Why Is There a Machine Spirit Here?

What comes to mind first when you think of space? Zero gravity? Dark matter? A sky crowded with celestial bodies?

No. True devotees of science fiction look for something more meaningful in that boundless expanse: the existence of extraterrestrial life — anything that isn't from Earth.

Hissssssss!

"……"

The instant I dropped into the Dark Zone, I grimaced at the steam blasting into my face from a ruptured pipe. This was not a fun, educational SF documentary. The cliché that opens every spine-chilling, pulse-pounding SF horror flick had come out to greet me from the jump. How could I possibly be in a bad mood?

I twisted the hydraulic valve shut with a metallic click and took a moment to study the corridor ahead, where sparks were snapping and popping.

The floor is reinforced alloy plating, perforated for ventilation. They're not accounting for the disaster of moisture floating around in zero-g, so the idea is to maximize airflow and heating efficiency?

Everyone knows space is filthy cold. A human stepping out unprotected would freeze solid in a matter of minutes. Optimizing indoor temperature under those conditions is brutally hard. Crank the heat and you waste energy for terrible efficiency.

So what's the solution? You install perforated reinforced-alloy plates on the floor and ceiling, then run hot-water pipes underneath. The heat from those pipes can't escape through the insulation slathered across the exterior, so it condenses inward instead and gives you an optimal indoor climate.

Which also means this Dark Zone theme is a not-too-distant future — one where energy efficiency in space still hasn't been maximized.

I had a rough sense of what this place was.

I crossed the gloomy corridor, red emergency lights blinking on and off, and approached an entrance where junk had been piled for reasons I couldn't guess. Dark crimson blood was smeared thick across it — whoever had left it, I had no idea — and thanks to the steam still leaking from the pipes, it hadn't fully dried.

I used the Modular Exo-Suit I'd had Lee Sena rush-repair to shove the debris aside. Through the gap of a half-closed doorway, a trail of bloodstains stretched on.

Clack! Screeeeeech!

I grabbed both edges of the door and wrenched it open. It gave, eventually. In EFD, forcing a half-open door like this required at least two people working together.

BOOM!

The door slammed fully open, and an even more wrecked corridor welcomed me. Blood and debris were scattered in every direction. The wall and ceiling panels had been half-ripped away, leaving pipes and wiring badly damaged. Every time steam hissed from a ruptured pipe and sparks jumped between severed cables, a chill ran down my spine whether I wanted it to or not.

Who did this didn't matter. Dark Zones reset to their original state every time convicts enter through the insertion gate, which meant this one had looked like this from the start. The ones who came after us wouldn't be able to exist here at the same time we did, but they would see the exact same scene. Until midnight, anyway.

Power's still running, but they've clearly gone into emergency mode. Do I make a beeline for the facility's core and seize the internal systems first? Or wander around, knock out the contract, and get out?

I'd jumped in aiming for a fast job since I'd already taken the contract, but once I actually weighed the risk and reward, I couldn't help but hesitate. If I pushed to the core of this massive facility — more space station than starship, by my estimate — and seized the systems, the ceiling would be extremely high. I wouldn't even have to walk around. Tinker with the systems a little and I could map out the approximate locations and quantities of items. Enemy presence, too, while I was at it.

On the other hand, if I just completed the contract and bailed, I'd wipe the target, farm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a bit, and extract. Lower ceiling, higher floor — stable returns.

If Lucy had been with me, I would have picked the first option without a second thought. Final profit always drops when you split it N ways, so going for the ceiling is the golden rule, right?

The problem was I was alone.

Alone…

I can hog Lucy's share too, can't I?

I hovered over the "think it over" button, then yanked the stick hard and mashed HIGH CEILING like a man possessed. High ceiling or death. All-in with everything I own, even if it kills me. Let's go.

I flicked the safety off my semi-auto shotgun and carefully crossed the corridor.

No sign the indoor air's been contaminated. Good.

The temperature sat around a muggy thirty degrees. Humidity was a little high too, thanks to the leaking steam.

Screeeee… THUUUUM!

Every so often a grotesque noise rolled through the facility, followed by an ominous vibration that dried out my mouth and pulled every muscle taut. Was the already-damaged facility coming apart in real time? Or was someone else messing with it? Neither option was great.

I crossed the corridor with the shotgun shouldered, and the space that opened up ahead was a wide cargo hold. I'd spawned in a corner of the facility's outer rim, so of course the first place I'd hit would be a moldy warehouse or a machine room.

Clank. Clank.

Walking the steel plating, even careful footsteps carried a little. There was no helping it. The silver lining was that unlike a typical Dark Zone, this one was so loud with ambient noise that the odds of leaking my position to an enemy were basically zero. Which, flipped around, also meant I couldn't get a proper read on theirs.

In EFD, solo players used drones or real-time biometric sensors to cover this weakness. Problem is, those things are way too expensive.

A drone you pilot yourself is cheap, obviously. Even in the 2020s, anyone could pick up a Chinese model. But the drones I meant were high-performance units — AI that matched the user's position and movement on its own, then took it further by executing real-time orders through a Smart Link or voice commands to support the operation. Even the cheap ones started at ten million won. That was why I had taken Ted Chan's contract.

CLANK! SCREECH! CLANK! SCREECH! CLANK! SCREECH!

A sound from far off — horribly regular, horribly wrong — made me tighten my grip on the gun. I followed the noise deeper into the warehouse. Something was moving between the cargo containers stacked along one wall.

I didn't want to give away my position with a flashlight, so I closed in by the rhythm of the blinking emergency lights.

CLANK! THUD! SCREECH!

Another grotesque noise. And this time I could tell something extra had been added to it.

CLANK! THUD! SCREECH!

In the shadows, a figure raised its arm on a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠regular beat, then brought it down with everything it had. The silhouette was unmistakably human-shaped. It was not a human. Just cold metal, half-rusted, silently doing its job. Like a factory machine.

Crazy Clock, silent until now, opened its mouth at another impeccable moment.

"Which company's model?"

"So it's a partner company's product."

"Either way, you were at least reviewing it for a possible collaboration. That's true, right?"

I didn't know exactly what kind of company ■■■ Corporation was, but looking at the state of that machine, they apparently had pretty decent taste. Fair enough. Getting tangled up with the company that built a homicidal murder-bot currently turning what was probably a person into bloody pulp would be fatal for the stock price. If that happened, even dragging Warren Buffett out of retirement couldn't stop the crash — and every cyberpunk retail investor in the country would swarm Neo Seoul's Gwanghwamun Square.

"So. Can you hack it?"

Crazy Clock's evaluation just dropped below Pretty's. Pretty, at least, could crack a skull no matter who the other guy was. If this thing couldn't even hack, what was it good for? Being generous, it was a talking alarm clock. A Lucky Waffle Watch.

I'm the idiot for expecting anything.

Then again, if things always went this smoothly, this wouldn't be a Dark Zone.

I lined up the shotgun on the back of the humanoid robot's head as it diligently flipped blood pancakes in the cargo hold, then put a slug dead-center into the unprotected cervical component.

THUMP!

A heavy, slightly deflated whoosh of a sound, and the slug — famous for its overwhelming impact — half-shattered the robot's nape.

It didn't punch through the parts in one shot. It just crushed them?

Even if a slug's penetration was a bit weaker than a rifle AP round, the impact should have been enormous. The fact that it stopped at crushing the internal components was genuinely surprising.

Screee! Screeeeee!

Only then did the robot register the external impact. It laboriously straightened up and turned toward me. My shotgun had already sent the follow-up round.

CLANG!

This one hit it in the forehead, slamming another massive shock into the already-crushed cervical parts and shearing them clean through. The head dropped with a dull clunk, and the robot finally stopped moving.

I briefly considered hauling the whole thing out to sell, then decided it was too heavy and the cost-performance was garbage. A 2040s Republic of Korea could crank out military robots of this caliber without much trouble. Meaning it was too ambiguous to throw cost-performance out the window and chase otherworldly tech.

I had no choice but to go for just the main power component and the AI chip nested inside the chassis. I started toward the robot — then stopped, a strange unease catching my step.

Immediately after.

Ssssssslick.

Something emerged from inside the robot's body, accompanied by a sound like liquid and smoke half-mixed together, crawling like an insect. It looked like a formless lump of flesh, a dirty, murky color — and also like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠clump of smoke, vaporizing in real time, shrinking little by little.

What mattered was that it came straight at me.

"Oh, you son of a—!"