Women's Shelter Life (2)
Though confined solely to the containment zone, the women could sense that the city had entered a state of heightened alert. Especially those from the underworld— for them, sharp instincts were a lifeline, quick to pick up on even the subtlest shifts in the air. They'd seen what happened to those who missed the signs: a slap across the face, or worse.
[CLASSIFIED INFORMATION. Residents are advised to refrain from such inquiries. The city is safe. Please rest easy and soothe your weary bodies and minds. We welcome you.]
One curious woman had asked via the screen responder, but got nothing useful in return.
"That one's name is Rose, right?" asked another woman watching beside her.
"Not a person—a machine. More precisely, an AI."
Tinkering with the touch panel yielded nothing beyond what they already knew. Opportunities to communicate with the city's operators were extremely limited, and even those were mostly one-way, top-down directives. The central control AI called Artemis had only appeared briefly on the first day, issuing a simple warning about the city's status and key precautions. Her dignified speech left a strong impression despite its brevity.
'For efficient control, a minimum of one example is required.'
That "example" she mentioned—the warning of expulsion—had been seared into every woman's mind. In these times, banishment meant death.
The second was the security AI, Rose. Her voice was a frequent companion. She oversaw meals, baths, and other activities daily, enforcing control and issuing sanctions for any deviations.
> Entering the cafeteria. Maintain order.
When mealtime arrived, Rose's crisp voice echoed from speakers installed everywhere. The women lining up before the massive cafeteria wore expressions of eager anticipation. Meals were the highlight of prison life, after all—especially for those who'd been on the brink of starvation not long ago.
> You are being provided with meals containing all essential nutrients. This surpasses the quality of any correctional facility you may have experienced in the past—top-grade by any measure.
The food here outclassed anything from other prisons. But there were always complainers. Wielding the logic of "no one lives on rice alone," some demanded snacks—mostly from the old prison warden camp.
> Luxuries are just that here—luxuries. Craving sweets? Contribute to the community. Suitable tasks will soon be assigned to you.
Most exchanges followed the pattern of demand followed by denial, but sometimes physical restraint was applied. The first incident was the bathhouse crackdown.
Sexual crimes were inevitable in prisons, and same-sex acts weren't exclusive to men's facilities. This camp had two peculiarities. First, most residents had recently escaped life-threatening peril, triggering primal instincts for reproduction amid surging libidos. In the Offshore Prison, starvation and filth had suppressed it—no energy, bodies reeking of rot. But now, well-fed with no hard labor, vitality overflowed. The relief of safety, clean bodies and clothes—it unleashed pent-up desires.
Post-war, older female inmates had been pardoned or relocated south; the Offshore Prison held only women under 40. Surrounded by fresh, vibrant bodies, aggressors' blood boiled.
Second peculiarity: the world had utterly collapsed. In a intact society, women might handle it discreetly or endure. But release into a man's arms was now a pipe dream. "Society" meant this camp alone.
"This is basically life imprisonment, isn't it?" someone realized aloud. And it was.
Once that sank in, restraint crumbled. Women started groping neighbors—some consensual, others forcible. Prime hunting ground: the baths. Naked bodies, warm steam, easy cleanup after. No patrols there, either. They targeted the timid; resistance led to brawls. Rose always intervened.
> Physical and sexual violence is prohibited. It disrupts communal order and wastes medical resources.
Culprits were captured on-site, punished by severity.
> Toppling a brick pile is easy; rebuilding demands great effort. Rule-breakers pay a heavier price than the chaos they cause.
Rose's control was fair yet strict—a hallmark of AI.
What of the sole human, Seo Jinsu? On day three, he addressed them via all-channel broadcast.
Seo Jinsu: "Welcome to our city. This is Aegis Civilian Disaster City Model Type 1, abbreviated Shelter. We received Warden Lee Seyoung's rescue signal from the Offshore Prison and brought you here.
Like any society or prison you've known, rules must be followed here too. Some may be stricter than before—unlike open cities, one person's deviation can endanger us all.
For instance, lighting fires outside designated areas without permission brings heavy penalties. Unjustified labor refusal is the same—potentially expulsion.
Casual littering from your old life? Serious punishment here. All for eternal circulation!
You didn't sign contracts, but grasping our helping hand deems consent.
Your quality of life will sit between pre-infection civilians and inmates—superior to any current survivor group, guaranteed.
Dear residents: This place is safe. Food and water abound; no cold. Obey management, excel in production—we reward accordingly.
Soon, post-quarantine and admin prep, you'll leave this zone for better quarters.
Eventually, you'll stop worrying about nations or futures—that's our role. Yours: assigned tasks, rules, compliance. Stability and plenty will endure."
The city's sole official resident and highest authority. Intro screens touted his feats; footage of him battling evoked movie heroes. To the women, he felt unreal—too powerful, achievements too epic, creating distance. Like fiction.
His return from the first expedition changed that. Broadcast everywhere: combat scars, unloading spoils from vehicles. It stirred long-forgotten instincts etched in DNA—hunter's triumph, provisioning male. Simple, yet it grounded the manager's presence.
As they adapted to Shelter life, aptitude tests began to assign jobs.