MetaCraft Cybernetics (7)
Sunken deep into the chair, the general's skeletal remains stared down at the floor.
"A commander who'd lost all his men."
I'd led troops myself back in my active duty days, and I'd lost subordinates I'd shared meals with and gotten to know. The rage, sorrow, and terror I'd felt then. They weren't close buddies, so those emotions never quite invaded my daily life, but in terms of raw intensity, no memory cut deeper. What if it'd been comrades I was tight with? What if losing men piled up over and over, soaking into your soul like a steady drizzle until the losses stacked up layer by layer?
The CCTV feed showed security robots sweeping Building 5 in pairs.
"Makes you really appreciate rolling with robots like this."
Of course. Stronger and more efficient than any human army.
"That's part of it, but not what I meant."
A few dozen meters from the disaster control room lay a pile of damaged robots—casualties from the fierce fight. We'd haul them back to the Shelter for repairs once the op wrapped. Worst case, dismantle them for parts.
"In a world this dangerous, on missions this risky, you don't get that gut-wrench of heartache when you lose troops."
I picked up the fallen pistol.
The PDA chimed with a pickup alert. Normally, I'd frisk the general's corpse for a security card or something, but no need. As reserve commander, I'd seized full base control authority—and handed it off to Artemis.
"Show me feeds from all sectors. Infected all cleared?"
Artemis expanded one feed across the segmented CCTV monitors. A few infected in hard hats and work clothes shuffled through what looked like a sewer.
They're there, but no need to worry. Trapped in the reservoir below. Leave 'em.
I considered sending a squad to mop them up but let it slide. No point stirring shit and risking complications.
"Flip on the underground lab lights and crank the HVAC to full. Air's half-rotten in here, thick with gunsmoke."
Got it.
The CCTV monitors flickered white in unison, then cleared. With the brighter lights, fresh details emerged—traces of the infection's immediate aftermath. Blood-smeared handprints clawed deep into the glass lab walls caught my eye.
Replaying the infection-era footage was pure hellscape. Soldiers executing bound test subjects on lab tables got swarmed from both flanks, dying in the chaos. A trooper blasting hyper-fast variant infected accidentally shredded his own squad. Another huddled low, clutching his head, only to get dragged in with one arm flailing amid the horde before vanishing. One stared in disbelief at a claw bursting from his back through his chest, then puked blood. Researchers fled tangled with infected, collapsing into bloody sieves. By then, the few surviving soldiers weren't even distinguishing monsters from friendlies anymore.
One researcher tried hanging himself with improvised cord in a corner lab. The anchor snapped; he failed, collapsed choking—then got spotted. As he desperately retied it to the ceiling, the door splintered, infected dragged him screaming into the dark. Brutal.
Sector secured. No biological responses detected. Area is safe.
The report came in from the squad sweeping Building 5.
"Good. Moving out."
I grabbed my rifle and headed for the final lab building. Time to claim the real prize that brought us here.
A makeshift checkpoint like you'd see in the army guarded the tunnel's end—probably placed mid-disaster room to double security.
Stepping into Building 5, the sight left me stunned.
"No wonder they sealed this tight."
Less a research wing, more a mass surgery ward.
Artemis nailed it. This last bastion, Building 5, screamed field hospital more than lab. Surgical tables everywhere, scattered tools and restraints hinting at non-consensual procedures. Cables snaked from each table, crusted with dried blood, converging at a massive machine in the center.
"This the neural acceleration rig?"
Precisely, a prototype full-dive VR rig. Not indirect sims like standard VR—this transfers the human mind wholesale into virtual space.
Nothing like I'd pictured. I'd imagined a hulking computer or MRI scanner. My imagination fell short.
"That's a goddamn brain."
Spot on. A massive glass tank big enough for an adult elephant loomed before me, filled about thirty percent with... a brain. Cables from the tables plunged inside, linking to a long dangling bundle of spinal nerves at its base. Fusing organic tissue to inorganic cable. Marvel at the tech? Or recoil in horror? If the test subjects were still strung up, it'd be even more grotesque.
While I circled the colossal brain, Artemis absorbed every scrap of data from the wing.
Checked the logs. Early work mirrored The Matrix—linking human brains to computers. Utterly mundane concept, nothing special.
"Results?"
Total failure. Simple idea, insanely complex execution. Merging organic human minds with machines? Easy to say, sci-fi movie stuff. At least with current tech.
Fair point. Androids. Sentient AI. Commercial fusion power. We'd achieved tech our parents' generation dismissed as impossible—but not everything. The biggest wall? Ourselves. Tech rocketed ahead, but humans still commanded it analog-style. Tons of research to bridge that, zero breakthroughs. The organic-mechanical gap was just too vast.
So they pivoted: 'If organic-machine fusion's impossible, what about organic-organic? With another neural-net bio-computer, like a brain.'
"How'd they make that?"
Shape and size bore zero resemblance to a human brain.
Made elsewhere, shipped here. Origin scrubbed from records—untraceable. Intriguing, even for me.
"Still alive?"
The giant brain floated in bubbling nutrient fluid; looked intact enough.
No. Shut down two days post-outbreak. Biologically dead. Requires meticulous maintenance.
"Tough to yank and take, huh?"
Huge research value. Artemis might salvage something from it.
No need. Too big to move, internals rotted anyway. Got all the neural accel data—mission success.
We'd secured every neural acceleration file from the linked computers. Tech was complete pre-outbreak; post-outbreak focused on faster reactions and easing neural strain.
That's it—head home. We nailed it.
I nodded. "Pulling out."
Elation from wrapping my first foray outside. Thrill of heading home. And one more thing—anticipation made my heart race.
Those variant infected's insane speed. We'd snagged the breakthrough tech behind it. For any soldier, implants boosting combat power and survival were the holy grail—prohibitively expensive, reserved for the rich like my general's-kid buddy. Starting service augmented while you're baseline? Brutal disadvantage in promotions, beyond effort or talent.
Army and promotions meaningless now, but I'd finally grasped the super-soldier mods I'd always craved. Felt like a kid unwrapping that long-dreamed toy.
Crash! I smashed the tank, torched the crumbling brain clean, and called the op done.