Rescue Operation (4)
Echo Squad Leader's vacancy was automatically filled by Echo No. 2. The rescue team then thoroughly searched the office. This port maintained close ties with the Offshore Prison, supplying all sorts of materials and handling transport for both inmates and guards. It had provided resources and manpower not just for construction but for all subsequent expansions and maintenance. So, wouldn't there be at least one set of blueprints revealing the prison's internal layout? That logic led us straight there.
> Target blueprint discovered.
We found it surprisingly quickly. It was an outdated version from the repairs two years ago, but having it beat not having it by a mile. Knowing the Offshore Prison's exact internal structure would let us craft a far more effective entry plan.
Meanwhile, we'd gained access to the port control computer.
Accessing docking computer. Remote ferry docking release complete. Ship diagnostics.
Fuel Gauge:90%
Cargo Load:None
Under Rose's control, the ferry's basic info popped up. It was ready to sail without any prep work. Crunch! A section of the building on the first floor collapsed with a groan, and black smoke began seeping into the office. The blaze downstairs was already raging out of control.
"No time for the stairs. Escape through the windows."
Crash! Some squad members ripped out a window and hurled it outside. The open pier came into view, with a massive ferry docked at the end. As the rescue team evacuated swiftly, the port management office engulfed in flames loomed behind them. Were those discordant wails echoing from the inferno the dying cries of monsters?
The team's footsteps pounded across the pier, blending with the waves.
"Grrraaah..." One Infected flailed in the sea. Bloated like a drowned corpse after being submerged for ages, it lacked the strength to even crawl onto the pier. Its feeble death rattle was barely audible over the surf.
"Don't shoot. Conserve ammo on non-threats."
At my order, they ignored it and pressed on. Reaching the ferry, I relayed boarding instructions to the team.
"Riflemen, watch your fire inside the ship. Position to avoid critical components in your line of sight. Casualties are way lower than expected—increase close-quarters readiness by 20%."
The ferry's interior was a slaughterhouse of carnage. Bloodstains, dried bone shards, signs of fierce combat, and barricades everywhere.
"Kieeeek-!"
In a narrow corridor, Infected ambushed from a bend. The lead squad member smashed one's skull with his rifle butt. Thwack! It didn't explode, but the impact left it staggering. That brief window let the next squad member grab and toss it overboard. Splash!
"Kieeeek-!" Bang!
Alpha Squad Leader fired his gas gun at the head of an Infected charging in single file. Whoomph! One-shot double kill. The leader's head shattered; the follower lost 40% of its skull on the left and crumpled.
"Kieeeek-!"
Even after felling two, the steel spike's momentum drove it deep into the third's chest. Crunch! Stomping the neck of one trying to rise snapped its cervical vertebrae, halting it.
"Kieeeek-!"
The fourth charged head-on. Alpha yanked the spike from a corpse and uppercut upward. Splat! It pierced from jaw to crown, impaling the thing ceiling-ward, dangling limply.
Other squads shone too. A guard robot wielding fire axes in both hands was a whirlwind of blades, lopping off Infected limbs, arms, and heads like chicken on a butcher block.
"Impressive."
No matter how many times I watched via screen, their combat feats left me awestruck. Pinpoint shooting, seamless transitions to efficient unarmed or melee techniques. I'd encountered guard robots before, but never imagined this level of power.
International treaties strictly banned autonomous robots—ones thinking and acting without human input—for military use. They were mainly for prisons: 24/7 surveillance in undesirable, high-security gigs. Rarely deployed civilian-side. Humans were cheaper, and if a robot caused illegal acts or casualties, liability fell on the CEO. In a world where the masses' power waned, it was the final safeguard against the elite's machines oppressing humanity. Business lobbies pushed for repeal repeatedly, but it fell on deaf ears. Any politician riding that wave lost elections. Votes: humanity's last shield of dignity.
Thus, bipedal robots stagnated on combat software. But here was the singularity to elevate it.
I could've implemented even more perfect combat maneuvers, but the robot's actuators couldn't keep up. Downgrading top-tier software for hardware limits is agony.
Artemis had instantly perfected the stalled combat AI post-autonomous bipedal rollout.
"How many combat program updates so far?"
941 times. Including the one just now.
She'd even done real-time updates while supporting op command. The results? Beyond imagination, as I witnessed. Enough to supplant human armies several times over. Without Artemis, impossible.
Bridge secured.
Satellites unresponsive. Set manual route?
Artemis took over. Infiltrating the mainframe with Echo Squad's aid, she seized total control. The ferry's condition? Pretty rough.
"Can we even run this thing?"
Hydraulics I can handle real-time. Navigation computer's already fixed.
I clapped silently. Next: sweep for Infected. With so many survivors aboard, one hidden lurker could spark chaos. Cross-referencing manifests with kills, only a handful left.
Then, an unexpected haul.
"This is it!"
Charlie Squad Leader found a suicide corpse in the bathroom—a soldier in Republic of Korea Army fatigues. Both hands gripped something jammed in his mouth, filling the screen.
"Squad Leader, recover the weapon."
The guard robot lifted it: a K2 rifle, mag full. Old-issue standard, likely a reservist mobilized by emergency decree.
"Jackpot."
Charlie-3 stood ready, weapon in hand.
"Designate that weapon priority protection object from now on. Safeguard it through the mission."
My order uploaded to all teams.
Can't wait to scan and reverse-engineer it.
"How long to replicate?"
Reverse-engineering: 30 minutes. First production run: 8 hours.
Gas guns and flamethrowers were potent, but no match for a nation's standard-issue rifle. Now the Shelter could wield them. Unpleasant to dwell on, but in a firefight with inmates, a standard assault rifle beat a three-shot gas gun's overkill.
The sweep ended at dawn, but the haul was too massive for sleep.
Shall we shove off?
Engines roared to life, her will permeating every part: engine, propellers, hydraulics, coolers, stabilizers—all meshing perfectly. The ferry lurched forward slowly. Thud! Splash! Feeble Infected vanished in its wake. Vibrations shook pier cargo as it passed.
Target: Offshore Prison. Mission: Transport survivors. The massive vessel cleaved the sea, white foam trailing beneath glorious morning sun.