the fluid invading my body. So much volume—the cold liquid kept surging in endlessly.
* * *
[Strip.]
Next phase, she ordered me naked. Medical cameras blatantly zoomed on my bare body.
[Strike this pose.]
The monitor showed a bodybuilder-style pose.
"Ugh..."
Following it burned like my abs were charring.
[Good, good. Deeper now.]
I gritted my teeth, obeying.
[Well done. Next pose.]
Standing, I bent to grab my ankles. More serious pain everywhere, especially hamstrings ripping.
[Good. Done. You toughed it out well, Jinsu.]
Dozens of cameras observed my twitching muscles from every angle.
[Great job!]
After squats. She praised after each pose— "good boy," "well done"—like coaxing a kid. Stripping nude, posing, getting baby-talk praise. Felt like shooting some shady photoshoot.
"..."
Some poses embarrassed. Lying down, legs up alternately, stretching quads and calves.
Thank god for the muscle pain then. It diluted the shame.
[Absolute rest for now.]
As I left the room post-final step, Artemis gave her last warning. I showed her my half-corpse shuffle: hunched back, limp limbs dangling.
"Even if I don't want rest, this body's forcing it on me."
[Perfect. Snark energy without actual movement energy. Ideal recovery balance.]
With Artemis's beaming voice, the intensive care door slid shut.