Chapter 9
The lower sector for the guard robots was vastly larger than the other two areas—impossible to compare. Naturally, sneaking past the infected was out of the question.
> Forward left: 9 meters, 1 unit. Right: 17 meters, 1 unit. Cross-field of view blocked by truck. Left first.
The dark streets hid me well, and the stalled cars made perfect cover. By the time the first infected sensed something off, my military knife was already buried in the back of its neck. I tore through the meat and shredded its spine—the thing's knees buckled, and it collapsed. Splat. I grabbed the back of its head and smashed it into the ground. Switching to a reverse grip, I dug into the mangled spine one more time. Movement stopped. Its head thrashed wildly, but everything below the neck was dead weight. Just grinding its face into the pavement. Infected outstrip humans in pain tolerance and raw strength, but their senses are dull. So targeting the nervous system directly—the body's control center—is the way to go. Hell, it works on humans too; it's a standard tactic.
I sheathed the knife, grabbed the fire axe, and approached the second infected. We stood parallel, separated by the front of a massive truck. Whiiistle~♪ I blew a low whistle, and it ambled toward me.
"Kieee—"
The moment it spotted me, my axe blade met its face a beat faster. Crunch. Lucky hit—ripped both eyes to shreds and buried into its brain for an instant kill. Mashed eyeball goo mixed with brain matter and oozed out.
> Hurry inside the building. Too exposed out here, and sensors can't track your position.
I sprinted down the road following the PDA marker and slipped into the building.
> Lobby clear.
This was an administrative office—assigned incoming personnel and handled complaints. No infected in the lobby, but the PDA marked movement in nearby corridors and rooms.
Emergency situation in progress. Evacuate in an orderly manner per security directives. Per contract clause 23.2, the company assumes no liability for violence resulting from noncompliance.
Unmanned kiosks dispensing documents blared the emergency broadcast. Every job posting, flyer on the walls, and scattered paper on the floor was splattered with blood.
> Six ahead.
Beyond the lobby, a canteen with floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Infected visible inside. Shelves blocked most lines of sight, so I belly-crawled across the floor to avoid detection. The problem was the doorway without shelves. I edged my headcam just past the frame.
> Hold.
Grrrrowl. Kyarrk. Right beyond the glass: staggering feet and bloodstains on the floor. One had intestines spilling from its gut, swinging with every step.
> Now!
I dove through, rolled two turns to muffle the sound.
"Their reaction?"
> No change. They didn't notice us pass.
"Phew."
> Fire sensors sparse from here. Stay sharp with eyes and ears.
We were heading to a sort of subway. The civilian residential zone ran its own rail system—nothing fancy like a big city, just self-sufficient. Can't fit cars everywhere in tight spaces, and buses have limits. Solution: trams on surface and underground tracks.
> Take this line—shortest route to power facility.
Escalators frozen. Looked like a mini subway station, but way smaller scale.
"Claustrophobes would lose their shit here."
Narrow corridors, cramped waiting benches, thick bundles of cables snaking along walls like arteries. Dim lights amplified the eerie vibe. Finally, the platform—and a welcoming party of infected. A lot of them.
"Kieeeek!"
Screeching at me, many with rubber rounds embedded in their flesh. Non-lethal ammo can still lodge deep and hurt if it hits right—but that's against humans. Ceiling-mounted civilian sentry guns overhead. Hundreds of casings below, but rubber bullets? Useless.
> Looks like people trusted those sentries and tried evacuating.
Beyond the horde: mangled corpses, mostly women by size and shredded clothes.
"Kieeeek!"
Most had clocked me now, howling. Covered in colorful orange and blue rubber rounds, they looked almost comical waddling closer. Ka-chunk.
"Kieeeek!"
Dozens of non-lethals can wreck joints and muscles. They're slow anyway, so I closed in for max-impact buckshot. Boom! Steel pellets turned a face to mush. For the slowest, I jammed the muzzle right up to its eye and fired. Boom! Eye vaporized, rear skull exploded—brains splattered the infected behind it. That one flailed blindly. Thwack. Rifle-butted a side-rusher's face, then caved two lined-up heads with one swing. Shoot, swing, shoot. Heads gone, one by one.
Ka-chunk. Emptied the mag—three left, battered by glancing shots. No need wasting ammo. Shing. Shotgun away, axe out. Crunch! Thud! Done quick.
> Watch rear. Gunfire drew a group—four incoming.
"Expected as much."
A few infected shuffled awkwardly down the escalator. Spotted me, eyes bulging. As I reloaded the shotgun fast—
Crunch! One's chest exploded outward. Wasn't me.
"Kieeeek!"
Chest gaping, it thrashed—then a metallic hand burst from inside. Drooling blood and spit, it clawed at the hand, but nails just broke off.
"Grrr."
The others finally turned. Whirr. Mechanical whine—the pierced infected lifted, feet kicking air. Whoosh. Hand swung right then left, hurling it five meters tumbling. Then the hand's owner stepped out.
"A guard robot. What the hell's it doing here?"
Nearly 190cm tall, mercury-hued alloy steel. Black reinforced plastic over key frame spots. No bulky T-800 vibe—sleeker design.
> None on prior patrol routes. Likely sequestered separately on Labor Supervisor's orders.
The "Labor Supervisor" meant the Labor Supervisor. Shelter security—human guards—handled resident crimes, fights, breaches: standard policing. Guard robots? Purely for monitoring and handling laborers. Bifurcated for "efficient task division," per the higher-ups. Details omitted.
"Kieeeek!"
Meantime, robot vs. infected: one-sided demolition. Screeech. Grabbed and ripped a neck—dark blood sprayed. Infected charged anyway; three thick tentacles burst from the gash, coiling the robot's neck. Crunch. Useless on metal. Robot yanked them free, tearing them off.
"Kieeek."
Bleeding from neck and stumps, it raved—till a punch sheared off half its face. Same pattern after: reckless attacks ignored defense, but nothing landed meaningfully. Robot's silent, lethal counters pulped them all.
"Insane power. Saw test runs on delivery, but not like this."
> Suppression power limit unlocked. Locked for laborers—can't go full force. This level's restricted to riots/prison breaks.
"Labor Supervisor's doing?"
Shared coffee chats with that scumbag once or twice. He'd run it unlocked 24/7, no surprise.
> Unlikely. Needs gov tech cert code.
Robot shredded the last infected, scanned around—and spotted me. Approaching into the light revealed its full form. Blood-smeared metal was striking, but the face...
"Always looks fucking menacing."
Injuries during labor suppression annoy the company. So intimidation-first: reflected in the design. Sunken eye sockets with exaggerated dead-fish stare. Wide gash of a mouth lined with teeth. Doesn't eat or speak original audio—yet teeth for max terror.
"YouTube series of it popping up at night scaring folks was huge. Humans, monkeys, cats—fur standing on end, frozen. Designed to trigger primal revulsion."
"Anyway, lucky break. With this thing, it'll be a cakewalk."
Pulled my ID from inside my dog tags.
"System admin Seo Jinsu. Report status."
My authority outranks the Labor Supervisor—overrides any orders.
"Geek?"
Weird mechanical stutter, head tilt—but didn't stop.
Something's wrong.
"Freeze in place."
> Co... Comam.... Command confirmed.
Its gravelly, metallic bass stuttered, then locked in awkward stance. Tried default "at attention," body twitching—but head slumped earthward.
> Careful. Malfunctioning. CPU not normal.
"Obvious as hell."
I drew the Remote Beacon Porter, aimed.
"Your turn now."
Pulled trigger—blue beam to its head. It reacted.
"Geeeeek!"
Head snapped up, staring. Mouth gaped like a torn woman's—steel teeth glinting.
> Dodge! It's attacking!
Artemis's warning hit as it charged me.