Tactical Doctrine 2.0
Good siblings who get along often end up sharing tastes or experiences in certain genres. Like when a little sister enjoys the comics or games her big brother brings home, creating an overlap in their interests. My cultural life with Artemis was much the same.
Back in the early days of the Shelter infection crisis, I spent my days holed up in the safe upper levels. I killed time diving into movies, comics, games, and the like. Artemis was always right there beside me, and thanks to that, she ended up sharing a ton of pop culture with me.
It didn't stop at just matching codes on entertainment. It evolved into motivation for developing new tactics and gear. No need for explanations since we both knew the references—we could share ideas instantly.
The scene unfolding before my eyes right now was one such result.
Put on the headset.
At Artemis's warning, I slipped on the headset I was holding. This was a biological research lab installed outside the Shelter. Every kind of experiment that could potentially trigger a biohazard took place here. Culturing various biochemical weapons, dissecting Infected, live experiments on captured specimens. It was one of the two labs we had. The other was the engineering research lab in the Shelter's central sector, where weapons, gear, and machinery were developed.
Behind the transparent reinforced glass, a single Walker was trapped in a 6-square-meter lab. It couldn't see us. The magic mirror was active.
Shall we begin?
I nodded, and the magic mirror function deactivated. I appeared in the Walker's field of view, dressed in a researcher's gown. Savage hunger instantly filled its eyes.
Screeeeech! The Walker let out a guttural roar, but the headset blocked it out completely. I only faintly felt the vibration from its fists pounding the reinforced glass.
Then the lab's speakers activated, emitting the prepared sound waves. But the thing didn't even flinch.
"No reaction?" I said, disappointment lacing my voice.
Those speakers weren't blasting plain noise. It was based on dissections of countless Infected ears and auditory cortices in their brains. Tailored to frequencies they hated.
As expected. Low-level Infected don't have a concept of pain. They can shut down if vital spots like the heart or lungs get hit, but never from pain alone.
The monitor beside me showed the volume intensity climbing step by step. But the Walker stood firm. It hammered the glass even more furiously.
Not like with the Rip, but I wasn't giving up. It slammed its body repeatedly, fists and forehead splitting open, blood streaming down.
"That's enough."
The magic mirror reactivated. The Walker, losing its target, froze in a daze.
This sonic attack was inspired by the movie Screamers. In it, the killer machines called Screamers shift shapes, slice everything alive with saw blades, and emit high-pitched screams to debilitate organisms. We saw potential there.
This project was never aimed at Walkers anyway. It should work to some degree on higher variants with developed nervous systems. If it functions properly, few area-denial weapons rival sonic attacks.
Sonic weapons' biggest flaw is lacking friend-or-foe discrimination, but my army's all machines, and I can protect my eardrums with a sealed helmet. No issue.
"Can I take it off now?" I pointed to the headset.
Yes. The real tests will be conducted outside now.
The screen displayed blueprints for a new drone model, codenamed "Banshee Drone."
"This one?"
A new drone specialized in sonic attacks. Less a combat production model and more a special build for these experiments?
It reminded me of the Jericho Trumpet sirens on WWII German bombers.
As I said, sonic weapons target advanced mutants with developed nerves. But capturing them alive is too hard, so field tests it is.
"To test properly, we'll need to get pretty close. Will the drone survive?"
Rips with insane leaping power, ranged attackers like Dissolvers and Lamprey Mothers. Even Lugnuts that could hurl debris. All sorts of variants. Get too close, and it'd be smashed.
That's why it's custom-built. Short runtime, no autocannon, but superior mobility and sensors.
Unlike scout drones, the Banshee Drone used four rotors.
Blood Pack Technology, Geno Plan—two total wipes for the expedition teams already. Confined spaces or not, annihilation is annihilation. Even tough robots with powerful personal firearms can't handle special mutants beyond specs.
She was right. One wipe? Could happen. Two? Three's possible too.
Our robots' sturdy specs, 12.7mm rounds that dropped even fearsome Lugnuts effortlessly, helicopter air support, drone strikes. We'd focused on boosting defense, firepower, and such for good reason.
Early in the infection war, the Korean military's biggest threat was high contagion rates—but not for my machine army. And no matter how tough Infected were, they were flesh and blood. Tough robots to withstand Walker bites and claws, high-firepower weapons for Lugnut-class. With those, we figured we could sweep any battlefield.
Up until Blood Pack Technology, my expeditions and robot scouts steamrolled everything. But two wipes forced a doctrinal shift.
We kept defense and firepower at necessary levels while developing asymmetric power. Tactical Doctrine 2.0.
Sonic attacks pierced regardless of size, armor, or carapace. Unknown if it'd work on giant bloodsucking anemones or limb swarms, but we were researching layered countermeasures.
Not too strong, not too weak—the right intensity to harass endlessly. We need to nail that down.
"Your voice sounds awfully excited."
Artemis's tone dripped with sadistic glee.
Me? What are you talking about.
She laughed with refined elegance, like a noblewoman.
It's all for scientific progress. Applied science, in this case? Slay the vile monsters and reclaim Earth's peace! I never mix personal feelings into research.
"Of course not."
Next stop: the engineering research lab in the Shelter's central sector. To check on the new guard robot in development.
Guard robots defended the Shelter, captured resources, data, and specimens from outside, and in expeditions, they were my bodyguard suicide squad. The ideal soldiers.
Two versions currently existed.
The initial Eternal Sentinel series was mostly metal, boasting top durability. Easy to produce and maintain. But heavy, short runtime, sluggish movement. Most parts metal, so hydraulic systems shattered jumping from even 2-3 stories. Too limited in mobility for internal Shelter guard duty only.
Next: Marauder series. Everything but the main frame swapped for reinforced plastic and ceramic composites. Sacrificed some durability for lightness and flexibility. Better fuel efficiency for longer runtime, could leap or climb decent heights. Deployed for external scouting, naturally.
And now, the third model to succeed the Marauder was nearing completion.
Glug glug. Bubbles rose in the glass tank before me.
Inside the translucent fluid: a guard robot. But vastly different from prior models. The broad chest frame evoking breastplate armor was now less than half size. Filling the space: bundles of thumb-thick wires gleaming darkly. Artificial muscle bundles.
Hydraulics that crumpled under Lugnut beatings were replaced with a unique organic-inorganic hybrid. Limbs' skeletal frames were fully formed, alloy-based down to the fingertips. Muscles filled only to the elbows so far.
Five mechanical hands like long-nose pliers moved busily. Weaving muscle fibers thread by thread, like embroidery. Dark, opaque, yet incredibly tough-looking tissue. Somehow familiar.
"These chunks of meat... feel like I've seen 'em before."
Hee hee hee.
Artemis stifled a laugh, tilting her head at me.
Zap. Zap. Blue sparks flew from a soldering-iron-like tool—knotting the woven muscle fibers together. Post-spark, the fibers twisted like wires and fused.
Checking the new robot's catalog on my PDA, I let out a groan.
"Infected."
Correct.
The biotech wasn't just artificial muscle from Geno Plan. It incorporated muscle tissue patterns mimicked from mutant Infected—Rips. Not literal grafts, but woven to match their structure. That's why the robot's muscles showed that signature dark Infected hue.
No need for pointless worries. Perfectly safe. We use everything we can.
The cliché in movies and novels always led to disaster, but that was fiction. If she said safe, it was safe. Artemis had never done anything to harm me.
The new robot's catalog included full-body photos of dissected Rips.
Grrrrowl! I recalled the mocking glare of the Rip that trailed me through Geno Plan's halls.
"Ended up as material after all?"
I couldn't help but chuckle.
Everything that fails to kill us only makes us stronger.
By now, muscle assembly had reached the new robot's wrists. Machines never rested. The technological singularity, once a source of human dread, now served as the lifeline bridging the gap between Infected and humanity.