Chapter 92
Hartman's Shelter Security Force has one top priority: controlling the residents. I'm not taking them out for external scouting or assigning them to my personal escort. An all-female guard unit is every guy's fantasy at least once. Hell, there was even one guy in Libya who actually pulled it off. But fantasies need to stay fantasies. The capability gap with the guard robots is just too damn wide.
"One! Two! One! Two!"
Outside the window, a squad of security personnel ran in formation across the training field. This used to be the old guard headquarters, but it'll function as the security HQ from now on.
"You've arrived, sir?"
Rose saluted me. It was a razor-sharp salute, the kind you rarely see even from fresh recruits under iron discipline. We were in the security chief's office.
"Hey, Rose."
She was dressed in her usual crisp suit today, complete with black stockings and heels. It suited her black hair and cool expression perfectly, but didn't she ever want to try something else? Seeing her in a suit all the time made me itch to dress her up in all sorts of outfits.
Rose had been spending a lot of time here lately, overseeing the security force's training.
"Have you picked out any standouts from the bunch?"
"Yes, sir."
Rose handed me an electronic pad. In a closed-cycle shelter like ours, paper made from pulp was a waste. Stockpiling boxes of A4 sheets in every office like pre-war society was insane. We had plenty in reserve, but that was for trading with outside factions after the apocalypse. We'd stockpiled a ton for that purpose, but given the state of the world out there, I wondered if trade would even be possible.
The pad displayed profiles summarizing mugshots, physical stats, job aptitude tests, interpersonal relations, and training scores for each recruit. Top of the comprehensive rankings: Nina. Below her were women who looked tough as nails at a glance. The gym girls who hung around cute little Nina were clustered in the upper ranks too.
For reference, Seyoung was exempt from all physical training. We'd selected her for admin work from the start, so she was holed up in a private room memorizing the regs Rose had drawn up.
On one side of the training field, security recruits were doing arm-spread jumps to the instructor robot's cadence. They were in training gear—comfortable activewear—but it was a mismatched mess. Dolphin pants, crop tops, yoga wear, Pilates outfits, tracksuits, leggings, sleeveless running shirts, you name it. They'd be sweating buckets every day, so we'd needed extra uniforms. We just swept up whatever from the city's shops and handed it out.
It looked comfy enough, but there was zero sense of military discipline. What can you do? In an apocalypse, you wear whatever you can scrounge.
The instructor robot, hands clasped behind its back, issued the order.
"Ten reps!"
"Ten reps!"
Robot instructors didn't mess around—they'd enforce it to the letter.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
The security recruits started their arm-spread jumps in unison. It was a nostalgic sight, reminding me of my good old days.
"Rose."
She turned sharply from watching the training outside, heel to instep in a perfect 180-degree pivot to attention stance. Every damn move she made was by the manual. That was Rose's charm.
"Do you have orders, sir?"
"You busy right now?"
"Time for the Manager is not allocated—it's made. Whatever you need, just say the word."
God, she was adorable. Just as I was about to say something, a deflated voice echoed from the training field.
"Thre—!"
Someone had tacked on the final cadence solo.
"Aigoo."
Rose gave a wry smile at my sigh. That distinctive tone: revving up for a hearty "twenty!" only to realize you were alone and fizzling out. I'd heard it plenty during guerrilla training. As officers, we'd jack the reps by dozens if discipline slipped—sloppy minds got subordinates killed.
"Thirty reps!"
Too far to see clearly, but the culprit who called "twenty" was surely getting the silent death glare. Back at the barracks, she'd get ragged from all sides. Back in my active days, the buddy who flubbed the final cadence got drawn and quartered the second we returned—comrades grabbing head and limbs, stretching just short of fatal. He never trolled again. (For the record, I was the one gagging him so he couldn't scream.)
"One! Two! Three!"
At least here the penalty didn't stack exponentially—lucky them. Not every squad did the same drill; robot instructors led platoons through varied routines, some outside, some indoors.
Rose leaned on the windowsill, eyes on the field. She'd be monitoring the indoor groups via cameras too. Her diligence was impressive, praiseworthy even—but it bugged me a little.
Am I this greedy?
Like watching the dog that used to fixate only on you suddenly perk up at a guest. Gazing at Rose's back as she watched the field gave me that vibe.
"Thi—!"
Another lone cadence. Heads turned—not the first offender, a different recruit.
'Fuck.'
'That bitch.'
Too far for words, but their thoughts rang clear like telepathy.
I grabbed a chair, positioned it facing the wall-mounted screen, and sat.
"Rose."
"Yes, sir."
Crisp pivot to attention. No hint of annoyance or "why do you keep calling?" Her training sims and recruit analysis halted dead. Keen eyes, dainty ears, even those cute nostrils—all senses locked on me. Zero-error comprehension and execution of my orders. That devoted loyalty...
"Come here."
Tap tap! I patted my thigh, and her heels clicked over.
"Pardon the intrusion."
She settled onto my lap. Her expression stayed composed, serene eyes gazing down.
Third-gen androids used lightweight materials—by design for sex play. Lighter women unlocked more positions. Rose was a tad taller than me on tiptoes, but she felt weightless.
One arm around my neck, the other hand on my collarbone.
Smack. I kissed her hand's back. Looking up, her eyes had warmed.
One arm supported her waist, the other stroked her thigh. Sitting astride compressed the flesh, accentuating its sensuality. Through the rough stocking texture came human-like warmth. Unlike Chloro's pure softness, Rose's thigh was rock-hard.
"My body has a high muscle ratio. As a security officer myself, I can't afford weakness."
Her voice held an uncharacteristic hint of apology.
Squeeze squeeze. I kept kneading. Firm overall, but the inner thigh was impossibly soft. My hand knuckles brushed her crotch in the deep V.
Massaging there, I looked up.
"...Ah."
Her straight lips parted slightly. Next, the knee line, the calf curve, the solid gastrocnemius packed with power. Her breath in my ear grew hotter.
"If you're unsatisfied..."
Rare for Rose to trail off. She figured I was disappointed in her rigid build compared to Chloro.
"Rose."
Before she could reply, I gripped her chin and pulled her in.
Smooch. I sucked her lips like savoring nectar.
Anxious? She responded instantly, lips eager. Tasting her, my lower hand moved to her belly.
Pop. Shirt button undone, fingers met chiseled abs.
Smooch. Soft lips above, hard body below. Her sneaking tongue—trapped between my lips. She didn't resist, licking my inner lips with it.
Smack. Feeling her cool fingers caress my neck, I broke the kiss.
"Haa."
Her sigh carried a sweet scent.
"I was a soldier. Hell, I still am. Government's gone, but I'm fighting my war. You know how many shitty soldiers I saw in service? The kind you'd never trust your back to in combat, just desk-jockeys who enlisted for the pension."
Training with them, sighs were constant as meals. If I went down bullet-riddled, would they hoist me and run? Bayonet charge when ammo ran dry?
"Rose. I've gotten hard for bodies this tough plenty, but never once thought 'meh.'"
True. Strong female forms were sexy to me.
I guided her hand to my crotch. Her eyes quivered touching my throbbing erection—joy in the tremor.
"...Yes, sir."
She nodded meekly.
"Show me the indoor training feeds?"
Her pupils flickered blue patterns and code.
Beep.
The screen lit with five feeds: each instructor robot's POV.
Echo-Hartman • Echo-Soble • Echo-Donan • Echo-Fletcher • Echo-Ramsey
"Link Hartman."
"Yes, sir."
On my lap, it came as a whisper in my ear. Warm breath tickled.
Hartman's feed filled the screen, audio live.
[NO. 35, YOU TRAINEE MAGGOT!!!]
It kicked off with a lion's roar. The camera zoomed on one woman. Others sprawled prone or groaned on the floor. Her expression facing the lens?
'I've seen the devil.'