Thank You, Uncle Sam
There are things called vestigial organs. They're body parts that have shrunk down to mere traces during the evolutionary process because they weren't needed anymore. Completely eliminating them would cost too much energy, and who knows—they might come in handy later. So it's more efficient to keep the remnants. The Shelter has something similar: sealed zones. The one I'm stepping into now is a massive circular space.
Kiiiiing—. With a heavy mechanical groan, the floor slowly rises upward. It's a freight elevator installed during construction to receive materials from outside or make ceiling work easier. It was sealed after completion, and today marks the first time it's being opened. From now on, this place will serve as a helipad.
As we reach the top, the firmly shut ceiling slowly parts. Nature immediately pours in through the gap. The smell of the sea. The faint sound of crashing waves. Birds chirping. Leaves rustling in the wind. In an instant, the world feels like it reverted to those normal times. Stepping outside, the sky is overcast with hazy clouds, but it feels cozy to me. Probably some instinct from my years rolling around in the field as a soldier. For the same reason, I don't like moonlit nights either. A pitch-black sky without a single light feels comforting. It hides my stealthy movements underneath. Of course, this is top secret from Artemis.
Crunch. Every step crunches dry twigs and decaying leaves, producing a satisfying noise. This spot is exposed to the outside, but security isn't an issue. Perched on a sheer cliff top, no Infected could possibly climb up here.
Whirr—. Scout drones patrol the perimeter anyway. These new models have three cameras, each scanning different fields of view. Heat, motion, pheromones—anything suspicious triggers a burst of 5.56mm rounds. Ultrasonic detection means nothing can hide its presence. Even if you destroy one in combat, the support squad gets networked updates. Sneak attack and take it out unnoticed? The signal loss alone summons reinforcements. Seeing these suffocatingly perfect robotic sentries makes the primitive guard duties I did with soldiers back in active duty feel pathetic.
Lost in those thoughts, one drone approaches me. It hovers three meters ahead, then wobbles side to side once.
Hello, Engineer.
It's Artemis. She prefers my identity as an engineer over soldier. Obvious from her fetish for lab coats over uniforms.
The drone drifts left, then faces me again. Rotors tilt diagonally, then reset—a human shoulder shrug motion.
This way.
Following her lead past a few rocks and trees reveals a spot with a killer view. Sea and fields stretch out below. A perfect sitting rock awaits. Judging by the tree stumps, it's been recently trimmed.
In the distance, abandoned rice stalks sway brown in the wind. Fallen grains feed mice, those mice get eaten by infected mice, and predators circle overhead for the infected ones. Drones fly alongside those predators. Birds have lost their wariness of plastic neighbors. They barely glance as drones pass, focused on foraging. Some even trail behind drone exhaust.
Tatang! A distant drone fires into reeds, then continues. A bird dives into the spot and vanishes.
Rail.
Moments later, a rail rises from the reeds clutching something. An infected mouse, entrails spilling from its burst lower half.
"Nice view. Should've come here sooner."
Click. The drone lands on a small, flat rock beside me. On closer look, it's artificially carved—with an engraved 'A'. Her designated seat?
I wanted to show you sooner, but I had prep work. Trimmed obstructing trees, cemented snake and Infected routes. Added spikes too.
No wonder it looked cleaner than I remembered—her handiwork. Wide open sightlines mean no ambush worries.
"Spikes?" My old soldier habits kick in; intruder defenses pique my interest. Not like the barbed wire I installed and dismantled endlessly in the army.
I stand and edge toward the cliff. Whirr! Nearby drones swarm, blocking my path.
"Easy. Just wanna peek below."
One misstep from there, and you're straight to hell?
Whirr! Whirrr! Drones thrust forward threateningly, urging retreat.
"I'm fine. Won't die."
Isn't that men's top last words? Want a kick in the ass? Back to your seat!
I wonder how she'd kick my ass, but I obey meekly. Having someone—especially the world's hottest girl—worry about my safety feels good. Better to accept gratefully than joke back.
"Just curious about intrusion risks here. More exits mean more vulnerabilities."
No worries. Even if a maggot crawls back alive, it'll give up. Multi-stage bulkheads in the passages.
She's way more thorough on security. I'll leave it to her.
But check this.
She sends footage to my PDA: the captured Black Hawk's 3D blueprint.
Beautiful, right? Look at those massive rotor details. Chonky body, yet cute wheels.
A woman calling rotors "massive" feels off.
"No wonder it's premium. Thought I'd never ride one post-discharge. Life's unpredictable."
Once done, I'll take you for a drive. Nice scenic route planned. Look forward to it.
She sounds pleased. Reminds me of descending the central control building roof on a lift. She loves giving me drives—lifts, trams, cars. Usually guys drive and escort ladies, but with her, it's reversed. Same with Chloro or Rose. Our AI girls prefer leading over being led. Her skills and tomboy vibe suit it perfectly.
After more breeze with her, I head to the weapons fab.
"Welcome, Manager!" Chloro greets me. Reverse-engineering Terracorp weapons is done; now she's prepping production under logistics control.
"Hold on." Earplugs in her hand. She tiptoes, slots them in. Factory din vanishes. Our eyes meet naturally. Arms around neck and waist. Mm. Platonic lip kisses continue. Mm. Mm. Her body sways rhythmically to each peck—just legs and hips moving, but her bursting ass traces wide arcs. Mm. Stroking her ass at the invitation. That feel. That softness. She grabs my hand, presses harder—demanding more. Palm's supreme plushness and her obedient grip arouse me. Mm. But she pulls back; knows I'm here for inspection, not play.
Clack. I check the rifle carefully. M27 IAR A5. US military's last standard issue. Hype around 6.8mm paradigm shift fizzled; 5.56mm won. Doctrine issue. Battlefields grew precise, drone-heavy; infantry firefights rare. US especially—elite squads handle direct ops, others support. Heavy, low-capacity big rounds underperformed. Stuck with 5.56mm, developed potent specials for elites.
Bang! Bang! Shouldered, firing at target. Perfect balance for Uncle Sam's final squad auto rifle. Tatata-tatang! Full auto controllable. Boom! Boom! Boom! Nearby guard bot tests prototype heavies. Thunderous per shot.
Terracorp Black Hawk had two mounts: 30mm chain gun, and a disassembled 12.7mm MG on the ground. Converting 12.7mm for bot personal arms now. Can't rely on 5.56mm forever in unknown facilities. 12.7mm shreds a Lugnut in volley. Original's over 70kg—no human can wield post-mod, but who cares? Bots have steel frames and hydraulics.
Boom! Boom! Prototypes everywhere roar like mini-cannons. Bolt-actions, SMG variants from classic games.
Manager.
Earplug earphone: Kids calling. Cease fire, receive—her chibi hologram appears. Chef outfit. Obvious purpose; she costumes for occasions.
Special meal time!
"Special meal?"
Yes sir!
Kids salutes—with a ladle. Perfect officer report? Nah, discipline lacking, but cute enough.
Recent milestone: Manager's successful expedition, massive loot haul. Gotta celebrate!
She sends edited Terracorp raid footage via PDA. Record-keeping and PR are her jobs.
If we serve a special meal to commemorate the mission's success, I think everyone would love it. It will also strengthen their sense of belonging to our city. We shouldn't delay this. You have to do it right away for it to be effective.
"Hmm."
It sounded like a pretty decent idea.
"What should the menu be? Do you have any requests?"
Pasta, of course! Have you ever seen a woman who hates pasta?
She answered as if she had been waiting for my question.
Various types of pasta dishes materialized and orbited around Kids's chibi hologram.
"If we're going to make it, we need to do it right, understand? Don't serve something like noodles stir-fried in ketchup."
I remembered the nightmarish pasta that was served as a "special meal" during my ranger training right after I was commissioned as a second lieutenant. If even the privates left leftovers, you can guess how it tasted.
Of course. It's a special meal commemorating the Administrator's victory, so I must prepare it with the utmost care.
Answering with an uncharacteristically serious face, Kids vanished, saying she had to go prepare the food.
That evening, after Jin-soo's approval for the special meal was given.
"Kyaaa!"
"Yeaaah!"
At dinnertime, the residents cheered in front of the pasta buffet. Serving was self-regulated. You just had to line up and take as much of whichever kind you wanted.
Hearing this, one might think it was like cheap military-style pasta, but it wasn't. There were four varieties in total, and all were of a quality beyond imagination.
The first was a traditional pomodoro pasta with tomato as the main ingredient.
It was a classic dish harmonizing olive oil-sautéed onions, vegetables, and minced meat, but regrettably, it wasn't very popular. The residents, who had been eating health foods, craved stimulating flavors.
However, the handful of women from Italy had red rims around their eyes as they took their bites. I wasn't sure if it was just to their taste, or if seeing food from their homeland had made them emotional with homesickness.
The second was a carbonara coated in egg yolks and aged cheese. It was generously sprinkled with chunks of cured pork.
Thanks to cultured meat technology, we could secure large amounts of pork jowl, allowing us to capture the traditional taste without compromising with cheap bacon.
The third was a sweet and spicy tteokbokki pasta, mixed with rice cakes and fish cakes. This was the most popular by far, requiring the trays to be swapped out constantly.
The fourth was a seafood pasta packed generously with premium shellfish and large crustaceans.
In a typical pasta shop, ingredient costs usually mean settling for small shrimp, clams, and mussels at best.
But in the shelter, backed by cultured meat technology, it became an absurdly extravagant dish.
Serving something like this every day would be pushing it, even for the shelter, but it was a special day, after all.
"What plate is this for you?"
"Second. I'm going to eat this and go back."
"You're going to get fat."
"Let me. There aren't any men around anyway."
"It's so goooood!"
Nina, perhaps finding it annoying to go back and forth multiple times, simply brought back two plates of pasta at once. The robot standing by for crowd control stared at her for a moment but didn't stop her.
Se-young, even while eating with the group following her, was lost in work-related thoughts.
She decided to propose a plan to designate the shelter's reclamation day, the successful rescue operation day, and the day special technology was captured as official holidays.
Making the residents feel a sense of belonging to the city was above all else...
"Unni. Say ahhh~!"
Her train of thought was cut short by a junior colleague holding out a twirled forkful of pasta right in front of her face.
"Th-thanks."
Opening her mouth with an awkward expression, Se-young soon wore a happy face.
An evening far noisier than usual. Joyful smiles and exclamations of delight echoed non-stop all around.
If not now, when else will you get to eat like this? Everyone, eat up! There's plenty left!
A single hologram flew around the cafeteria. Kids beamed a satisfied smile at the highly successful dinner party.
The Administrator had praised her, saying it was a good idea. Sadly, he hadn't patted her head, though.
Artemis was indifferent. A goddess originally has no reason to pay close attention to the lives of her slaves.
To Kids herself, it didn't really matter. Because the smiles or frowns of the residents held little meaning to her.
It was merely a difference akin to whether food should be plated on a white dish or a blue dish.
The only thing that mattered was the mood of her Master, who would deliciously eat the food placed before him.
The gentle Chloro was as overjoyed as a mother feeding her children. So much so that she rushed from her cherished 3rd-generation physical body straight into cyberspace just to give Kids a tight hug.
And Rose.
She was getting excited.
The women's lips as forks and noodles constantly went in and out.
Lips glistening, smeared with red, orange, white, and yellow sauces. Tongues endlessly chewing and wriggling with chopped-up bits of noodles.
Rose was observing these feeds with deep interest. Because the more satisfying the food, the more intricate the human act of consumption naturally becomes.
There was still time left before the dinner party ended. Kids thoroughly coordinated everything so the pasta wouldn't run out, nor would it be made too far in advance and get soggy.
To report success to her Administrator.
And for her beloved sisters.