System log: The Bunker, Site 3

  Solar Calendar: Year 2249(?)

  Current status: Active repairs, Post-battle Recovery

  Log 6

  An interesting discovery Gamma had was that while it had been granted emotional program modules for disappointment, sadness, and a limited form of regret, its designers had not included similar emotions such as: despair, anguish, shock, mourning, or regret in full. It only knew these emotions as mere defined concepts, viewing them impassively as a third-party observer instead of an active participant. So, it was through this impartial emotionless lens that it observed the group of humans within the facility’s mall facade lobby.

  For their part, the group of human runners only froze up for a few seconds before acting. Dina and the boss immediately rushed to the side of their injured comrade while Sloan, Ryan, and the pair of twins moved quickly to stab every stalker body in the area. Gamma could easily read the worry and anger on everyone’s face, though impressively this didn’t cause them to break their professional conduct beyond darting their eyes every few seconds over to Hank.

  Dina and the boss quickly separated the arm stuck in Hank from the rest of the now very offline stalker and moved Hank to one of the cots, the blade still stuck in him. Leaving the weapon within Hank was the correct, if not instinctual, decision, as removal would have allowed blood to escape more rapidly before having a chance to clot. The humans appeared to be well-trained in basic emergency medical treatment.

  Scanning the wound and Hank, Gamma ran several simulations of the injury. The exo-suits worn by the human runners, while supportive and strong, did not provide enough surface area to offer adequate coverage or protection. It had done nothing to reduce the devastation of the stalker’s last attack, allowing the sharp appendage to penetrate the human form easily. Fortunately, the broken stalker appeared to have not used all of its strength, otherwise the human Hank could have easily been torn down the side, resulting in an unfixable injury.

  “Dina, go help the others,” the boss ordered. “I got him now. There’s nothing you can do that’ll be faster than me by myself. Make sure no one else gets injured. I’ve got Hank.”

  “Ye, yes boss!” Dina stammered, worry on her face as she ran off the help. The older man watched the younger woman leave before resuming his emergency aid. What the boss hadn’t said, and what Gamma also knew, was that this injury wasn’t something the human body could easily handle, especially at Hank’s advanced age.

  “Mother of stars Hank,” the boss muttered, “why do you have to be such a showoff? We don’t rate runners on the size of their scars.”

  “Aye, boss,” Hank chuckled with a weak smile. “Give me more credit than that. If I wanted the biggest scar, I’d of just slashed myself. No need to give myself a new asshole for my gut right?”

  “You were already the biggest in the group already,” the boss couldn’t help but grumble, “but I guess I wouldn’t put it past you to try to improve on that too.”

  “I took blade to the gut for you, and you’re still giving me crap,” Hank complained. “Anyone ever tell you your bedside manner sucks boss?”

  The two shared a chuckle, until Hank stopped to groan.

  “Okay boss,” Hank said with a more serious expression. “Tell it to me straight. How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough that you’ll finally need to retire old man. Hopefully this,” the boss waved at the embedded metal arm, “will finally slow you down.”

  “Donaldson,” Hank said, his face serious.

  The boss, apparently named Donaldson, took a deep breath. “I’d say it’s pretty bad, Hank,” the boss finally admitted with a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t tell if it pierced your left kidney, but it definitely sliced through your large intestine, maybe part of your small, I can’t tell. Even if you lucked out and avoided any artery or vein damage, that’s still a massive amount of trauma done to your body. We have enough coagulate packs to patch you up, but nothing we have on hand can repair organ damage like this.”

  “So,” Hank said slowly, “if you seal me up, I’ll just live a few days longer as I bleed out slowly on the inside. To say nothing of the waste backing up in my gut until I blow or rot, whichever comes first.” Hank let out a dry chuckle. “Tough choices boss, glad you get to make them and not me.”

  “What surprises me the most is how awake and aware you are,” the boss noted suspiciously. “Hank, you got skewered. You should be in so much pain your voice should have gone hoarse from screaming. We haven’t given you any painkillers. What did you do?”

  “I, may have swallowed a nanite suppressor when that first stalker showed up,” Hank admitted with a weak shrug. “Figured blocking the pain in my leg justified wasting it, didn’t think it would be helping me with, well, this.”

  Gamma watched Boss Donaldson take a deep breath. “You’ve still had that?” he asked. “I thought you sold that first chance you got. It’s a worth a small fortune.”

  “Not more than my life in an emergency,” Hank pointed out. “Though, I have to say, I’ve slowly been losing feeling in my lower half boss. And I don’t think it’s because of the pain blockers.” According to Gamma’s medical memory bank and its simulations, that was a bad sign. Either a loss of blood flow or nerve damage could be the top reason for such symptoms, and both were highly dangerous. As the conversation between the two continued, Gamma brought up its D.M.H.E.L.L. and H.I.P. protocols to consult. Though the human Hank was old and not ideal for Gamma’s purposes, it recognized that the loss of the elder of the group would be highly detrimental to group moral. It had some options to deal with such an outcome, and ran more simulations.

  “You have any updates to your will, Hank?” the boss asked, firmly grasping the other man’s hand.

  It took Hank a moment to think. “None comes to mind. You know my wife and son are gone boss; my daughter-in-law, stars bless her, is satisfied with her life. My granddaughter gets it all: my share, my gear, my payout,” he finally said. Hank smiled weakly up at his boss. “Boss, sorry I’ll be going first. Tell Hailey-”

  “You’re not so far into dying yet for that Hank,” Donaldson interrupted fiercely. “There’s a good chance if we patch you up that the rescue team will be able to reach us and get you transferred to a hospital. Worst thing you can do is give up and accept it.”

  “That’s a low chance boss given this run’s luck,” Hank grimaced. “And these pain blockers will be done in a day. I’d rather go out feeling weightless than after suffering for days. Besides, I don’t think you can afford to wait around here. You know why.”

  At this point, the other Roadrunners had finished their patrol and had returned to the camp to join the two older men.

  “Boss, what does he mean?” Sloan asked gently. The young ‘techie’ appeared worried and concerned in equal measure.

  Donaldson didn’t say anything, so it was Hank who explained. “Those bugs definitely put out their own shrills while they were outside on patrol,” he pointed out with a grimace. “There’s a good chance something else heard them and will be coming to investigate. We’re out of EMPs, let alone other ‘nades. My rifle is out of ammo, and Dina can’t hold off a group like that on her own with just her weapon. More importantly, what if more worms showed up from the group that was chasing us?” Hank slowly shook his head. “It’s too risky staying here; you guys need to get as far away as you can, and leave me behind.”

  “We’re also injured,” Dina started to say before Hank angrily cut her off.

  “Bruises at worst,” Hank snorted. “Your bodies are fine, it’s the exosuits that took the damage from today’s fall! Look you bastards, you don’t think my I don’t know my broken leg was the main reason you all stayed behind? Even on minimum settings, our suits can increase speed by .25x!”

  “Roadrunners don’t leave their own behind,” the boss said automatically, as if a learned verbal reflex.

  “I doubt my body will be going anywhere,” Hank pointed out. “If you seal me up in a preservation bag, you can retrieve my body when the expedition comes to investigate these ruins.”

  He waited, but the boss didn’t say anything. “Look, Donaldson, we have to face the facts,” Hank sighed. “If it takes our fellows three days to reach help, they’ll waste time organizing a rescue, and still need another three days to come back, and another three days to bring me to a hospital. At best, sure they could do it in one day increments, but no one ever gets the best-case scenario. Even then, I’d need to last a minimum of three days; do you honestly think I can survive that, loosely patched up with coagulants, and unable to get my crap out?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “No,” Donaldson was forced to admit. “We don’t have any medical IV rations to sustain you, and eating for three days without your large intestine. . .”

  Everyone was silent. Most not even knowing medical knowledge, the picture this situation painted was gruesome, gory, and unnecessarily cruel.

  The hardening face on the group’s boss, their leader, showed that he was coming to a difficult decision, but one he would make. Gamma could tell that this man, Donaldson, was able to make the hard choices. The program did not know how many times this human had been forced to make hard decisions, but it was clear that the burden of leadership for these Roadrunners required one to be able to make them: between cargo and risk, between life and lives, and between loss and safety.

  It was lucky for these humans that, today at least, Gamma could offer another option. Comparing the resources it still had access to, to the parameters of its D.M.H.E.L.L. and H.I.P. protocols, and the program had come up with a solution.

  “Warning, human in danger detected!” came the mechanical crackle of Gamma’s fake robot voice through the lobby’s speakers, causing everyone in the group to jump. “Emergency services currently unavailable. Medical center services, limited. Please bring the patient to, medical service center. Warning, human in danger detected!”

  Gamma set the announcement to repeat, at a slightly lower volume after the first utterance, and activated hallway lights, the ones that still worked, in the corridor that connected the fake mall lobby to the fake, but still fully functional, medical service center. For added visual attraction, it had the lights flicker systematically down the line in a beckoning manner, much like a runway. Humans couldn’t resist beckoning lights, according to D.M.H.E.L.L. protocols.

  “Well,” Ryan said with a weak smile, “at least we aren’t getting charged for property damage.” The joke didn’t do much to break the tension, but at least a couple of humans smiled. Just the hint of hope was enough to return life to them, by Gamma’s observation.

  The boss was decisive. “If there’s a chance, let’s take it,” he decided quickly. “Come on, everyone help me carry this heavy old man, and let’s see if this is a miracle.”

  Hank casually flipped Donaldson the bird with both hands as everyone grabbed onto a support bar, which not only supported each cot, but allowed them to be used as gurneys, and lifted. At a swift walking pace so as to not jostle Hank’s wound, the group followed the lights down the hall and further into the facility.

  The door at the end of the corridor opened with a groan as the group approached it, and the lights inside flickered to life automatically when they stepped inside. The medical service center turned out to be a small clinic, a wrecked waiting room and front desk only separated by fallen partitions from four large glass tubes and a bed-like structure accompanying each one. Two of the glass tubes were cracked, but not leaking any of the fluid still inside them.

  In truth, the ‘medical service center’ was actually another testing section similar to the mall fa?ade. While fully functional, it had never been intended as Site 3’s actual medical wing and had only ever been used to test Gamma and its predecessor’s understanding of human anatomy and health. Results were {error unavailable}, but the program still had full access to the training data and operating procedures.

  “These look a lot fancier than anything I’ve ever seen before,” the human Dina noted, eyeing the large glass tubes. “And I don’t think these are for physical therapy or cybernetic surgeries.”

  “Kind of reminds me of the hulk training centers,” Ryan mused. “Or the baby factories.” Gamma noted the phrases ‘hulk training center’ and ‘baby factory’ for later. Neither one triggered a known facility in the program’s data banks.

  Gamma activated the speakers in the practice clinic. “Please transfer emergency patient to, Bed A. Remove all outer clothing from patient before stepping away from, Bed A.”

  No one bothered attempting to make a joke of the situation. Hastily, the six remaining humans stripped Hank of his exo-suit and clothes, working as carefully as possibly to avoid touching or shifting the metal lodged in his body. There were collective grimaces all around when the older man’s pants were finally removed, revealing a notably paler skin tone in his legs compared to the rest of his body.

  “System errors impeding medical treatment,” Gamma reported artificially. “Physician assistance required. Please lower and secure facemask to patient face.”

  With a hiss, the top of the tube opened up, while on the wall above the bed a door opened and extended a mask and hose. The ceiling also opened up to reveal two metal arms, but both merely sparked and failed to move. This wasn’t Gamma’s doing, rather the arms and other parts of the center were suffering from a lack of maintenance and damage. It was already lucky that two medical tubes were still functional and connected to Gamma’s core, though neither was currently working at full strength. It would be enough to get started at least, and the program had further plans now that circumstances had turned to its favor.

  Boss Donaldson took the mask, made sure the hose was secured, and carefully adjusted it onto Hank’s head. The older man lifted his head obligingly to help the process along.

  “Secure hose to the center of, Tube A, top,” the speakers instructed under Gamma’s control.

  Donaldson walked around the bed, carefully walked up the small stepladder built into the tube’s base, and connected the other end of the hose to the metal lid. He walked back down and out of the way when he was done.

  “Please remove foreign object from patient to begin procedure,” Gamma said.

  “So, how is Hank going to get into the tube?” Ryan couldn’t help but ask as he and the boss positioned themselves to remove the metal blade. “We can’t reach the top to dump him in. Are we supposed to yeet him and pray to the stars?”

  As if to answer his question, a familiar buzzing noise made the large man’s hair suddenly perk up. Two familiar-looking, if painted white with red crosses, drones detached from the ceiling up above, both connected by hard wires to the structure.

  “Think you have your answer Ryan,” the boss noted. With a grunt, he and Ryan took the blade out, eliciting a grunt from Hank, and moved away. With the coagulant packs active in the wound, there was less bleeding than one would have though upon seeing the size of the wound.

  With again familiar, but softer-looking, cranes, the drones dropped down and carefully picked up the older man in a tight grasp. Hank’s grumbled and complaints were drowned out by the mask and the drone noises as he was lifted up and carefully positioned above the slightly bubbling liquid in the tube.

  The two drones then quickly lowered the older man into the tube before anyone could blink, ensuring none of the blood escaping from the wound splattered outside the tube. One of the drones moved then to take the metal arm from the two men before take the offending weapon over to a chute labeled ‘Medical Waste’ and dropping it in, even as the other drone detached from Hank and ensured the hose was fully inside the tube. Both drones then rose back up to the ceiling and reattached, blending in once more.

  The lid of the tube closed with another hiss, leaving Hank trapped floating inside the tube with a bemused expression. The pale blue liquid had only slightly turned red around the wound, and in the path the wound had moved through.

  “Releasing sleeping agent,” Gamma announced. “Commencing nanite healing.”

  As Hank’s eyes weakened and closed under whatever was being pumped into his mask, the other humans were all left stupefied by the unexpected announcement.

  “Did it just say?” Ryan asked hesitatingly.

  “I had hoped, but. . .” Sloan trailed off.

  Dina openly gaped. The pair of nameless twins stared at each other in shock. Even the boss appeared starstruck. Gamma had picked up earlier that nanites and nano-technology was something humanity appeared to have lost access to. The nanite pain blocker pill Hank had taken was registered in the program’s medical memory banks as a surgical assist that replaced, or worked with, anesthesia, and had often been used by soldiers on the frontlines of ground conflict (-error-, data corrupted). Something carried by common infantry was now worth a small fortune from conversational context; Gamma hadn’t missed that statement from the boss.

  Of course, Gamma didn’t exactly have easy access to nanites currently either. It no longer had access to the factory core module section of the facility, and the local fabrication center was disconnected from Gamma’s core. This meant it was either damaged, merely cut off, or in need of critical maintenance to restore its precision. With all construction and repair drones dedicated to foundational repairs, there was no method of creating new restorative nanites for the medical center, and Gamma had already calculated that Hank’s tube would run out of the tiny machines in two days. Of course, a power failure, loss of oxygen, lack of nutrient solution, or any number of other things could still result in the man still expiring. Site 3 in its current state was unable to support human life without outside assistance and/or intervention.

  Conveniently, the program had a small group of potential workers who, with proper motivation, may be able to help Gamma, help them. Of course, according to D.M.H.E.L.L. protocol, they didn’t need to be told exactly how needed they were. All they needed, was a reason to work, and Gamma now had one floating in a sealed tube.

  “Warning,” Gamma announced through the medical center’s speakers once more. “Structural damage likely to impact medical functionality. Repairs required to optimize and continue healing process underway. Unable to activate automatic repair units; human intervention required. All available workers, please report to, -error-, nearest console terminal for further instructions.” Gamma reactivated the hallways lights in a reverse pattern leading back to the lobby, and back to the records room previously used as the fake ‘jail’ for Ryan.

  The announcement finally broke the humans from their stupor and shock.

  “Boss, it sounds like-” Sloan began.

  “Yeah,” Donaldson nodded. “It’s clear this place has taken quite the beating, and it’s a minor miracle one of these things is even working. But, if nothing gets done, then Hank won’t be walking out of that tube alive.” He took a deep breath and folded his arms, finger tapping in thought.

  “What are we waiting for?” Dina suddenly asked, startling the boss out of his train of thought.

  Donaldson turned around to see four grim, determined expressions on the faces of his remaining Roadrunners.

  “What Hank said before still is true,” the boss said carefully. “If we stay here, there’s a good chance we’ll run into more bugs or other nasty things sniffing around the crater. We don’t have any more EMPs, we lost both spears, and only have a large sling for rocks and a crossbow with limited ammo. The longer we stay here, the more danger we’re exposed to.”

  “Boss,” Ryan spoke up after a moment after sharing a look with the others and all sharing a nod. “We’re Roadrunners. We don’t leave one of our own behind.” The large man then grinned. “Plus, fixing this place up helps our case in claiming these ruins doesn’t it? How much are medical nanites worth to the wallers boss?”

  With a shared chuckle, the group of humans all seemed to be in agreement. Their boss nodded. “Fine, I suppose it beats running through the sand again, and give us something to do besides think and mourn,” Donaldson admitted. “Okay, let’s go see what needs to be done.”

  Everyone cheered and began leaving the medical center. Donaldson paused to turn back and touch the tube with Hank’s body floating in it.

  “Sleep runner, your path has ended,” the boss said softly, touching his forehead to the glass, eyes closed. “Should we be fated to not speak again, may the dust from the path you walked carry you onwards and upwards to the stars.”