Rescue Operation (6)
As the armed robots poured into the prison, every woman's gaze snapped toward them in unison. Their dazed expressions suggested they hadn't yet grasped what was happening with this sudden intrusion.
Passing through the main gate revealed a massive exercise yard doubling as a walkway. It had been left utterly untended, overrun with weeds sprouting everywhere. On the perimeter benches lay women in utter exhaustion, while others squatted in clumps of grass, plucking at something—probably wild herbs like mugwort? Towering concrete walls at least ten meters high blocked any view of the sea. Ahead stood the squat administrative building, flanked by the cell blocks on either side. There was also what looked like a chapel or auditorium for services, and structures for forced labor. Beyond wide-open doors, machine tools and stacks of lumber filled the space, but it was all shrouded in eerie silence—no bustle, just dead quiet.
That silence shattered seconds later.
"Kyaaack!"
Screams erupted from all directions as the women fled in panic. They all looked starved, some nearly naked. More than a few ran barefoot—their clothes and shoes no doubt stolen by the stronger inmates.
Both are on the third floor, but that building's occupied by other gangs.
Warden Seyoung's words matched the blueprints I'd found at the port management office. The rescue team headed straight for the admin building.
The top priority is securing the criminals' personal records.
This had been on my mind from the planning stage. Age, physical traits, prior occupation, criminal history, behavior in prison—these were essential. Knowing them upfront let us preempt risks when integrating them, manage factions effectively, and assign skilled ones to fitting roles. Same went for the guards' personnel files, which should be in the warden's office.
> Heading to the records storage room.
The guard bots from Charlie Squad thundered down the left corridor. Their heavy machinery rumbled loudly, drawing reactions from everywhere—women peeking out from office doors, wondering what the hell was going on.
"Monsters!"
"Shut the door! What are you doing?!"
They slammed doors amid screams. Some, hearing only the cries, mistook it for a rival gang attack and charged out with clubs.
"Sh-shit! What the fuck is that?!"
They turned tail at full speed. With our menacing faces, bulky frames, guns, and fire axes, we didn't exactly scream "rescue team."
Finally reaching the third floor, the warden's office loomed first. Two women in prison jumpsuits guarded it, baseball bats in hand.
> Stand aside.
One bolted down a side corridor before the words finished, but the other froze.
"Wh-what... uh."
Her face and stammer screamed confusion and terror, not bravery. The emotionless robot didn't pause to parse it.
Crack!
It gripped the middle of her bat, wood splintering as it snapped in two.
> Stand aside.
She stared at the steel hand caked in splinters, trembling too hard to move.
Grab. Whoosh!
"Eek!"
The bot shoved her roughly; she flew airborne, tumbling down the hall.
Bursting into the warden's office, ten eyes locked on us and froze.
"Who the hell do you think you are, barging in... wha...?"
The lackey's reflexive shout trailed off. The tough-looking woman in the warden's chair went rigid. Probably this gang's boss. At least 180 cm tall, solidly muscled, sharp eyes. Startled by the armed bots but not scared. South American blood, maybe? Just a thin white tank top clung to her, massive breasts and nipples starkly visible.
"We are the rescue team."
"Rescue team? That was real!?"
"For smooth rescue operations, we request your cooperation. Vacate the premises. All personnel, exit this room immediately."
Despite Rose's demand, the boss didn't budge for some reason. Alpha Squad Leader, versed from the bat-wielder, skipped persuasion and seized her arm. She strained to pull free, veins bulging on her trained limbs, but it held fast. Her bulk sailed out the door.
The women, mouths agape ready to scream, gawked as their boss flew past into the hall.
"Kyaaak!"
Predictable. They screamed and scattered.
Clunk! The door shut, two guard bots armed with riot shotguns and fire axes posted outside. Peering eyes from opening office doors dotted the corridor—almost cute, like hide-and-seek. But remembering each was a heavy criminal put it in perspective.
Seyoung remarked with an admiring expression, "Efficient work, clean and decisive."
"We do not request; we command. They must comply immediately, or face response."
"These prisoners need that level of control to stay in line. Especially in a closed city—order is paramount."
Seyoung nodded in agreement.
"Their criminal status justifies stricter control, but that's not all. They will soon be our residents—but as sojourners, not full citizens. They contribute nothing technically or financially to the city's construction. This applies to the guards as well."
Seyoung's expression shifted slightly, like she'd spotted a mutual misunderstanding.
"One moment, please. Our guards are innocent civilians. We truly appreciate your aid. But 'commands and obedience' feels a bit harsh."
I got it. Saving their lives was one thing; submitting to control was another. No one bends the knee easily.
"You owe us a debt; we owe you none. We are protectors and providers. You are beneficiaries. Even lifelong labor won't cover the inflated entry costs for this world. If you disagree, you're free to stay. This is approved by the Manager."
[...]
Seyoung's face hardened, but she stayed composed. Her knack for safeguarding interests without offending was impressive.
"I'd like to discuss with my fellow guards."
Perfect—if she mediated calmly like this.
"Very well. Take your time discussing. Note, however: once you accept, there's no turning back. And if you choose to stay but change your mind, we won't return. This is your last chance for a safe city. Choose wisely."
Seyoung gave a curt nod and stepped out.
"Prison operation logs and all guard personnel files acquired. Transmitting to Central Control."
A flood of files hit my PDA with a ding. Adjusting it brought up detailed profiles: photos, evaluations, peer reviews. Scrolling revealed Warden Lee Seyoung's file. A fresh-faced photo from her commissioning, neat uniform. Stellar performance scores, glowing peer feedback. Even her high school records were attached—no flaws. Class president all three years.
"Exhibits strong leadership, fulfills class president duties responsibly, earns respect from peers. Excels in all areas, serving as a model. Last year's bullied student integrated smoothly this year, largely due to Seyoung's efforts. Overly responsible and mature for her age—somewhat pitiable."
I was impressed throughout. "With this, she could handle mid-level management for the new residents right away?"
Criminals were out of the question from the start; senior guards' profiles didn't yield anyone standout. I skimmed prisoner files next—focusing on top-tier special management cases, too many to review fully.
The nagging dilemma from relocation planning reared up: Take them all? Or leave the worst offenders?
Top profiles rarely had single crimes—most were twisted combos yielding insane synergy, the kind you wouldn't want next door. Strict control could manage them fine. No human rights groups or government oversight here—a salt round to the face for rebellion. Cameras, vehicles, drones everywhere; oxygen control if needed. Or just abandon the bad ones. Pure city interest? That's optimal. Leave 'em.
But the left-behind die. Starvation, 100%. I'd be signing hundreds of death warrants with my own hand.
Did the current crisis justify blanket execution for those not guilty of capital crimes? Movies, games, novels made it easy—scarcity of food, water, safety. But I lacked none, so it gnawed deeper. Or was I just playacting virtue? Shielding myself with abundance to pose as the good guy while taking in monsters?
Questions chained endlessly.