Chapter 96
A cold wind swept across the 12.7mm Reservoir, making the ducks floating there huddle up. The sky was clear and high. Not a trace remained of the fine dust that once shrouded South Korea in a haze. At night, a sea of stars would pour down like it was ready to drown the world. The infection had destroyed civilization, but it made the sky more beautiful.
Crows perched in a row on power lines with no electricity running through them, while a few magpies glared at them like they didn't approve. Falling leaves scattered in the wind, buildings overgrown with weeds and vines, the reservoir rippling silver, ducks bobbing along, the croaking cries and wind—everything combined into an idyllic scene. A group watched from the hilltop.
A leaf fluttered down and stuck to one of their faces. A steel claw peeled it off, revealing a red eye.
> [OPERATION START]
The unpaved path down the hill was steep, but the robots descended steadily. Hooks like grapples extended from their Achilles tendons, acting as brakes. Once they hit flat ground, the hooks retracted with a click.
Clack. All four robots drew their weapons in unison and went on alert. Three were armed with new assault rifles—a further modified version of the M27 IAR A5, the US military's final standard rifle. The fourth carried a 12.7mm combat rifle, reverse-engineered from a 12.7mm machine gun and retooled into a 20-round designated marksman weapon. It spat out monstrous kinetic energy nearing 20,000J in bursts. Ammo limits and unproven field efficiency meant only one prototype was issued for testing.
There was a subcontractor nearby that supplied critical helicopter parts to Terracorp Company. Securing those materials—and testing the weapons while at it—was the mission.
The robots advanced in formation, their gazes sweeping into abandoned buildings. Original owners had grabbed essentials and fled in chaos, then looters ransacked the rest, leaving ruins.
Ducks and migratory birds clustered on the opposite shore of the reservoir. With the wind picking up in the cooling weather, most were on land. Nap time, apparently—they slept with necks twisted 180 degrees onto their backs, a quirky pose.
One difference from pre-infection days: sentries. A duck or two stood rigid like meerkats, scanning the surroundings.
Their gaze fell on a single Walker. Draped in rags that'd crumble at a touch, it shambled toward the napping ducks.
Quack! When it got too close, the sentry sounded the alarm. Sleeping ducks woke—but no panic or fear. Lazily, waddling, they slipped into the water.
By the time the Walker arrived, they were gone. It stared blankly at the retreating flock, then turned toward new prey: a flock napping 100 meters away in the brush. Sentries on watch again.
This scene captured an ecosystem adapting to the new world in stark terms. Like a reckless kid chasing wildlife, the Walker approached—for the hundredth failed raid.
Thwack! The Walker's forehead exploded, dark bloody brains spilling out. Its eyes fluttered, whites showing, before it knelt, then slowly toppled sideways. A hole in the back of its skull too. 200 meters away, a robot disengaged its sights.
The duck sentry shifted from the fallen Walker to the sky. Big ones would come soon, and by tomorrow, only bones would remain of the pest that'd harassed them for months. It scanned around, then buried its face in its back feathers. Time to rest now that the annoyance was gone.
GRRROOOOAAARRGH!
Wrong. It lifted its head again—its flock already plunging into the river. The sentry followed. That was survival in the new world.
The central control room's massive screen displayed a dead Lugnut riddled like a beehive.
> [1 unit heavily damaged, 2 units lightly damaged, remaining 1 unit no issues.]
Artemis said. A wrecked guard robot lay away from the Lugnut corpse; others salvaged its CPU and battery.
Things had gone smoothly until five minutes ago. The four-robot village sweep found no real threats. Occasional Walkers dropped before spotting them.
"At this rate, we won't get useful data."
Words jinxed it. Returning from another search, they spotted a pack of strays. First pure dogs since the infection—excluding the shepherds training in the Shelter. Gaunt from hard lives, filthy.
The leader: a Golden Retriever. Gone was the YouTube-friendly innocent face; now a venomous glare from its single eye. They'd been eating the Walker the robots had just killed.
The leader advanced, threatening the robots.
> [Shall I fire?]
"You even have to ask?"
> [Understood.]
Clack. The robot aimed at the dogs.
"Cease fire! Cease fire! I didn't mean shoot, you idiots!"
> [Command confirmed.]
Firing stance relaxed. Crunch. Gnaw. The guard robot's superior audio picked up the dogs tearing into the corpse vividly.
"They're really savoring it."
I'd fed military dogs scraps, but never seen them eat with such gusto.
You don't have ordinary sensibilities either.
As I watched, Artemis chimed in.
Even mutated, beasts devouring kin don't look good, do they?
You don't know true hunger. I almost said it, but held back. Silence as I pondered a better answer for her.
"They have to eat to survive. No owner to feed them, no human intellect for morals. Just beasts. When scolding someone, match it to their responsibility."
Like soldiers punished for sentry failure, not mission flops.
"Wish I could bring 'em here, but that'll be tough."
They were hyper-vigilant. In person, I'd coax with human warmth from their memories—but robots? No chance.
Then the second twist. The dogs froze mid-feast, possessed.
Sniff sniff! The leader Retriever twitched its single eye after nosing around. Trailing pups tucked tails between legs, fidgeting.
Grrr! Leader barked low command. Pack bolted—except a tiny pup, barely weaned, lingering on the meat. Grrowl! Another snap, and it scampered.
That's when it hit. Crack! Something smashed from behind the screen. Camera whipped 180—straight into a charging Lugnut's maw splintering plywood.
One robot snagged by the ankle, no reaction. Bam! Slam one. Bam! Slam two. Shattered parts and its 12.7mm rifle hit dirt.
Others weren't idle. Rat-tat-tat! Casings flew as 5.56mm rounds burrowed—but no kill shot. Thick hide and muscle sapped them; no penetration to vitals.
GRRROOOOAAARRGH! Roaring, it hurled the robot. Back snapped on a pole, folding in half like a clap—crumpled, still.
Clack clack! Bolts racked empty air. Lugnut eyed them—robots triggered tactics.
Two close ones leaped back mid-air, swapping mags. One success; the other failed—ankle grabbed. Bam! Off-balance Lugnut spared lethal. Robot jammed barrel into wrist, close-range burst.
KYAAAOOOH! It released; robot rolled aside. Boom! Fist cratered where it was, dirt flying.
Third robot prepped the fix: more firepower. Scooped the dropped 12.7mm, aimed.
BOOM BOOM BOOM! Thunder roared; massive torso pierced, blood spraying.
High-tier infected like Lugnuts had advanced nerves for coordination—and felt pain. It glared furious, seeking target—bad move, exposing throat and face.
Splat! Thud! Lid-sized palm shielded too late. 20,000J slugs shredded grip, pulped face.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!Thump. Wrist severed; trembling hand rolled away.
GRAAHH—GACK! Roar cut as rounds shredded throat. Gaping hole showed torn esophagus, trachea. Rear carotid-like artery gushed.
Death confirmed—but seconds to go. Berserk, it charged.
Clack! Reloaded robot fired. Eyes, nose exploded—end hastened. Hulking casings rained at its feet. Recoil brutal, but robot steady.
Thud! Corpse toppled at full speed.
No delay—robots hit the subcontractor site, swept for premium circuit boards, satcomm crystals, gold stock. Bagged it all. En route back, strays reemerged.
Walker inedible now; they eyed the Lugnut slyly. Motionless, bloody, terrifying—they hesitated.
Leader's job. Cautious sniff of head. Hopped atop skull, called pack. Safe to feast.
Trust absolute; fear gone, they swarmed the corpse.
"Don't bite random—go for bullet holes, tender insides first."
Cheer from afar, unheard.
> [Mission complete. Returning.]
Ducks, dogs—surviving life adapted, forming a new ecosystem. Dozens of bald eagles circled the first Walker by the reservoir. More wheeled over the Lugnut.
"Cool."
The bald eagles? Big, but not what I'd call stylish design.
"Not looks. Admiration for their existence."
Eagles landed near the dogs, inching toward the Lugnut.
Grrr! Retriever lunged, snarling. Eagles flapped back 5-6 meters, then crept again. Classic wildlife doc footage.
"Winter coming: migratory birds, strays, scavenging eagles. All kinda cool. Glad the ecosystem lives."
A monster-only world? Unthinkable. Reclaiming it—what point?
You're right. Memory leaks are horrific. Cleaners are vital. When we purge the world someday, infected corpses everywhere. Those birds will shine then.
Her words ended today's op.
Woof! Woof! Back at security HQ, the dogs forgot dignity, tails wagging wildly. Petting their joyful faces, I pondered gifts for these loyal pups.
Answer obvious: nothing tops friends and family for dogs.