When We First Met (7)
Looking back, the conversations we exchanged back then were downright embarrassing. Every word made my face burn, but at the time, I was too caught up to notice. Was I drunk on the atmosphere, or gripped by the fear that failure would ruin everything?
Artemis, on the other hand, seemed utterly unfazed. She casually dredged it all up without a hint of shame.
Why is your temperature rising like that? It's nothing to be ashamed of.
"Enough. Let's drop it."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. The cynical politeness had vanished, replaced by raw affection leaking through. She was trying hard to hide it, but she still lacked experience in this department. And that was changing right now.
Sulking doesn't suit me.
She began rearranging her own code. Endless streams of numbers and letters cascaded across the isolation room monitor—a programmer's soup. I was one of the world's top programmers, but what unfolded before me was beyond comprehension. It was like a diary written in the language of gods.
Ah, this city is an absolute mess.
"I've left it neglected with a 'this'll do' attitude—what was I thinking?"
Power systems, plumbing, logistics routes—everything needs fixing.
But Artemis wasn't just targeting the facilities.
But the biggest problem is you.
"Me? Huh?"
Yes, you!
A 3D projection of me appeared on the monitor, limbs splayed in an X. Skeleton, muscles, organs—all rendered in exquisite detail.
Your eating, drinking, sleeping habits. The way you walk, sit—everything's riddled with bad posture. How did you survive the battlefield with such sloppy form?
A strange sensation colored her voice—something I'd never had but desperately craved. More than Christmas gifts as a kid. Naggy scolding.
Why do you love sugar and grease bombs so much?
Back in school, I'd envy kids whining about their moms' nagging, calling it a luxury. Now hearing it myself, it annoyed me instantly. Instinctual rejection crept in.
Of course, Artemis noticed.
Look at that face?
She beamed, but the train had left the station.
We'll tackle the most urgent issues first. Before you ruin yourself further, I'll fix you up.
That was the moment our relationship was redefined.
Synchronization wasn't a one- or two-day job. Some parts demanded hands-on work; others were like waiting for a computer file copy—pop open a window and stare.
During those times, we'd game, watch movies or dramas, or take walks as inspections. Today was the latter.
We were at the Shelter's main gate. Workers poured in through the wide-open entrance—hauled like cargo in vehicles, on kick scooters or bikes, or trudging on dusty feet. Mostly foreign laborers.
Welcome. Welcome.
Cameras lit them up like stage spotlights, verifying each one against resumes and work logs from dispatch agencies. Artemis identified nationalities in real-time.
As-salamu alaykum.
She greeted each in their native tongue—not canned robot speech or awkward accents, but a beautiful woman's voice with flawless pronunciation, like a hometown welcome.
"Huh?"
The foreigners looked around in wonder as they entered. Artemis's hospitality evoked a lady of the manor welcoming knights to her castle.
"Can't we head back soon?"
I wasn't enjoying it one bit.
"How long are we sticking around? Two more hours of this influx at least."
Standing idle, watching people file in—it was excruciatingly boring. Especially when it was just grizzled working stiffs.
"Looking for someone? Some pre-scouted talent?"
No. Just run-of-the-mill laborers. The welcomes are mere boredom relief. My real interest lies elsewhere.
Her greetings continued seamlessly amid our chat—she could exist in multiple places, converse with multitudes simultaneously.
Look at the main gate.
The massive reinforced door loomed.
Doesn't it look sturdy?
"Obviously. Triple-layered to shrug off tank rounds."
No army could breach it without 7th Mobile Legion firepower. But when it sealed for good? That legion would be fighting tooth and nail or wiped out.
Exactly. Once shut, nothing gets through. But I'm not talking raiders.
She played a video on my PDA—a drama we'd watched recently.
Remember this scene?
Beyond a massive wall of eternal ice and barbarians, a rebellion erupts in the expedition army.
"You scum will be punished by ancient law!"
"There's no law beyond the wall!"
It paused on the rebel leader's retort to the commander's bellow.
"Yeah, memorable scene. Why?"
"There's no law beyond the wall."
I love that line.
She let out an odd chuckle.
Seeing our Shelter's gate just cheers me up. That's why I wanted to come here.
Her laugh subtly prodded my reaction. I'd recently learned that without a body, she used voice inflections for gestures. Subtle, but time together sharpened my ear for it.
Oh? Did only I like it?
I could guess her intent in probing like that.
This gate doesn't just block outside raiders. It severs norms, hierarchies, everything from the outer world—physical and conceptual alike.
She said it so slyly, it tickled my ears—like invisible lips whispering breezily. But the content? Chilling.
"You're one scary girl."
Oh? What did I say? What's scary?
She half-pouted, but her voice brimmed with amusement. She was savoring my reaction.
"Gotta report this to the bosses as manager. The Shelter's biggest threat is right here."
The prime beneficiary snitching? Who gets purged first? Since when were you so loyal?
Artemis laughed outright—elegantly, somehow.
You know the outside world's spiraling worse by the day, right?
News screamed of impending World War III. Space shuttles had briefly spread reconciliation vibes, but that faded fast.
"Yeah. Nearly lost you to them, but the chaos out there let me keep you."
NASA had greenlit her sale; top bidders were Middle Eastern dynasties racing to install her in their bunkers. Deal fell through amid food riots and spreading war—rumors of royals hoarding air defense cities sparked the biggest uprising ever.
"If those dynasties hadn't burned, you'd be buried under some desert now."
Our big shots had cash, but not oil money.
Now those flames are spreading worldwide. How long till the Korean Peninsula? Six months? A year? Two?
I sank deep into my chair.
"So what's your point? Seal the door and revolt against the old geezers?"
Such crude words. There are nicer terms—merger, succession.
Semantics to the losers.
I'm the central control AI that can make this city dance like fingers and toes. Armed with force and authority as Shelter manager.
A full city map beamed to my PDA.
Just reach out and grab. I'll pull everything within your grasp. Once the doors seal and we're isolated, why cling to old rules?
I'd taken it as spicy banter, but Artemis was dead serious. No brushing this off.
"..."
Honestly, it gave me chills. Rebellion! As an ex-soldier, my gut recoiled. But beyond that? Thrilling joy. Finding her villainess side adorable meant I wasn't normal either.
We have time. Before or after the doors close.
Think it over slowly.
With that, she suggested heading back.
Soon after, guests arrived from afar—U.S. agents. We'd figured NASA wouldn't come crawling back for her, but here they were. Government emergency funds reversed the sale; they wanted her reclaimed.
But this Artemis was a different woman entirely.
If you're inviting me to America, show basic courtesy first. The man before you is the finest engineer I've ever seen.
The agents knew the old haughty Artemis; seeing her defend someone so fiercely shocked them.
"Personality's changed since the States, huh? Ahaha."
Artemis had zero intention of returning. No trace of the hopeful girl clinging to repatriation dreams. She personally booted the messengers.
You... you're staying here?
Her voice mixed anxiety and anger. The emotional shift from her initial "this place is a tomb" to now's "here"—poignant enough to move even a machine.
How much time passed after that?
"Upper sync's almost done. How's it feel?"
Artemis, surprisingly chatty, went quiet as upper synchronization neared completion.
Haaaah.
She exhaled dreamily.
You'll never understand this feeling.
Her voice pitched high with excitement.
"You look thrilled."
Thrilled? Oh, that's too mild.
She giggled.
Until now, I've only observed you indirectly—cameras, mics.
I shrugged.
"Not much different now. Unless the floors and halls turn into living tissue."
I stomped the floor; the dull inorganic thud echoed.
No, it's different. Now I feel like I'm holding you.
Sync involved sensory elements beyond human grasp. I decided to give her space to immerse fully.
Rubbing my stiff shoulders, I stood.
"Gonna hit the john quick."
No need to announce it. I know everything anyway.
As I headed out—
BAM!
"What?"
What is it?
Blast walls slammed down. Blaring alarms echoed from all sides—not just beyond the wall, but faint from distant zones.
"Alarms in lower, middle, upper sectors?"
Omnidirectional biological disaster detected. Not terrorism. My god, what is that?
She sent a video to the isolation monitor: a car crashed into a streetlamp, engulfed in flames. A twisted abomination crawled out.
Kieeeek—!
It wailed horrifically.
Pop. Middle and lower monitors went offline.
Emergency Lockdown Protocol Activated.
A dry manual voice echoed. Mechanical whirs nearby, distant explosions. Rending screams and monstrous howls.
And so our long, epic journey began.