Factory Operation
[Oh, you're here?]
Artemis greeted me at the factory complex. She'd suggested I tour the reconstruction site.
She always spoke with crystal clarity, but amid the chorus of machine whirs and clanks, I had to draw close just to make out her voice properly.
No laborers meant various headaches, but the place was originally highly automated anyway. Under her direction, even the manpower-intensive sections were being converted to automated processes.
Materials piled up everywhere amid the bustling sites. Seemed like they were prepping spares—plenty of cars hauled up from below lay disassembled, blocking paths.
[Hold on a sec.]
At her words, a crane swept the obstructing materials from my path.
"Looks busy."
[Can't be helped. I've been delaying tasks since I awoke—now we're finally getting started.]
The route into the factory was a maze of materials and operating machines.
[Didn't you read the plans I sent? All scheduled tasks were listed there.]
"A 5,000-page operations report? When the hell am I supposed to finish that? Unlike you, I have to roll my eyeballs over every single page."
[Regrettably, that's the maximum compression. Tailored to the upper limit of your knowledge level.]
She wasn't mocking me. Considering everything that had happened, the backlog must be mountainous. She'd probably compressed it with my comprehension in mind.
[If the residents hadn't all perished, the report would've been 800 pages. No residents, no guards, no technicians. Filling those gaps requires massive preparations.]
She meant the ongoing automation push.
[Materials are tight too—worst case, we might have to dismantle buildings for recycling.]
"Doesn't matter, right? No tenants coming anyway."
[You're the manager here. Show some love for the facilities. Doesn't the idea of preserving them intact appeal at all?]
"I'm an efficiency-first guy."
[Even that's inefficient. Dismantling existing structures won't yield much usable material.]
Chatting with her as we toured felt just like a CEO patrolling a construction site with the factory chief. Hell, it pretty much was.
[We scrapped it in planning, but I did consider using infected tissues as raw material.]
"Good call. I'd have shredded the proposal on sight."
[Knew you would. Even so, we'd limit it to bones or certain shells—they're quite useful.]
"No way! Just the thought of their remnants near me gives me the creeps."
[As you wish. Everything but research samples has been incinerated.]
In a game or movie, this'd be prime setup for an "escape incident" kicking off a sequel.
"You're managing security so nothing breaks out, right? I want zero repeats."
[Who do you think you're talking to? No need to worry.]
Her tone brimmed with certainty. No dozing off and missing a critical system fault—not for her.
The entrance area was chaotic frenzy; deeper inside, things had already transformed. We reached the first production line, where I picked up a piping-hot fresh product: a thick pipe about arm-length, loaded with a projectile. Compressed gas cylinder, trigger—flawless. Overall, it resembled a crossbow.
"Well, well? You bitched about me smuggling weapons, but here you are cranking them out."
It was a homemade firearm. Impressively precise, cleanly painted—no rough edges typical of DIY guns.
[I don't expect more threats, but we must prepare for contingencies. What if something tunnels in?]
No cops to confiscate illegal arms these days, and weapons sure beat the alternative in this era.
It was hefty. Compared to my old service rifle, at least 6kg.
[Don't fire it. You'd punch through the walls.]
The projectile was a near-40cm spike, paired with an industrial gas cylinder for concrete-busting. Dead-on, it'd shatter a Lugnut's skull in one hit.
"This design means short range, though."
Marksmanship 101: keep distance, especially from infected horrors.
[No issue. These are for the guard bots.]
"Oh! And that one..."
I set down the gun, spotting the next.
"Can't talk homemade weapons without this classic."
A flamethrower. Low build complexity, devastating power.
Far superior to the techs' desperate last-stand kludges.
Heavier than the gas gun, but it was point-and-shoot anyway—not my burden.
[Flames for commons, projectiles for heavies—that's the baseline. We'll develop stronger ones later. This secures our defense for now.]
Next stop: stacks of conveyor belts for factory lines.
[Lift production facility.]
"Lifts?"
[Yes. Like ski lifts hauling people uphill. These will carry my hands.]
A hologram appeared: elongated mechanical arms and hands on rails.
[One realization from our journey: hands and feet are excellent tools. You have them; I don't.]
I glanced at mine.
"True. Saw plenty of guys back in service lose a limb and suffer through adaptation."
The state provided prosthetics for disabled vets, but nothing beat the real thing.
[I can manifest anywhere—no feet needed. But I require hands to enact my will. Hence, lift rails across Shelter ceilings.]
Long cranes and mech arms waited nearby, rail-ready.
[Rails everywhere means I can reach anywhere. A goddess who only talks? No one fears that.]
Our final stop was obvious at a glance.
[This is why I requested your visit.]
"Whoa."
I gawked at the sight. Wrecked drones and robots from battles— all relocated here. Many under repair; others built from scratch.
"Not just repairs—full production too?"
[Correct. Limited output, but necessary. No residents means dire labor shortage. We need more workers.]
Felt like a robot expo.
[Parts shortage is the issue. Remember I mentioned recycling infected bones?]
"And I said hell no."
[Of course. They'd end up here—grotesque results, but efficient. I opposed it too; undignified.]
I pictured guard bots pieced from infected bones. Terror factor: maxed. Kinda solid idea... but nah, corpses were off-limits.
[Your face says you were tempted.]
Busted.
[Men's tastes: I get it, yet don't.]
After touring a few more spots, we took a break in the central control room. Sipping coffee while monitors showed the factory humming—it was surprisingly uplifting. Evoked pre-outbreak days of vibrant energy... but hotter now, sans humans.
Slurp.
"Touring like this really pumps me up."
[Come anytime. A manager's oversight is always beneficial.]
"Doubt I'm helping much."
Everything ran on precise machinery; best I didn't meddle.
[You do. My core has feedback systems—like human instincts. Your visits stimulate them.]
Systems aiding top-tier AI focus.
[Includes a craving for human supervision. Not pleasure... something thornier.]
"Like what?"
[Pride.]
One word, laced with faint embarrassment.
[My creators desired humanity's prosperity.]
"That's noble."
[Not denying it.]
We chatted idly after. Her awakening in the lab. Trials en route here. Initial placement tales. Outbreak bewilderment. Grinding for solutions. Racing roads with vehicle swarms. Thrill of hosing acid and blasting air to purge infected. Future hopes.
Artemis was surprisingly chatty.