Job Aptitude Test (4)
I stood up from my seat while watching the progress of the job aptitude tests.
[Where to?]
Artemis could tell just by looking if I was heading to the bathroom. I didn't smoke, so getting up like this meant I had some purpose for leaving.
"Thinking of checking out the test site in person."
[You can see everything from here. Why bother?]
"I'm the type who needs to be in the thick of it. Want to feel the atmosphere firsthand."
I wanted to observe the residents taking the exams right there on-site, not just through a monitor. Plus, there was something I missed hearing.
'Murmur murmur.'
In the past, it was just annoying noise. But once it was gone, you realize how precious even simple chatter is—the unique buzz of a crowded space filled with people. I craved it.
[Going like that?]
Her remark made me glance down at my outfit. My usual maintenance jumpsuit. It even had the "Safety First" patch on the left shoulder, no detail overlooked. Sure, it was a jumpsuit, but the company had invested good money in it—comfortable fit, decent design. And as the manager, I was still an engineer at heart. Even now with top-level access, I often grabbed tools and crawled through the machinery, so this was basically my casual wear.
"What's wrong with it?"
She let out a sigh at my response.
[You're not just any guy anymore. You're the leader managing countless residents. How others perceive you is the foundation of authority.]
In the locker room of the central control room that she guided me to, there was an outfit hanging that looked prepped just for me. A set of dark suit pants and shirt, impeccably ironed. A beige vest. A checkered tie. Brown crocodile leather shoes she'd crafted herself from materials sourced at the cultured meat facility. And finally, the lab coat from my grad school days. This was my suit replacement.
Let's talk about Artemis's fashion sense for a sec. She wasn't a fan of my jumpsuit or comfy tracksuit look. But the lab coat? She loved it—intensely, profoundly. Probably her strongest positive fetish among the few she had.
Once, I asked why, and uncharacteristically, she hemmed and hawed with a long-winded explanation, like she was flustered. It was so rare and intriguing that I kept prying, and she got mad. But roughly translated, she seemed to dig the intellectual vibe.
When maintaining her mainframe, she insisted I handle even the tiniest details myself, and I had to wear that lab coat to enter her chamber. Violate it, and she'd blow up. I wanted to delegate simple tasks to robots, but her answer was always the same.
'Absolutely not!'
She'd rattle off reasons why I had to do her core maintenance 100% personally, each backed by flawless logic—no room for argument. She'd have been a beast as a lawyer in the States.
I threw on the outfit she'd prepared, and cameras from all angles whirred dramatically, scrutinizing me. After a few adjustments to her specifications,
[That'll do.]
I finally heard her satisfied voice and headed out.
* * *
At the same time, the exam hall was in full swing with the physical fitness tests.
Typically, job-related fitness exams cover running, sit-ups, push-ups, grip strength, and such. But in the Shelter, due to its unique nature, the items were adjusted.
Standard fitness tests for regular job hopefuls. For those aiming for security, firefighting, EMS, disaster response, etc., special tests were added.
Take security force fitness, for example. First up: impact measurement—punching, kicking, and striking a human-shaped dummy with a riot baton to gauge destructive power.
No lethal weapons issued, so they needed non-lethal takedown skills or bare-handed combat prowess to subdue residents. Seemed harsh to control outnumbered groups with primitive tools alone, but it wasn't.
Behind security were hornet drones with tasers, guard bots armed with riot shotguns, and sentry guns loaded with 5.56mm live rounds. Over them all, unblinking cameras watched the underground city, and Artemis controlled even the air they breathed.
That backing gave security their authority.
'Mess around, get beat. Fight back, you lose. Gang up, bullets fly.'
Instill that three-step logic, and all they needed was 1-on-1 dominance.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Security hopefuls hammered the dummies with their riot batons. More applicants than expected, so multiple halls ran simultaneously, but plenty waited, sitting on the floor and watching.
Reasons for the crowd: influential female inmates seeking cushy posts, plus most ex-guards applying.
With rival groups in the same hall, trouble was inevitable.
"Ooooh!"
"You swinging that too?"
"You bitches got some nerve. After that humiliation, you still want to play guard? Not embarrassed?"
The inmate queue jeered every time ex-guards swung, but kept it civil—no swearing, staying seated to avoid backlash.
The targets ignored them with a "avoid shit not 'cause it's scary but 'cause it's filthy" mindset, focusing on the test.
Two strike zones: vital points for riot suppression sims, non-vitals for standard control.
Ex-guards swung hard but scored low—not from power or accuracy, but deductions on the hidden "aggressiveness" metric.
Especially the fails: they leaned back defensively, extending the baton arm like erasing a chalkboard—an instinctive retreat pose. Artemis flagged it as combat avoidance, docking points.
Candidates who planted their weight forward without recoiling scored high. Like Nina.
Bam! Bam!
Like a fish in water, Nina gleefully pulverized the dummy without mercy. Each spin-loaded baton swing from legs through hips to arms whistled viciously.
In striking: 3rd in punches, 1st in kicks among candidates, topping suppression scores.
"Hah!"
Seyoung swung by the book too. Power was lacking, but form perfect. Punches and kicks, though... pitiful.
"So cuuuute!"
Inmates cheered her with half-mockery, half-affection.
Ex-guards finished; female inmates followed, most outperforming them. Stronger, no qualms about violence, more aggressive stances.
Sprints were short-distance only. Underground city was sealed—no escape routes. AIs could seal exits instantly, trapping them like rats, with drones and sentry guns for backup. No real chases needed.
Just burst speed to reach sites fast during incidents.
Sit-ups and push-ups axed as irrelevant. Instead, core twist from supine—for escaping mount in grapples.
Plus melee endurance and strength tests.
"Hey, look over there."
One waiting woman pointed to the second-floor corner. A man stood arms crossed, observing. Everyone knew who he was.
No one gunning for security skipped city info study—potential exam fodder. They'd searched history, structure, leadership. Naturally, memorizing the sole human survivor and top manager.
A couple glances spread like ripples; soon the whole hall looked up.
Caught off-guard, he stiffened slightly, then smiled and waved slowly.
Reactions split. Ex-guards bowed respectfully, treating him like a superior—despite not being assigned yet.
Most inmates cheered positively. His authority as top manager. Ex-military officer background. Insane combat footage from the Shelter reclamation. In these times, killer charisma trifecta.
Watching, Seyoung gave a bittersweet smile. Endless gratitude for Jinsu and leadership's rescue, the consideration shown her. In a security test packed with tough hopefuls, this reception meant control issues solved.
But it marked the end of Korea's history and the dawn of survivor warlord era.
Seyoung was pragmatic. No ungrateful gripes here. She'd thank him and cooperate fully in governance.
Still, couldn't shake the wistful pang.