MetaCraft Cybernetics (1)
Accessing the emergency assembly network let me pull up at least a basic rundown on any registered facility. MetaCraft Cybernetics—this place was a defense contractor specializing in virtual reality tech. But it all started with pornography.
The parent company, Tamco, ran Korea's top adult webtoon and webnovel platform. As the tech advanced, they wanted to port it all into VR. If they pulled it off, they could've built an empire using their massive library of adult content. VR porn goes without saying, but linking directly to the human brain for hyper-real experiences in virtual spaces? Just imagining it was mind-blowing. No more settling for images or text—you'd step in as the protagonist, feeling every touch, every bit of warmth, even full-blown orgasms, all as real as life.
Of course, that's easier said than done. Current tech could handle basic VR, but full-on Matrix-level brain immersion? We were barely scratching the surface. Still, science has a way of dropping unexpected windfalls when you least expect it. Plenty of Nobel winners struck gold that way. Tamco's VR research dragged on without much progress, but along the way, they stumbled on some killer side tech. That's what spawned MetaCraft Cybernetics—a dedicated outfit to chase it down. The original metaverse crew was still on board, but the real funding came from the Ministry of National Defense. As a defense firm, it screamed military applications ripe for army brass to salivate over.
So you're heading there?
"It's just 3 km away, plunked down in the middle of open fields on the city outskirts. The interior's a mystery, but the perimeter should be damn near infected-free."
We have no idea what's inside.
"Position succession logs peg it as a high-priority site. Defense commander was a reserve major general. Not some low-rent tech lab."
The wartime reserve mobilization system treats North Korea as the primary threat. So whatever's in there packs serious military value—and sure as hell can't fall into their hands.
"It's close, wide-open surroundings. Too juicy to leave on the table, right?"
On the map, it was practically next door to the Shelter.
Even if we spark a fight with vehicles, no infected horde from afar. Easy escape if needed.
"Even if the tech's a bust, it's a military-research outpost. Gear from soldiers and eggheads? Prime salvage."
Not like the handful of port grunts from the offshore prison op. This was a general's watch, reserves or not. Reverse-engineer some research or mil-spec kit, and we'd hit the jackpot.
Op plan?
"Way simpler than the prison rescue. Launch drones for perimeter sweep, roll in by vehicle, breach the research site. Grab what we need and bounce."
......
That silent pressure screamed that's it? Fair enough—even I heard the vacation vibes in my pitch.
"No hostages to save, no stealth required. Mow down anything that moves, snag the goods. Site size suggests light garrison, probably thinned out from reserve skirmishes anyway."
Compared to my active-duty ops with their tangled ROEs, this was attacker heaven.
"No booby traps or bombs from infected—civvies or kids as shields? Nah. They won't torch secrets if they spot me. Infected are dangerous, no doubt, but outside combat? Zero wild cards."
A cakewalk next to old missions.
"Primary target: research data and tech. But if shit hits the fan, rip out equipment too. Prep a truck with cargo space."
Got it. I'll tune it up fresh off the line.
Next up: Rose.
"No issues, sir."
Rose greeted me in her android body, crisp suit as always. She briefed me on security while I was out leading the troops.
"Barring a few early hiccups post-arrival, everyone's been more compliant than expected."
Reasons for the inmates' good behavior? Plenty. Guaranteed safety, food, shelter, medical—preaching that was pointless. But a few extras sealed it.
First: the women who'd gotten wrecked in the ferry sinking's aftermath, courtesy of that crab-beast Leviathan. Rose said they'd blabbed to their buddies, trembling, each tale ballooning with their terror. Punching ferries to shreds? God knows how they amped that up. But the more they feared the outside, the tighter our grip.
Second: the guard squad's brutal crackdowns, capped by meal restrictions as object lessons.
Third: our announcement.
Soon, aptitude tests for all residents. Compliance with city rules and demonstrated skills will determine job assignments. Criminal history ignored. Excel, and even ex-cons could join the security force.
Can't fake talent overnight, but model behavior? Easy. Everyone craved cushy gigs. Some standout physical specimens dreamed of security elite status. Others policed their own for brownie points. Spotting platoons marching to chow in perfect formation? Had me chuckling.
Chloro's turn.
Welcome, Manager!
She hologrammed in at the new weapons plant's test range. Swamped with incoming laborers, gun/ammo production, prototype drones, vehicle repairs—she was everywhere at once. No way she could babysit in android skin.
Disappointing, but duty calls. Besides, hordes of workers invading my domain? I'm thrilled! Hot shops, steam rising off their skin. No guys around, so someone'll strip off her top to wipe sweat, collarbones glistening, tits bouncing with every heave, sweat flying.
Sounds like a show I'd pay for.
End of shift? Gloves, socks, clothes soaked in sweat. I'll wash 'em spotless for them. Aaah, heaven.
Chloro beamed like a kid with a new puppy. Not far off, in a way.
Oh! Sorry, rambling. Let me show you.
"No worries. I get how pumped you are."
Thank you, Manager. Right this way.
Chloro signaled, and a wall panel slid open. Six guard bots marched in, all packing K2 rifles. Tweaks caught my eye.
First: charging handle upgraded to tougher alloy. Humans snapped 'em daily; robot steel claws demanded it.
Second: stock top/bottom reinforced with alloy. Buttstroke power juiced for CQC.
Third: new selector, thumb-flip modes mid-aim. Bots' longer thumbs made it a quick fix.
Shared sight cams for aimed fire were already standard.
"Two rifles each?" Besides the one in hand, another slung on back.
For jams, overheat, breakage, or lost guns in melee—instant swaps.
Weight's a bitch, but solid insurance.
Live-fire next. Results? Impressive. 5.56 NATO cracks echoed. Semiauto aimed fire, muzzles rock-steady. Targets: single head holes. First round punched, rest threaded in. Holes widened from drift, but still...
And trigger discipline? Tight bursts despite single shots.
"Full auto."
Command received.
Bots chorused, unleashing hell. Head holes ballooned from spread but stayed on target.
Click-clack.
Reload.
Mag swaps under a second. Eerily precise fingers—Artemis's touch.
"Her work, right?"
Yes. The 7th out of the 13 reload routines she sent. The others had notable failure rates, but this one completes in 0.8 seconds 93% of the time, or 1.2 seconds on failure.
"Impressive."
Maneuvering fire blew my mind. Not army plod-and-shoot—full sprint, diagonal dashes, semiauto snaps drilling chest/heads. Programming compensated perfectly for motion shake.
Want a turn, Manager?
"Hell yeah. Gotta check if I'm rusty."
Rusty or not, I wouldn't outshoot bots.
Combat trooper! Alpha 5!
A bot snapped to attention, handing over the rifle.
"Programmed for everything, huh."
Snorted, then squeezed off rounds. Bang-bang-bang!
"Ah."
Ahaha.
Zero first. Gotta dial it in.