Chapter 30
Rose greeted me with a platoon-sized unit of guard robots. "Welcome. We have been waiting." No senior sergeant needed to bark "Unit, attention!" for the commander’s arrival. They were machines, after all. They'd been standing at rigid attention for hours before I even showed up.
As I'd mentioned before, the guard robots had menacing facial designs to boost riot suppression efficiency. Sunken eye sockets with exaggerated dead-fish stares. Wide gashes for mouths lined with jagged teeth. Fingers like steel hooks. With a whole squad of them staring me down, any sense of security was overshadowed by a creeping unease.
"They still don't sit right with you, do they, Manager?"
"Can you blame me? With faces like that? Plus, one's tried to kill me before. Whatever, water under the bridge. We use what we've got."
"Allow me to introduce them formally. The new guard unit."
At Rose's cue, the guard robots snapped into present-arms position in unison. In their hands: the gas-powered piercing launchers I'd seen at the factory recently. Weapons that fired massive steel spears with high-pressure gas. The hefty 6kg-plus guns looked right at home gripped by the blocky robots. Some even hefted flamethrowers that would've taken two men to carry.
Way more reassuring than shotguns lobbing salt rounds, that was for sure.
"The robot model is Surveillance Type 4, commonly known as the Insomniac series."
"Insomniac? Not Immortal?"
I'd heard her right.
"Correct. 'The Undormant One'—a pioneer product in unmanned security, marketed to emphasize its edge over human guards."
Straightforward enough.
"But the numbers seem low. Even if they're tough, a single platoon to cover this whole area?"
"It's sufficient. Our mission now is solely your protection, Manager. And with the outermost entrance sealed, it's a moot point anyway."
Unless Artemis's hypothetical "burrowing infected" scenario played out, there'd be no more threats.
"Any other peculiarities?"
"None. Today marks the completion of the minimum guard unit for duty. We'll conduct further inspections with reinforcements or resupplies."
I could've dismissed them right there, but something nagged at me.
"One thing I'm curious about."
"Please speak."
"How've you been lately?"
"I don't understand the intent of the question."
"I'm asking how you feel."
"My feelings?"
"An AI built for a specific purpose, left adrift without it for too long. I've studied cases like that."
"...And how are you, Manager? Haven't you lost your purpose too?"
Rose flipped the question back—uncharacteristically.
"Me? I'm good. Situation aside, on the job front. Not many love their work, right? Here, with food, drinks, and fun all sorted, being manager ain't bad. Only real downside's the lack of people to chat with, but in this world, that's luxury enough."
Rose listened silently.
"Humans don't need purpose just to exist. Some live by a calling, sure. But focusing on life itself? That's fine too. You're different, though."
"As you say. I feel... lost. No residents to protect or guide. The city's empty. No one to train. Guard robots don't need drills—just updates. And only Artemis can program those. I feel hollow."
The classic sign in advanced AIs with self-awareness: purposelessness. But an easy fix—just give 'em work. In the old world, jobs never ran dry for top-tier AIs. Useless? List it for sale. Buyers swarmed. Chloro had factory ops and logistics locked down, plus new hobbies lately. Artemis ran the whole shelter, plotting the future with missionary zeal. But Rose? What was left for her?
What could I give her? A cool boss line would've been nice, but nothing came to mind. I was just an engineer, not a therapist.
Our awkward silence shattered thanks to four adorable furballs. The guard dogs, waiting in the adjacent block to avoid disrupting the review, came bounding over.
Woof! Woof!
"Look at these cuties!"
Clad in black K9 body armor, they halted in perfect formation—pure guard dog material. If you ignored the nonstop tail-wagging.
The apocalypse trauma had half-reformatted their training, it seemed.
"Artemis is handling these guys now, right?"
"Affirmative. She's overseeing them personally."
Her take: "The goddess needs hounds."
"Starting today, that's your job. Get the training protocols handed off."
"Me? Won't she get angry?"
Even Rose feared Artemis, reacting cautiously to the abrupt reassignment.
"Nah, I'll square it with her. They're your responsibility now. First up: train 'em not to wag during attention."
Stoic stance, stern face—but that frantic tail killed the dignity.
"Understood. I'll discipline them."
Rose replied politely. Turns out later, she had a real knack for it—better than Artemis, even.
A Lugnut skull sat in the lab, flesh stripped clean. It rivaled any dinosaur's in size.
Thwack!
A spear lanced clean through it from somewhere. Tracing it back: a guard robot aiming a gas launcher. Holding the 6kg rifle steady in standing position, barrel rock-solid. Just white smoke curling up.
"Experiment complete. Target hit. Penetration: 100%."
Manual's voice echoed through the lab.
Clunk!
The rifleman relaxed, turned to me, and presented arms.
"Stronger than I thought. And decent range too."
I watched from the second-floor observer booth, behind thick reinforced glass overlooking the range. The test: guard robots in combat with their new weapons. They'd been programmed no-fire beyond shields and batons originally, but Artemis unlocked it all. The bot down there matched the one that jumped me in the subway—all restrictions off. Slap on custom fire-control for improvised weapons, and boom: instant platoon of soldiers.
"Phase 2: Mass combat."
Manual announced.
The autodoor slid open. The rifleman from before reentered, now joined by a dark crimson-painted guard bot toting a matching flamethrower. Intimidating as hell.
"What's with the paint job?"
"Doesn't it look cool? Guards need presence. Intimidate foes, inspire allies."
"Infected aren't the type to notice."
They charged trucks head-on, after all. While we chatted, the flamethrower trooper took position. Targets dropped from ceiling rails: five thick wires dangling huge meat blobs. Living bullseyes.
"What're those?"
"Cultured meat from the vats. Made from near-expiry stock."
Fwoosh!
Wires zipped in fast, but the bot was faster. Incinerated them all in seconds. Smart too—ceased fire between targets to conserve fuel. Wires snapped, charred lumps plummeting.
Not ordinary flames, clearly.
"Phase 3: Low-mass swarm assault."
Ceiling panels popped open along the firing line. Ten small cargo drones buzzed in.
Whirr.
Straight at the flamethrower bot.
Fwoom!
Not one made contact. Solo tactical fire—weaved a perfect killzone, downed them all.
"Test complete."
"Kinda wasteful."
"We can print more. Combat data's the real win. Train one, share the proficiency across all."
Artemis sounded thrilled.
"You're weirdly hyped. Into military stuff?"
"The last crisis showed me how infuriating it is without physical power. Strength's a joy just to have."
Getting overrun scarred her deep. Same for me.
"Plus, your visit. As I said before, human oversight on projects gives me killer feedback."
Beep.
The screen split into a grid, each cell playing videos. Mostly YouTube "reaction" clips—folks watching games, movies, dramas, their faces and gasps on display. Over a hundred, all manner of expressions and gestures.
"I wrote off that voyeur stuff as human weirdness. Not anymore. Showing my work to someone? Pure satisfaction."
"Doubly so 'cause it's tied to power?"
"Exactly. Our city's got big plans ahead. For you too, so oversee well, Manager. You up for it?"
I flashed my employee badge at the ceiling cam.
"That's why I'm parked here. Just worried. Observation and eval? Fine. Reactions? Not my thing."
Her example reactors had infectious energy—faces and flails that'd hype anyone. Not my style.
"Silly."
Whirr.
A cable descended from the ceiling rail, ending in a massive pincer claw.
Pinch.
It nipped my ass—perfect pressure, no pain.
"Just watch. That's enough."
Artemis seemed delighted.