Job Aptitude Test (3)
I took a bite of the inari sushi, and a salty yet luxurious flavor flooded my mouth. This special vinegar sauce developed by Artemis was incredible. Should I call it a sauce infused with "physical force"? Beyond just sweet or salty, it had this sensation like my tongue was pickling and shriveling in the vinegar. The moment the moist tofu pouch touched my tongue, it felt like thousands of tiny hands gripping my taste buds. And this wasn't just a metaphor—the secret was the nanobots in the sauce.
Sweet, salty, sour, bitter, umami, and even the spiciness tied to pain receptors. Add in texture, mouthfeel, and aroma. What we call "taste" has basically hit its limits. With cooking techniques and flavors pushed to a dead end, unable to evolve further, Artemis had a breakthrough idea. Relying solely on tongue movement, gravity, or osmosis was outdated, she said, so she added nanobots to the sauce. They deliver micro-physical and electrical stimuli directly to the taste buds. "Pressure is a flavor too," was her claim. Plus, they can control the chemical particles reaching the buds—better than just letting them seep in passively. Actively targeting every nook and cranny delivers way more intense stimulation. Nanobot sauce is a flavor revolution.
"It's damn delicious, but it's so expensive I feel guilty hogging it all to myself."
It's not just for taste. Think of it as part of a medical procedure.
These nanobots transform into their true role as medical bots once they pass through my esophagus. Their main function is scraping off fat and debris stuck in my guts—like tiny cleaning bots.
You're the only one eating anyway, so we've got more than enough. Don't worry—just chow down.
Fair enough. The VIPs who were supposed to live here all went to better places, so even these precious consumables are overflowing by my solo standards.
Right now, I was in the Central Control Room. I'd gotten hooked on eating while watching the residents' aptitude tests. Kinda like setting up dinner in front of a computer and munching while watching YouTube back in the day? A sort of observational reality show vibe.
On the massive screen straight ahead, the hands-on compliance evaluation was in full swing in the exam room. True to its name, it checks if team members obey city laws and how they handle spotting violations. It doesn't require skills or physical feats, so it's basically a written test—but one element makes it practical. They're not interested in the tip of the pen. The real goal is analyzing lip shapes, facial muscle twitches, complexion, voice tremors, and more. Sensors hooked up all over the body track pulse, heart rate, temperature, hormone shifts—nothing slips by.
"Girls, take the test seriously. We'll catch any bullshit."
What did you expect?
With answers that could change their quality of life, everyone would try hiding their true feelings. They'd all spit out moral, leader-pleasing responses. The test's point is catching that.
The screen showed a young woman, visibly tense, listening to the exam room speaker. All her data streamed in real-time for analysis.
Kids, the resident management AI, was narrating—her girlish model contrasting with the elegant lady-types like Artemis, Rose, and Chloro.
Kids' voice reading the prompt sounded oddly amused.
Written tests let you pick one option and done, but voice responses require yes/no to every single choice.
No one but an idiot would say yes here. That wouldn't be honest—it'd be stupid.
"No."
Her nonverbal cues popped up on screen: reliability of the answer at 17%. In other words, she was way more likely to take the beer and play dumb than not.
The questions continued.
Even honest types who wouldn't take the beer might balk at snitching. Choice 2 spots that.
"Yes!" She nodded vigorously, but reliability dropped to 14%.
"She's done."
No management or even recreational goods factory for her.
The compliance test rolled on. I tweaked the panel to search known names, and two familiar faces appeared: a beautiful but tough-looking late-20s stunner, ex-pimp Sasha; and a pure, delicate-looking mid-20s beauty, ex-black market dealer Sofiya. The next question tied directly to their potential roles.
The questions came in their native tongues—detection tech works best in familiar languages. Kids' childish voice in fluent Eastern Bloc tongues felt mismatched, like a Russian high schooler in a KGB uniform.
This tested snitch potential. Surprisingly few pick reporting in such scenarios—loyalty, grudges against leadership, or mostly "I don't wanna get involved." Media paints snitches as villains thriving on rewards while heroes suffer, making it seem easy. But becoming one takes real guts, street smarts, and savvy.
Both Sasha and Sofiya answered "Yes." Reliabilities: 93% and 91%. Near-perfect scores meant highly cooperative.
More questions followed, aggregating reliability into a credit rating. "Compliance test" is polite—higher-ups call it the loyalty test. Spot on.
The trolley dilemma.
I'd noticed before: Kids stood out from the other AIs. Always seeming like a perpetually cheerful girl, yet with an icy core somewhere deep. Rose pursued order, justice, duty. Chloro revered sensations from human flesh, emotional bonds, the value of hard labor. Artemis took pride in overseeing the city as central AI, envisioning the future. But Kids? Her inner drives were hard to pin down.
"What she desires?"
I'd asked once, and Kids looked stumped.
Imagine a dog out for a walk after ages cooped up—heading to the park, no less.
A hologram appeared: a dog sniffing around in grass.
Its nose, used to stale room farts, now fills with earth, grass, wind, rain-soaked clouds.
The hologram dog's tail wagged like it had a motor.
If you grab that dog's face and ask what it wants, what do you think it'd do?
The hologram pup licked its chops.
Lick your hand a few times, then dive back into sniffing and enjoying the walk, right?
That was resident management AI Kids' answer on what she desired.