Arriving before the blast door of Shelter 100, I'm the Darkest found the communication terminal on the wall beside it. He pulled a data cable from the VM on his left arm and plugged it into the port beneath the terminal.
Watching the green signal light blink to life, the players' faces filled with delight and astonishment.
It was hard to imagine.
After soaking in sewage and garbage for so many years, an electronic device manufactured two centuries ago could still boot up!
One had to admit, the People's Federation's high-tech wizardry truly lived up to its reputation.
Just as I'm the Darkest opened the Scientific Expedition's mini-program and imported the digital key into the terminal to wait for the loading bar, Chu Guang back at Camp 101 was also monitoring the situation at Shelter 100.
Perched on Chu Guang's shoulder, Xiao Qi suddenly opened its eyes and looked toward him.
"The terminal shows signs of prior use."
Chu Guang looked at it and asked, "Hasn't the blast door remained sealed all this time?"
A stream of data flickered through Xiao Qi's pale blue eyes. It rubbed its chin and murmured, "Mm... the door's power system was indeed offline for two centuries, but there's an access log from the year 2190."
2190.
That meant Year 61 of the Wasteland Era?
Chu Guang gave a thoughtful nod.
In truth, it wasn't hard to understand.
According to Dr. Method, Camp 101 had previously attempted to explore Shelter 100, only to abandon the effort when conditions proved impossible.
Shelter 101 had come online after the dissolution of the Post-War Reconstruction Committee, which should have been around 2174—Year 45 of the Wasteland Era.
During the window between Year 45 and Year 61, Camp 101 had most likely already emerged. After all, as Dr. Method had explained, while Shelter 101 remained secluded from the world, it had never completely severed contact with the outside. It had continually educated wandering wastelanders, using them to conduct indirect scientific surveys of the surrounding region.
Back then, the wasteland was not yet overrun with extreme mutant life. It was entirely plausible that residents of Camp 101 could have reached the entrance of Shelter 100 with diving gear.
While man and AI spoke, I'm the Darkest's VM secured authorization to cycle the shelter's blast door.
Right at that moment, a silver metallic sphere popped up on the terminal's display.
"Welcome! Friends of the future! You've finally found us! We thought you'd completely forgotten we were here. By the way, what year is it? How many colony planets do we have now? I said it long ago: having only Aurora was bound to cause trouble! If we had a hundred Auroras, none of those terrible things would have ever happened."
I'm the Darkest couldn't make heads or tails of most of what it was blabbering about, so he could only answer the parts he understood.
"Year 2342 of the People's Federation calendar, Year 213 of the Wasteland Era. Sadly, we're still stuck on the homeworld... Speaking of which, don't you even have an internal clock?"
The metallic sphere seemed to freeze, its bobbing motion turning noticeably anxious.
"Wait, still on the homeworld? You mean not even one? How is that possible?! What about Reach? The Zhiyuan heading for Reach should have arrived at its destination by now!"
Reach?
It took I'm the Darkest a good while to recall that this seemed to be the original destination of Enterprise's colony ship. With a strange expression, he replied, "No... If you're talking about the Zhiyuan, they never even left the solar system. They deliberately beached the ship in Yunjian Province and built a new city there up to colonial standards. Heard they took in quite a few survivors."
The silver metal sphere seemed stunned for a moment. It clacked its hopper-like mouth flap, taking ages to squeeze out a single remark:
"What a waste..."
I'm the Darkest didn't understand what it considered a waste, but he was far more interested in what kind of thing this fellow actually was.
"My name is I'm the Darkest. What about you? What should I call you?"
"Bell... That's what they all call me, because whenever I walk and talk, I'm always clinking and clattering like a rusty bell. My designer built me 55,845 work cycles ago. He thought that when the door opened again, it would be a brand-new world out there, and someone would take me to work in a museum or something. But it looks like his wish didn't pan out."
As if drained of its initial vigor, the silver sphere drooped its soft antennae and rambled to itself.
Its scattered words sounded partly like an answer to a visitor's inquiry and partly like self-pity over its own fate.
I'm the Darkest counted on his fingers. If a work cycle meant a day, then over 55,000 cycles worked out to... more than a hundred and fifty years?!
In other words, this guy had existed since around Year 60 of the Wasteland Era and lived all the way to February of Year 213!
Watching I'm the Darkest count on his fingers at the doorway, Bell smacked its hopper-like mouth.
"'I'm the Darkest,' is it... Got to say, you really are pretty damn dark."
Glancing at the sewage and mud covering him, I'm the Darkest patted his filthy breastplate and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, can you open the door? We've already fed you the password."
Bell: "Of course, you can come in anytime. You just have to tap the open button on your terminal... Or did you assume every door should swing wide open all on its own for you?"
Listening to the robot's cheek, I'm the Darkest rolled his eyes again and poked his index finger against his VM screen.
Accompanied by an earth-shaking rumble and the screech of grinding metal, the colossal gear rolled slowly aside, clearing an opening wide enough for two vehicles abreast.
A flight of stairs led directly down to a spacious buffer zone, and straight across from the opening stood two sealed airlock doors fitted with transparent viewing ports.
Amber illumination and warning lights flickered on one after another. Shadows cast by structural beams swayed across the ground, accompanied by clattering mechanical noises.
The entire shelter groaned like an antiquated combustion engine whose fuel tank, settled for countless years, had been sparked by a fresh plug, begrudgingly cracking open its clouded eyes.
The display on I'm the Darkest's VM showed that the shelter's fusion reactor had reignited, and all facilities were switching over from auxiliary reserves to primary grid power.
Monitoring the feed from Camp 101, Chu Guang was visibly moved.
Shelter 100's fusion reactor still had fuel remaining!
Just as I'm the Darkest stood dazed by the transformation unfolding before him, several ghost-face bugs suddenly scuttled into view, startling him into raising his weapon almost on reflex.
"Hey! Wait! Those little guys are harmless—"
Seeing him raise his barrel, Bell was startled as well and tried to stop him, but I'm the Darkest had already pulled the trigger.
Amidst a burst of gunfire, several ghost-face bugs instantly dropped onto the rust-streaked walkway, rupturing with fluids and flipping onto their backs.
Looking at the dead little creatures, Bell complained sorrowfully on the monitor:
"You butcher! You killed them all!"
Not daring to let his guard down, I'm the Darkest carefully surveyed the passage beyond the door, then gestured to the squad behind him. Five men split off to push ahead and clear out any mutants that might be lurking in the buffer zone, while he remained by the entrance for now.
Looking at Bell, who was still lamenting those little lives, he lowered his muzzle, suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, and said, "They aren't interested in you because you're a robot. We ran into plenty of these things on our way in... They lunged the second they saw us."
Bell froze. "Wait, you said... you ran into these things outside too?"
I'm the Darkest: "Yeah. Why?"
"Incredible..." Bell muttered softly, its voice brimming with shock. "By all rights, that should be impossible. The blast door was never opened after sealing, not even once. There's no way they could have gotten out... Could there be a breach somewhere? How strange."
Watching the chattering robot, Ten-Punch Superman and Kevin glanced at each other and exchanged a quiet murmur.
"Why do I feel a sense of déjà vu?"
"Plus one."
Looking at the bewildered Bell, I'm the Darkest frowned slightly. "You know what they are?"
Bell cleared its throat and spoke in an explanatory cadence.
"Of course. They're called 'Crunchers.' They yield abundant chitin, a natural polymer and premium industrial raw material. Beyond that, the protein and nutrients they offer are rare treasures, and keeping them fed requires nothing more than everyday domestic waste. Without the slightest exaggeration, this is one of the greatest accomplishments of this museum—er, shelter."
I'm the Darkest's brow twitched. He couldn't see what was remotely great about these violently aggressive little pests.
"We call them ghost-face bugs."
Hearing the curious moniker, Bell let out a grating laugh that echoed eerily through the pitch-black subway tunnel.
"Ghost-face bugs? That sounds pretty nice too... Call them whatever you like, since this place belongs to you now anyway."
"Can you give us a tour of the place?" I'm the Darkest tried asking.
The silver metal sphere on the screen didn't hesitate, promptly nodding its rounded head. "No problem. That was my job to begin with. Follow me."
With that, Bell turned around.
Just as I'm the Darkest wondered how they were supposed to follow it, the metal gate to the buffer zone ahead hissed open.
A silver metal sphere sat calmly atop a flat, basin-sized four-legged robot.
"What are you still waiting at the door for? Come on in."
I'm the Darkest exchanged glances with the teammates beside him. Following the self-proclaimed Bell, they passed through the buffer zone's twin airlock doors and stepped into the interior of the shelter.
Conditions here were not as terrible as feared. Even after soaking under floodwaters for so many years, no sewage had seeped inside. Even Bell, who had lived here for a century and a half, couldn't figure out how those bugs had managed to escape outside.
Still, even if it wasn't as bad as imagined, the situation was by no means optimistic.
Vast swarms of Crunchers had claimed the shelter. They had established nests, packing every conceivable crack and crevice like cockroaches. Pitch-black droppings coated the floors, alongside oily, shed chitin carapaces and fist-sized egg sacs.
Spotting several ghost-face bugs hissing with sharp clicking noises, I'm the Darkest and his squad of ten players raised their weapons in practiced unison and opened fire.
After a tight burst of gunfire, dozens of bugs were obliterated on the spot, splattering into dark green sludge along with the egg clusters filling the chamber.
Manipulating its four mechanical legs to nimbly sidestep the carpet of remains, Bell atop the quadruped frame no longer decried the visitors as butchers, offering only a gentle reminder:
"These are good materials, you know. Those shed carapaces are packed with chitin, which can be processed into all sorts of high-performance polymer compounds... Most electronics and machinery need them."
I'm the Darkest had no time to humor the machine.
Staring at the dead ghost-face bugs and foul excretions coating the ground, he swapped out his spent magazine, his scalp tingling as he reported their findings back to command:
"...This is I'm the Darkest. We have breached Shelter 100. The area is choked with ghost-face bug droppings and egg sacs. There could easily be tens of thousands of them deeper in, maybe hundreds of thousands! I recommend shutting down the shelter's atmospheric circulation system and returning in a few days."
He finally understood where those mutant water striders had come from.
Turns out they had been lured in by these little critters all along!
Static rustled over the comms channel, followed by Brother Spring's voice.
"I've forwarded the shelter's status to the Administrator... His reply is that Shelter 100's ventilation system has suffered a breakdown. According to the diagnostic routine, something must have clogged the intake filters—could be egg sacs, could be shed carapaces. The ghost-face bugs infesting the shelter likely slipped out into the surrounding tunnels from that breach."
His scalp crawling, I'm the Darkest asked, "So... isn't there any efficient way to purge the bugs here?"
Picking them off one by one with assault rifles would take forever!
At least grant them some pesticide!
Commander Spring: "For now, there are no shortcuts, unless you can drop down to B2 and repair the ventilation system. But that's asking too much of you, and too much of me. We'll need to clear B1 and B2 of mutants first before we can bring in Camp 101's HVAC technicians... But that's for later. Eventually, we'll reclaim the entire shelter, but that's not our mission today."
Clearing his throat, he went on:
"Here's the priority. Our task is to retrieve the black boxes stored in the B40 warehouse—roughly twenty-odd units, though you'll only know the exact count once you get there. Next are the logs in the Administrator's office on B51; they contain data our Lord Administrator needs. In addition, sensors picked up a potential human life sign down on B100... but the readout is bizarre, not matching a normal human profile. In short, the first two are your main objectives, and the last is a side quest. That's all."
'That's all,' as if it were nothing.
And this shelter had a hundred levels!
I'm the Darkest couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Can't you get your ass in here and help?!"
Commander Spring offered an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, bro. I'm just as bad with creepy-crawlies as you are... Besides, I've already admitted I'm an armchair officer. I'm much better at barking orders than pulling triggers. Don't sweat it, though! I've assigned you a hundred more brothers; you've got an entire company behind you now. When you get back, the top medal is all yours!"
I'm the Darkest: "%¥#@!"
With so many ridiculous things to complain about all at once, he didn't even know where to begin, so he simply spat a few curses and terminated the link.
Paying no heed to I'm the Darkest's grumbling, and not understanding a word of his complaints anyway, Bell trotted along in the lead, speaking in the relaxed tone of a museum docent:
"...The magnificent Shelter 100 once sheltered 30,300 residents, reaching a peak population of 81,711."
Ten-Punch Superman couldn't help chiming in, "Eighty thousand? In here?"
Even though he had heard Spring mention over the comms that the facility plunged down a full hundred levels, it was still hard to imagine that a bunker tucked inside a subway tunnel could swallow almost the entire population of Dawn City.
To hold that kind of population, wouldn't it need to be a subterranean metropolis on the scale of Shelter 79?
Yet this place clearly didn't look the part.
Not the least bit surprised by his reaction, Bell merely let out a sharp, clicking cackle and came to a halt before a sliding blast hatch along the hall.
"...Your limited perspective constrains your imagination. Eighty thousand is nothing; theoretically, this shelter could accommodate two hundred thousand."
Just as its words fell, the sliding hatch rose slowly upward, revealing the world beyond in an expansive panorama.
It was entirely unlike the cramped tunnels outside.
A broad circular promenade traced an immense void carved into the subterranean earth, connecting hundreds of tightly packed chambers along its perimeter.
The layout of the shelter was designed like a vertical lightwell descending into the abyss, capped overhead by a hemispherical dome that radiated a warm beige glow.
The illumination fell like a sun engraved within the cavern, plunging deep into the fathomless shaft.
Shed carapaces of ghost-face bugs had formed a honeycomb tower along the lightwell's interior walls, shimmering with iridescent ripples of light under the radiance.
It looked like a rainbow made physical!
Yet what shocked them most was far beyond just this.
Along the circular promenade, scrapped exoskeletons and the wreckage of mechanical constructs lay discarded like rubbish.
Among them were the classic Type-5 police exoskeletons from the Federation era, alongside the bulky frames of Type-6 Heavy Cavalry units.
In addition, there were machines that looked less like weapons and more like engineering tools—such as several crab-like maintenance bots that had evidently joined the battle, brandishing pincer-like appendages.
Their hulls and the surrounding surfaces were riddled with bullet impacts, with blast marks left by explosives scarring walls and floors alike.
The mutants prowling the shelter had devoured every trace of organic matter beneath the metal armatures, using shed chitin plates and viscous secretions to assimilate the exoskeletons and machine chassis into the hive walls, forming a unified sepulcher known as Shelter 100.
Staring at the breathtaking spectacle, the players' eyes glazed over. I'm the Darkest, standing closest to the doorway, let out an instinctive gasp: "Holy shit..."
These lighting effects!
This environmental modeling!
Every single frame looked like pure budget burning!
It was downright incredible!
Seemingly quite pleased by the shock painted across its visitors' faces, Bell admired the scene for a brief moment, then let out a rasping chuckle like metal blades grinding together.
Guiding its quadruped mount through the hatchway onto the circular promenade, it halted at the edge of the sheer shaft.
"Welcome to Shelter 100. You are likely the first guests to set foot here since the doors were sealed two centuries ago."
Glancing at the sprawling fields of wreckage, I'm the Darkest asked reflexively, "What on earth happened here?"
Bell replied unhurriedly, "A great many things. To tell it from the start would be a very long story. My master recorded everything that happened here on his VM, which should still be in the Administrator's office. You'll understand once you look through it."
I'm the Darkest pressed further, "Was your master the Administrator here?"
"The Administrator? How could that be? Do other shelters really have humans serving as Administrators?" Bell laughed aloud. "In any case, here he was merely a Supervisor... But my master was quite impressive; he survived right to the very end! Though whether that counts as good fortune is hard to say."
Ten-Punch Superman stared blankly at it. "A Supervisor?"
Bell offered a succinct explanation:
"Shelter 100's administrator wasn't human, but an AI possessed of immense computational power. Its name is 'Tree.' It holds the shelter's supreme authority, charged with formulating optimal decisions based on the parameters fed back by the various sensor modules throughout the facility. If a lightbulb burns out, Tree knows before the person sitting beneath it, immediately dispatching a work order to the appropriate storehouse and maintenance bay."
"And the Supervisors were the residents designated to ensure Tree's directives were carried out. They were residents of the shelter, but they also served as part of Tree's sensory apparatus, tasked with keeping watch over the least reliable module in the entire shelter—the residents themselves."
At this point, it paused, adopting a faintly amused tone.
"Though 'Supervisor' was merely the title my master and his colleagues used for themselves. Just as you took to calling Crunchers 'ghost-face bugs,' those rowdy residents were equally fond of avoiding official designations. Behind closed doors, they secretly referred to them with the honorific 'Tree Folk.'"
Chapter 621