Apocalypse Shelter Administrator

Human Will

While sidestepping the active infected and dealing with the dormant ones, I continued advancing for thirty minutes. Sometimes, I would get the occasional early riser. Like this one.

“Graaaagh…” The infected managed nothing more than a feeble squeal when its lower jaw flew off with a single swing of my axe.

It was sprawled in the middle of the connecting bridge between two factories, like Don Quixote. As soon as I approached, it sprang up and attacked. With no sensors around, there was no way to identify it beyond its previous position, so it might not have been dormant after all.

[There are no infected approaching nearby. Focus on the enemy in front of you.]

I kept my distance and watched the spectacle. When it finally gave me an opening, I rushed in, body-slammed it against the bridge railing, and choked it with the axe handle.

“Kehek, kekek!”

Its back was jammed against the railing, and its neck bent backward at an absurd angle, making it shake its head wildly. Filthy saliva splattered onto my face but was blocked by the helmet visor.

“Farewell.” As most of its upper body toppled over, I grabbed it by the waistband and flung it over the edge of the bridge. It plummeted headfirst, hitting the ground with a dull thud before falling silent. Occasionally, there were minor twitches.

As I crossed the bridge and neared the central control room, the severely damaged interior came into view.

“Do you see this?” I asked, standing in front of a gaping hole in the wall. Artemis was sharing my view through the shoulder camera strapped to my riot gear.

[Based on the analysis of the debris patterns, it looks like they used a gas bomb.]

Inside the hole, rebar, concrete, and a bundle of wires had poured into the passageway, and the shredded exhaust duct above was hanging in tatters.

“Seems like they were being chased.”

[Scanning.]

The shoulder camera blinked to life. It swept over the dried blood, scattered footprints, and the toppled cabinets, clearly knocked over in a desperate attempt to slow down the chase.

A hologram flickered to life in the hallway, showing a blurry human figure in full-blown panic. As the person flailed its arms, nearby objects were knocked over, momentarily blocking the path, only to be shoved aside by something coming up behind. Scratches were, of course, left on the floor.

The fleeing figure stumbled at the end of the hallway, and the video playback ended. All that was left were clothes and shoes clinging to a pile of bones. No flesh left to speak of.

[During the initial spread of the infection, the personnel in the central area likely evacuated to the interior of the building rather than the open outside.]

“Some might have run to the entrance of the upper area, but it would have been locked.”

The emergency lockdown protocol automatically executed by the shelter operating system isolated the three zones individually, and Artemis wasn't fully activated to handle it.

“The main entrances to each area, which were tightly shut, must have been scenes of utter chaos.”

When I reviewed the footage from the surveillance cameras at the main entrance of the upper area, it was absolute pandemonium. People were filmed screaming for the doors to open until the bitter end. Even with the infected breathing down their necks, they never looked back—just kept pounding on the door and pleading with the security camera overhead. It was a full-blown hunt orchestrated by the infected.

“Maybe it was a hunt driven by hope.”

As the infected’s claws and teeth ripped into their throats and backs, their eyes—captured on camera—showed a mix of resignation, despair, and regret. Could a clergyman’s realization that their lifelong faith was a sham compare to that kind of despair?

[In extreme situations, it’s judgment that decides life and death. Don’t let human emotions sway you.]

“I might seem like a fool compared to you, but I’m not stupid enough to be overwhelmed by fear and make a suicidal decision. I’m a professional survivor.”

I’m a combat veteran with numerous accolades. Fear has never clouded my judgment. Even when a bullet grazed my nose in my first battle as an officer, I didn’t flinch. I cut and reattached wires without so much as a tremor and lowered the bridge.

[It’s not just fear I’m talking about. Lust, compassion, anger, affection—these are all substances that muddle human judgment.]

“Aren’t those emotions? Not just substances?”

Honestly, living with her—someone who does everything flawlessly—can be a bit overwhelming. That’s why I cherish this human ‘emotion’ even more. It’s what makes us different and gives me the strength to stand on equal footing with her.

[In the end, it’s all just electrical signals and chemical reactions. They’re nothing but deliveries from the receptors. From my perspective, human emotions are just substances.]

Her words were irritating, but I rarely argue with her. Engaging in a logical debate with her is like fighting the Soviet army. Defeat the troops in front of you, and twice as many reinforcements will show up. Overcome them, and five or ten times the forces are waiting in reserve. That’s what arguing with her logically feels like.

[Instead of debating this, maybe you should start looking for a bathroom.]

“I went before we started.”

[Your urine level is at 15% now. You have about five hours before you hit the limit. But let’s talk about the 225 grams of organic matter bubbling in your small intestine. Remember how I kept advising you to cut back on fried food? You ignored me and stuffed your face as you pleased. Now your digestive system is drowning in grease. Pretty soon, it will just give up and let everything flow freely. That thick, oily mess will speed through your colon at 55 km/h and finally explode out of your anus like a cannon shot. You’ve got 40 minutes left. Oh, what an imperfect and pitiful existence.]

Since she monitors even my hormone levels in real time, her diagnosis is probably spot-on. But Isn’t it just charming that she’s warning me about an imminent bowel explosion? Of course, praising her for this would only make her more insufferable, so I kept quiet. It was clearly her way of giving me a hard time for ignoring her advice about food and eating whatever I wanted.

As I approached within 20 meters of the control room, the most horrifying mess I’d seen so far lay in wait.

“They fought their last stand here.”

It was a grim testament to the maximum resistance that unarmed civilian engineers could muster.

[Even if they’d barricaded themselves inside the control room, the bulkhead would have eventually been breached, leading to a bloodbath. Instead, they opted to build massive barricades in the outer corridor and used heavy machinery to hold their ground. It was the best they could do, but the situation was hopeless.]

The barricades were stacked four layers high, resembling a makeshift fortress. Reinforced with welding for extra strength, some sections even had small spaces for what looked like machine gun nests. What they had rigged up were homemade flamethrowers—just a torch and an industrial air sprayer hooked up to a car’s fuel tank.

“None of them have any fuel left. They must have fought to the bitter end.”

Picking up one of the flamethrowers lying on the ground, I found the fuel tank completely empty and the nozzle melted beyond recognition. The others were in the same sorry state. Those who didn’t have flamethrowers apparently tried their luck as makeshift spearmen.

“No wonder I didn’t see any in the workshop. They must have brought them all here.”

The thermal lance, also known as an oxygen lance in Korea, is an industrial cutting tool shaped like a spear. Its spearhead reaches a scorching 4000 degrees, capable of slicing through metal or concrete like butter.

[Placing excavators behind the barricades was actually a smart move. They could attack from both the front and above without tripping over each other’s movements, and they were good at stopping large infected.]

The final defense was made up of two small excavators positioned at the rear. The plan was to use the flamethrowers to keep the approach blocked, stab anything that got through with thermal lances, and then crush or shove them out with the excavator buckets from above.

I came to admire the engineers who fought their last stand here. Even though they were ultimately defeated and met their end, they used all the knowledge and skills they had honed throughout their lives to fight their hardest in a desperate situation. The marks of their struggle and courage left me with a sense of solemnity rather than just devastation.

I carefully stepped over the scattered hard hats and blood-soaked work clothes and headed for the control room door.

[There are no life signs inside the control room. Open it.]

I took out the hacking tool and muttered, “Time to show who’s really in charge here.”

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