Brain Nerve Research Institute (2)
“I wondered why it was wrapped up so tight and guarded like this.”
The underground lab resembled a field hospital. Makeshift medical cots were scattered everywhere, topped with desiccated corpses shriveled to husks.
> Carbon dioxide emissions: ZERO
The corpses lying there had heads of all sizes—not just big or small heads, but grotesquely swollen ones that evoked images of aliens from sci-fi flicks. The one right in front of me looked like a damn conehead.
> Human technology.
One of the robots handed over a research log scrawled by hand.
Subject An Byung-hyun. Cerebral hemorrhage. Death. Recommend 12% reduction in Compound B dosage.
“Compound B?”
> Abbreviation for Brain.
On the opposite side was a head resembling the Martian invaders—wrinkled like a prune soaked in an ice bath. Another corpse had eyes half-popped from sockets, unable to support its oversized brain. The room was packed with heads in every grotesque form imaginable.
> This is actually mild.
“...”
I always think this, but Artemis is one tough goddess.
> I assumed far worse experiments. You know how much of a shitshow this country was right before the end, don't you?
Bang! A few Walkers that looked like staff popped up here and there, but that was it. None of the enlarged-brain subjects had mutated into Infected.
“Honestly, I was pretty worried walking into this place.”
> Worried about what?
“The accelerating mutants, the limb swarms at Geno Plan—they're all heavily influenced by the host body. I wondered what kind of monster a brain-mutated one would turn into.”
Artemis chuckled, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.
> Were you worried it'd start using superpowers or something?
“Something like that.”
> Take a closer look at the corpses on the surgery tables.
I did as she said.
> Pry open the mouths.
“...!”
Shoving the rifle barrel between its jaws revealed teeth mutated into freakishly long, razor-sharp fangs.
“This is...”
> Exactly.
The other robots pried open nearby specimens' mouths. All had abnormal teeth and jaw structures. The swollen heads had just made the distortions less obvious.
“They were all Infected?”
> Yes. They all died mid-mutation.
Artemis pointed to one corpse's nose, where something black and rotten had oozed out.
“Doesn't look like blood.”
I've seen plenty of abandoned bodies on battlefields—this was different. Slimy, laced with tiny tissue fragments, subtly off-color...
“No way... the brain?”
> Correct. The original brains were already unstable from human tech tampering. The infection triggered a secondary mutation they couldn't survive.
A robot handed over a battered binder—patient management logs.
> Brain temperature measurements per subject. Some overheated to cooked brains. Cerebral hemorrhages, explosive tumors—side effects endless.
“So they all croaked mid-mutation? Limbs can twist all they want, but brains glitch even a little and it's game over. Not all that surprising, really.”
Opening one door revealed robots in a standoff with a horde of Walkers. Thud! Thud! Thud! Reinforced glass like at Geno Plan's surface level. A squad of robots with rifles aimed at dozens of Walkers thrashing beyond.
Mutants mixed in among them.
“US military?”
A few in American uniforms, despite the minority.
Splat! A Dissolver hocked a blast of strong acid our way, but it splashed harmlessly off the glass. Even that chem-resistant material smoked white and etched slightly.
“Position-wise, we'll have to pass that spot soon.”
> Affirmative.
I shouldered my rifle and headed to the edge.
> What are you doing?
“Gonna feed 'em something tasty.”
I jammed the muzzle into the glass-wall seam. Tough material or not, it couldn't shrug off 12.7mm rounds. Bang-bang! Light recoil punched two holes, cracks spidering thirty centimeters around.
Pulled my combat knife, wedged it in, and scraped the gap wider. One rat-hole entrance ready.
Robots on standby smartly brought bio-chemical weapons: rat-shaped autonomous munitions. Held to the hole, they burrowed in like live rodents. Four in total.
“Kieeeek!”
Walkers noticed instantly and charged, but the small, zippy rats scuttled too fast on the floor. Then their tail vents started spewing lime-green gas.
Pssshhh!
Like hippos marking territory, tails whirled spirals of gas. The room filled green in seconds.
“Keheheek!”
“Keurk! Keurook!”
Their shrieks turned to hellish coughs seconds later.
Thud! One Walker beyond the glass slammed face-first full-force. Bloodshot eyes, nose, mouth foaming crimson.
“How's that? Spicy enough?”
No answer—just another weak headbutt. Thonk. Barely any power. It slumped against the glass, face smooshed, then slid down.
Moments later, the four rats scampered back through the hole. No standees across—just twitching heaps.
Rats climbed robot legs to palm perches. Robots swapped green ampules onto their backs; rats tucked into waist pouches.
The sheer efficiency left me speechless. I'd seen it in sims, but live? Different beast.
“Shit like this rewrites indoor tactics. Sealed spaces? Better than dropping a company.”
> One mouse topples ten thousand troops, a million-man empire. No need to pick 'em off with swords, arrows, catapults one by one.
Watching Infected get mopped up was satisfying, but bittersweet too. Felt like getting swept aside by the tide of progress.
“Speaking for us old-school grunts, kinda bitter.”
Picked up a rolling steel pipe at my feet, twisted it into a ribbon. Metal bent, tore, shards flaking. Superhuman strength I still couldn't quite believe was mine.
“Even this strong, feels like battlefield real estate's shrinking.”
Spun the finished product, then flung it back. Clang! as it hit ground.
> Old-school grunt? You?
We headed for the research wing through dim corridors. Scout and assault teams cleared ahead—no threats reached me.
Rat-tat-tat!
“Kieeeek!”
Sporadic firefights echoed everywhere.
> Don't you feel the tech and resources packed into that body of yours? Say you time-warped back five years as-is. Just flexing anywhere nets enough cash for a Shelter.
“Wasn't what I meant.”
> I know. That's why I'm saying it. You're frustrating.
Boom! A door twenty meters ahead-right burst open. A Rip fused with a robot tumbled out.
After rolls, Rip mounted. Splat! Robot's punch cratered its face, teeth shattering across floor. Rip wobbled a second; my guards lit it up ragdoll-style.
> See? Prime specs or not, field ops mean you'll eat dirt like that eventually.
The robot charged back through the busted door. Last sight: catching a battle rifle tossed from inside.
> I didn't give you that tough body to frontline.
I just listened. Arguing now? Unwise.
> Chess: queen gets king-speed, you don't charge the king in. Only fools do. Fight if you must—but it's not option one.
“Got it, got it. I'll stay back, keep my neck safe. Act just like the CO I despised most in my service days.”
> Exactly!
I said it snarky, but she seemed pleased.
We pressed on. Boom! Dazzling flash fifteen meters ahead-left—stun grenade. Gunfire shattered glass, pocked doors and walls.
Thud. A Walker staggered from the open door, spraying blood, collapsing. Still kicking, it glared from the floor with grudge-filled eyes.
“Kieee...”
Before it could wail, a robot leg-grabbed its ankle, dragged it back. Bang! Silence.
Whirr! Two soccer-ball drones zipped overhead from behind. Indoor ops models with wing guards—wall/ceiling crashes no issue.
They vented into ceiling ducts.
We steamrolled foes, reaching the research wing smoothly. Rushers inside turned instant hives.
“More US military. And researchers.”
Uniforms and looks pegged them as American troops and eggheads.
“Smells fishy.”
> Suspicious odor detected.
Same vibe. Different words.
> Remember the Terracorp expedition?
“The mech-Infected that burrowed into the helo?”
> Yes. Looks like something top-secret special enough for US airlift and study.
Suspicion ramped up.
“That's a four-star.”
One Walker at the entrance wore a uniform pinned with four gleaming stars. Squatted, grabbed the head. Twisted face, but recognizable.
“Never thought we'd reunite like this.”
> You know him?
Nodded.
“ROK-US Combined Forces deputy commander.”
Gently released, laid the body flat.
“Chatted a few times. Took direct orders from him once. Had to stick close to Yanks a lot.”
His phone yielded zilch useful. Just one voice message to the president.
“Mr. President, if my previous message offended, I apologize. But 'send Korea's top brain scientists, no questions asked'—that's me softening Combined Forces Command's direct order to me as much as possible. I know this rude demand rankles. But in wartime, even Your Excellency lacks authority to refuse. I'll take full blame for this civilian conscription. The fate of this horrific war hangs on it. Please understand the research's importance and give full support.”
“What the hell was worth all this?”
No survivors to answer.
Stepped into the research wing. Robots hauling fresh Walker corpses out; dead ahead, two massive glass tanks cradling enormous brains.
“Seeing this again, huh.”
Artemis had jacked into the control computer meantime.
“How long till data copy?”
> Three minutes.
I wandered peripherals. Brains galore—artificial by size, or excised from bodies.
> Extracted Infected brains for study too.
“Poking zombie brains for what?”
> Logs say: cognition principles, combat stimuli priorities/aversions.
While she copied, I strolled, eyeing tanks. Floating brains solo; some with spines preserved; others with full-body floats tracking nerve signals from brain to limbs.
> Inventory: most Walkers, then Rips and Lamprey Mothers. Seems they were the pri—
> Oh...
I froze too.
“My God.”
We both locked rigid before one glass tank.