MetaCraft Cybernetics (3)
Even in an apocalyptic disaster with the facility locked down under emergency protocols, we had to keep tabs on the outside world. Completely cutting off external awareness in a sealed city was a dangerous move. Relying on national or other corporate satellites wasn't ideal, so the Shelter launched its own low-Earth orbit satellites. They weren't meant for nationwide coverage—just reliability, long lifespan, and quick response times. The trade-offs were limited range and satellite imagery that could only pick out large-scale features like terrain, buildings, and weather in restricted areas. Drones handled the fine details to compensate.
We touched down at the target site, and a barren expanse unfolded—no blade of grass in sight. The area was wide open, no obstructing vegetation, just uniform yellowish-brown earth.
"Entering the premises."
The uphill road to the lab's main gate was littered with abandoned buses and trucks—mostly civilian transport, but the occasional military truck too. K-511s, the old rustbuckets nicknamed "Two-and-a-Half Tons." Retired from active duty but handed down to reserve units, still kicking around.
"Commence search."
The robot squad members, backpacks swapped for spare rifles, fanned out one by one to check the vehicles. They cleared any potentially dormant infected while scavenging anything useful. Securing the retreat path was priority one in every op—no one wanted infected grabbing their ankles from behind during a hasty bug-out.
Bang!
Total shots to the head unless it was fully skeletonized—that was the engagement rule for this mission. Isolated spot, low headcount lab made it feasible.
Another shot. This one from behind a Two-and-a-Half.
We passed shattered pavement and reached the target facility's gate: a bald hill rising from the wasteland, lab building at its heart. The massive iron gate—typical of military bases—was half-open. Solid plate below, bars above, pocked with countless bullet holes. Inside was chaos: three piles of sandbags stacked to a grown man's chest height, one crusted with dried blood. Right beside it on the road, a severed arm—rotted to bone, clutching a mangled K2 rifle in its grip.
Soldier corpses everywhere, casualties of battle. Decay had finished them off, but uniforms, helmets, and gas masks hid most of the bones. Felt almost recent.
> Jinsu, gas mask.
Dried blood, crumbled bricks and concrete, abandoned vehicles, weathered bones all mixed together. The stench of the battlefield. Unpleasant no matter how many times you smelled it.
> Jinsu, put it on already.
At Artemis's urging, I pulled out my gas mask and donned it. Inhaled deep, then plugged the filter and tried again. Gasp. Air cut off—check.
> You were supposed to put it on the second you stepped out. Don't scare me like that.
"Sorry."
I apologized to Artemis and scanned ahead. The soldier slumped against the sandbags was headless. One had been running, back ripped open vertically—spinal fragments shattered and scattered. Chilling.
A bunch of large and small buildings dotted the area, but those were just for managing personnel and resources. The real research facility was underground. We used abandoned containers and vehicles for cover, pushing toward the underground lab entrance.
> One on the 3rd-floor outdoor stairs railing. One at the rooftop edge.
Artemis, aggregating all visual feeds, sent recon data. Wind-worn, desiccated infected stood blankly at those spots—clothes shredded, skin cracked and peeling.
A quick hand signal, and two shots rang out simultaneously. The rooftop one’s head exploded, collapsing in place. The railing one moved at the last second, taking it in the shoulder. The shooter held aim for follow-up. It lost balance, tumbled sideways, and fell—the rifle tracking its arc.
Thud! It hit skull-first, neck snapped back, spine folding unnaturally. Then limp as a cut puppet.
More corpses along the path—mostly fully decayed, some half-mummified. Per protocol, robots confirmation-shot anything not fully skeletalized.
"Keeeh—!"
As two heads burst between them, another infected lurched up.
Bang! It crumpled mid-rise, brains spraying spectacularly from the back of its skull.
Finally past a big bus, the underground lab entrance appeared.
"Guweeeh—"
"Krrk krrk—"
At least twenty corpses piled in hellish disarray. They'd tried to flee inside but died in despair at the threshold. Even more infected shambling around—maybe thirty. Lab-coated scientists, workers in overalls, reservists in uniform, even one in rubber boots and apron, probably a cook or janitor lady who'd bolted here mid-shift.
Most dormant till the shots woke 'em—stumbling confused. Better they rouse like this than crawl out mid-crisis.
Hand signal: Per training, a few on watch, the rest spread wide for volley fire. Cover behind cars, under cars, sandbags, walls, trash bins—diverse positions. My PDA showed targeting locks: one per infected.
"Fire."
BOOM!!! Nearly thirty rifles, but synced perfectly—thunder rolled just twice. Massive.
Thuds! Infected dropped brains leaking everywhere; survivors eaten by the second salvo.
"Clear the bodies."
Robots were quick and efficient—no respect for the dead. They grabbed limbs, even necks, hurling corpses aside.
One caught my eye: a woman's skeleton. How'd I know female? Tiny fetal bones at the pelvis.
"Damn."
> Tragic.
Not even properly formed—more beast than human fetus.
The robot approached the pregnant skeleton in front of me.
"Wait..."
It paused, looking at me.
"No, keep going."
For a split second, I didn't know why I'd hesitated. Special because it was a pregnant skeleton? Can't toss it like the rest? Confirmation kills were fine, but this one needed gentle handling?
Tap tap. I flicked my forehead to snap out of it. This was a battlefield—sentimental bullshit could turn deadly.
A sturdy iron door ahead. Left: access biometric scanner. Upper right: surveillance camera. Auto-door crusted with dried blood and nail fragments glued by it.
I stepped up; camera swiveled. Power was live—but didn't guarantee survivors. High-priority national labs had backup generators by design. Without maintenance, it'd fail eventually, but hold out long.
Authentication complete. Welcome, Commander Seo Jinsu.
A pre-recorded female voice announced it; locks disengaged, door slid open.
Inside hadn't escaped the carnage—entry hall straight corridor scarred with bullet marks and casings.
The underground lab resembled a department store atrium. Wide central space we entered, flanked by 1st- and 2nd-floor corridors lined with labs at intervals. Corridor walls were transparent glass for viewing insides. Stairs at each end connected 2nd-floor corridors to the hall. One research wing like this, repeating onward. Each section linked by ~40m dark tunnels.
"Too dark."
Power on, but emergency lights only—fire-guidance mode for essentials.
Half the squad on guard, half scavenging soldier gear.
My arm-mounted PDA pinged with loot info like popups. Reserve defense force gear—nothing exciting. Obsolete active-duty castoffs or stuff we already produced at the Shelter. Still better than nothing. Outdated made fine research samples for Artemis.
> Jinsu, check the body 3 meters right.
Said spot: soldier bisected at the waist, sprawled. Military PDA on his arm. I plugged in my cable; it powered up briefly, grabbing the last voice log.
"Underground entrance was sealed... but defense failed?"
> Sealed after infected breached, or infection already inside.
I eyed the path ahead while listening.
> Search complete.
One squad leader reported after sweeping the hall and 2nd-floor labs. Nothing worthwhile. This was just the first research wing. Plenty more waited in the darkness beyond.
"Press on."
The fearless steel soldiers formed up and marched into the shadows.