Brain Nerve Research Institute (1)
The deafening roar of the rotors shook the heavens and earth. Below us, reddish-brown wasteland streaked by in a blur. Roads snaked through it, flanked by sporadic, charred signposts and bare-branched roadside trees. The sky was embracing twilight. The dingy gray clouds flushed pink like flaming cotton candy. It felt like a scene straight out of a Western.
> 5 minutes remaining.
A quick glance around revealed helicopters encircling me without a gap.
"What a sight. I've been on plenty of expeditions, but this is the first time it really feels like heading into battle."
Nine helicopters sliced through the sky. If past ops had felt like special missions, this one screamed full-scale war. Every chopper was loaded with heavily armed robots. Their limbs gleamed darkly, woven from bundles of wires packing godlike strength. The biting winter wind battered us relentlessly, but I felt no chill. My body was sheathed head to toe in combat gear.
I clenched my fist. Bulge. From my biceps down to my forearm, wrist, and fingers, I could feel the suit responding to the contraction of my muscle fibers. It wasn't just armor—it synced with my movements, boosting my power.
Clack. The smooth, matte back of my hand hardened, scales like a pangolin's erupting across it. Tech extracted from the skin of Assemblers, those shape-shifting variant infected that could rebuild their bodies.
How's the fit?
"A bit creepy, but it's good."
My old combat fatigues couldn't keep up with my enhanced body anymore. This new Nano Suit, a seamless fusion of organic and inorganic, would ensure my survival from here on out. It felt like just yesterday I was navigating the dark shelter alone with a shotgun and an axe. So much had changed.
> 3 minutes remaining.
An industrial complex loomed in the distance. A year ago, black smoke belched from smokestacks everywhere, like clouds sprouting from the ground. Now it was eerily clean. Our target: the Brain Nerve Research Institute. The massive brain I'd seen at MetaCraft Cybernetics had been developed here.
"Guess my days of running around outside are finally over?"
I stretched my arm out, feeling the intense rush of air slamming against it. Nothing like sticking your hand out a car window at 100 kph—this was another level of pressure.
"Kinda bittersweet."
Speak for yourself. I'm thrilled.
I'm the type of field commander who prefers rolling in the dirt, but she hates it.
You've run around enough already. Time to stand back with your hands behind your back and issue orders from a safe spot.
Artemis wanted me holed up in a dimly lit command room like some movie general, barking orders.
Or hand it all over to me and live the easy life like a landlord. Isn't that the Korean dream?
"Landlord..."
The word made my blood boil—just like she said it would. Landlord. It struck a primal chord in every Korean.
Artemis got even more excited at my reaction.
And our building runs itself. No tenant calls about clogged toilets, power outages, or leaks. No headaches from fire safety inspectors sending violation notices.
Of course, being a landlord isn't all ease. There's plenty to manage. But I had a highly competent proxy manager.
No tenant drama either. No stress over missed trash days, nighttime noise, pigsty apartments, or fights. If they don't behave, evict 'em.
Being the ultimate landlord had its perks.
"Once this op's done, like you said, no more fieldwork. Relax."
The outside world held countless tech and research treasures, but the crown jewels were human-applicable tech. Unlike endlessly iterable code or resource-dependent engineering, this required needles in veins or nerves dissected. Even Artemis couldn't bypass that. Data from years of clinical trials in these labs was irreplaceable.
Facilities with human tech—especially national security sites under heavy lockdown—couldn't be raided by robots alone. Bypassing security without my credentials might trigger countermeasures, incinerating the data. I had to go personally, risks be damned, to secure it intact. This was the last one.
> 1 minute remaining.
The Brain Nerve Research Institute sat at the complex's heart. Not a metropolis, but enough infected to matter. A writhing wave of twisted hands reached for us like the claws of hell's demons. No matter how many times I saw it, that undulating mass never got less nauseating.
"Grrr...!"
Rips crouched on power poles, glaring at us. They knew they couldn't jump this high and stayed put.
"Groooaaargh!"
Thud! Thud! Thud! Lugnuts pounded after us, crumbling the road. No carpet-bombing like at Geno Plan—this was an industrial zone rife with oil, chemicals, and gases. Napalm would torch the whole city, labs included.
Too many enemies on the outskirts. Can't force a landing like this.
"Attack formation."
The choppers spread out. Robots mounted on 12.7mm heavy machine guns on either side opened fire immediately. Infected lurking by cars, in alleys, behind windows, on roof railings—everywhere—exploded in sprays of blood. Lugnuts were just big targets, charging like African buffalo fleeing a poacher's chopper, tumbling spectacularly.
Vreeee! Drone bombers streaked ahead with a shrill whine. Loaded with grenades instead of napalm, they hammered infected hideouts: building interiors, open manholes. Blown cars flipped meters into the air; debris rained down, laced with flesh and bone shards. Power lines snapped in the crossfire, but with the grid long dead, no sparks flew.
Crunch! A tower crane caught in the blasts groaned and toppled slowly.
"Keeeaak!"
Mindless walkers gawked blankly at the looming shadow. Boom! Dozens flattened into meat paste; the crane's body rolled, pulping more. Smarter variants fled like monkeys scrambling up trees from a landslide—climbing signs, walls, trees toward rooftops. Machine guns crisscrossed them mid-escape. They plummeted like flies swatted from the air, tumbling amid walker corpses. No escape from wrath from above.
Next to the crane site stood a half-built high-rise: skeleton and pillars done, no walls yet.
"Keeeaak!"
Walkers packed inside were perfectly visible. Rrratatata! One chopper circled the structure, descending while hosing every floor like peeling an apple. Thick casings poured down, forming a ring around the building like a barrier. No flammables due to frag risk, but isolated structures got the full fireworks.
Whoosh! A phosphorous round streaked toward a hotel. Panoramic design—all-glass walls. On the fourth floor, a naked female walker flailed at the choppers outside. The round nailed her room. Shattering glass shredded her first; milliseconds later, the warhead pulverized her torso. Her halves spun away as the wall erupted in flames. Glass exploded outward; the hotel engulfed. Burning walkers danced from rooms, plummeting to splatter below.
"We're here."
The institute appeared. Dual Level D steel fences, three watchtowers. Military-uniformed walkers patrolled. Tighter security than most—makes sense for a key lab. Main facilities underground, of course.
"Sketchier the place, the deeper they dig."
Nothing trickier than the human brain. They'd want to hide what they were poking and prodding.
Our choppers were over the institute now. Infected crammed the grounds—escaped from underground but trapped inside the perimeter. Lab coats, janitor uniforms, guard gear, vendor suits. A menagerie of monsters howled at us, blinded by rotor wash, some toppling over.
Ready?
I nodded. No need for rappel or landing—we were beyond that.
"Commence operation."
Roger!
All stalker robots roared in unison. They poured from the choppers, slicing the wind.
Thud! They landed perfectly upright from midair. Heavy impacts, zero damage.
Crunch! Some used walkers as cushions.
Tat-tat-tang! They immediately cleared threats. Scattered firefights erupted but died fast.
"Guess I'll join 'em."
I peered down, took a deep breath. Rappels? Done thousands in training and ops. Bare drop in combat? First time. Stepping out, the pressure vanished. Wind hammered me; ground rushed up insanely fast.
Thud! Shock was minimal—like jumping from a meter up.
"Even for my body, that's impressive."
The chopper I'd leaped from was way up there.
Choppers will keep suppressing and luring from outside. ETA to extract: 2 minutes if needed.
I waved casually at the departing choppers, then headed inside.
The entrance slid open with that welcome message I was starting to get sick of—and wouldn't hear again.