MetaCraft Cybernetics (2)
A yellow backdrop cradled a black pupil, silently gazing down at the earth. The eye, scanning the wasteland for prey, dilated and contracted like a camera lens.
That gaze fixed on a narrow two-lane road under surveillance. The fields flanking it had long been abandoned, dotted only with withered straw and sparse weeds. Yet even here, a small ecosystem persisted.
Suddenly, chaos erupted in one patch of field. Two rats were locked in a chase—both predator and prey were rats. The fleeing one was a scrawny field mouse; its pursuer was twice its size.
The gap closed rapidly until the gaping maw was about to snap shut—
Piiieeeek! A graceful cry pierced the air as a black shadow plummeted from the sky. The ruler of the heavens: a northern goshawk.
"Kreeeek!"
The raptor’s blade-like talons mercilessly tore into the monster rat’s head and chest, neutralizing its threatening jaws while striking vital points.
The field mouse escaped by the skin of its teeth, vanishing in an instant. The ambushed monster rat thrashed futilely before going still, unable to mount a counterattack.
The goshawk seemed well-practiced at hunting these aberrant rodents. Confirming its kill, it seized the corpse and soared back into the sky.
These peculiar rats had appeared after the world went mad. Their teeth were fearsome, but they were sluggish and packed with meat—prime prey for the goshawk, even its fledglings adored them.
One drone tracked the goshawk’s satisfied retreat. The 13th among dozens launched from the Shelter, it transmitted its observations back to base.
> Optimal conditions for departure.
Artemis announced.
Cross-verifying the drone feeds confirmed no external threats. Not just near the Shelter entrance, but along the route to the target—MetaCraft Cybernetics—and its surroundings, no Infected larger than a dog had been spotted. Both sites were built in remote areas from the start.
“Never thought I’d be opening this one voluntarily.”
I stood before the Shelter’s main exterior entrance. Unlike the back gate from the last rescue op, this was the front door—the one usually meant by “exterior access.” Its durability could withstand a military assault. Designed that way from the outset, prioritizing threats from the army.
The bigwigs who built this place considered all post-disaster external risks, with militaries topping the list. They might requisition it as a base, or warlords with guns and bombs could try seizing it once the state collapsed. It wasn’t even a secret—they advertised heavily to recruit residents and investors.
Of course, those elites wouldn’t tolerate that. Even in a city prepped for global catastrophe, they built a separate VIP zone apart from commoners. No way they’d hand their prize to bandits.
The result: the massive superalloy gate before me, the world’s sturdiest door, Guinness-certified. National Geographic even filmed it once.
Only the now-wiped-out 7th Mobile Corps could’ve breached it solo among Korean forces.
“Open it.”
Beep! Beep! Alarms blared, red lights flashing near the entrance.
Shelter exterior entrance opening.
The manual broadcast followed protocol.
Security and disaster response personnel, proceed to exterior entrance.
I handled both roles, though Artemis managed most duties.
Exterior entrance sentry gun offline.
Overhead, the sentry gun mount gaped empty—sent to the factory for 5.56mm live ammo refit.
The triple-reinforced doors rose. Each plate could shrug off tank rounds.
Grrrrroooaaar. The rumble was like thunder—not a sharp strike through storm clouds, but a beast growling from behind them.
“Blinding.”
I shielded my eyes as sunlight poured through the widening gap. The Shelter’s lights were ample, but the raw outdoor brilliance overwhelmed.
“Oh...”
Seconds later, my vision cleared to a barren wasteland: rocky hills, parched earth. So desolate, even the horizon stretched visibly—a rarity in Korea.
No cars marred the distant road.
Whoooosh— An outdoor breeze brushed past. I inhaled deeply; fresh air filled lungs accustomed to filtered underground sterility. Cooler than the constant climate inside, laced with soil and sea scents—the bouquet of life’s blessings.
I’d thought the underground my true home, but this stirred my chest.
“Smells great.”
Truth be told, the “sea scent” was rotting plankton and seaweed mingled with salt. Not romantic, but comforting—proof of life.
Huuuuh, haaaah. Eyes closed, arms wide to the wind, I wondered if the apocalypse was all a dream. Open them, and everyday normalcy might return.
Love the outside air that much? You’re like Andy Dufresne.
The Shawshank Redemption protagonist. Our first movie after Artemis arrived.
Know how many microbes are in that air you’re sucking down? Most of them bacteria?
Entrance cameras whirred, mimicking her glare.
My city’s air is tasteless, odorless—but that means pure and clean. Be grateful for the familiar.
Her tone carried a hint of pique.
“You’re right.”
No matter how safe, leaving the entrance open too long was unwise.
“Fresh air’s nice, but with the door ajar, it feels off. This is home, after all.”
Always a beat behind.
Her words softened despite the line.
Listening to her rundown on outdoor air hazards, I headed to the waiting vehicles.
Armored, black-painted, with tires that could defy an alligator’s jaws. Pre-outbreak security transport, rugged, reliable, powerful, spacious luxury. Developed for SWAT but so popular, civilian versions outsold—often better specced, as elites spared no expense.
I took shotgun in the middle vehicle of three. Glancing back, ten guard bots filled the troop bay, K2 rifles at rest, staring blankly ahead. Inhuman, but the epitome of squad discipline.
Vroom! Surprisingly quiet for its bulk, we rolled out.
Roads stayed empty for miles. No abandoned wrecks—folks had fled south with the government.
Vehicle monitors streamed drone feeds, watching routes and flanks. Barren expanses only—no humanoid Infected.
Mutated wildlife appeared sporadically, like the monster rats from the sewer reclamation op. Shockingly, raptors like goshawks hunted them—twice already on drone cam.
“Safe to eat?”
That’s no novice kill. And like the ocean, no infection traces in the skies.
A new feed played: a nest.
Shot 40 minutes ago.
Three fluffy goshawk chicks looked like white puffballs, but fierce eyes and black-tipped beaks screamed predator.
The adult expertly butchered the fresh kill—skinned, revealing ample meat. It tore bits for the young. A normal field mouse would’ve vanished quick; this monster rat fed them all multiple bites.
“Looks edible for real.”
Birds resistant to infection? Or fully mutated prey non-contagious? Data insufficient.
She lamented data shortages—not incompetence.
“Our city lacked materials and space for tests. Now with residents to protect...”
No one wanted reinfection.
Artemis studied Infected samples sans lab rats, under perfect quarantine—limits inevitable. Unknown pathogens spawned varied mutations, twisting hosts into monsters.
“Once fully mutated, infectivity fades, right?”
Hard to imagine otherwise. The goshawk family devouring the rat felt oddly satisfying—like solidarity with fellow Earth resisters. Mate joined, all tucking in.
Possible. Or humans uniquely vulnerable.
“Huh?”
Hypotheses abound for human intelligence: cooking. Fire freed energy from digestion/immunity for brains, making us dominant. Mitochondria first symbiosis; fire second.
Mitochondrial endosymbiosis: distinct cells merged, retaining genes for mutual benefit—energy powerhouse enabling complex life.
Means weaker immunity than wildlife. Most animals are predators and scavengers—devouring filthy rodents, bugs, tainted water, carrion. Tough, but often carriers. Survival first.
She paused.
Intelligent aliens building civilizations? Likely same immunity gap. Pathogen exploiting that: lethal to dominants, spares wild ecosystems?
Dirtier than dirty bombs.
Limited intel bred questions.
“What about the Shelter? Everything ambulatory turned monster. Ocean life, big rats—unexplained.”
Closed-loop city vs. open ecosystem. Spread rates differ wildly. Non-parallel. Other cases? Data too sparse.
She hesitated.
Stop making me say what I hate.
Forced “I don’t know”s irked her—not ignorance, but constraints.
Meat stripped, bones remained.
Hundreds of hypotheses possible. Useless without verification. Armchair sims.
Nearing target, I checked platoon status on my PDA. Same strength as last rescue: one platoon. But firepower leaped—standard rifles equipped.
We’re here. Speculation breeds questions. Focus on the mission.
A bald peak rose from empty plains: the lab. Vehicles halted; deep breath, gear check. Grip tightened on rifle heatsink.
My boot hit solid earth outside. First step since outbreak. First combat since reclamation.