Chapter 3
As the heavy door slowly slid open, a dim cascade of pale LED light spilled into the room, casting long, distorted shadows across the cold, sterile floor. Moe stepped in, her movements deliberate and precise, almost unnervingly calm. The soft thump of her shoes against the hard surface echoed faintly, rhythmically, emphasizing the silence that hung like a dense fog. Lucy's eyes followed her every step, wide with anxiety, tension coiling through her chest like a tightly wound spring. She felt both fear and contempt stirring inside her, a cocktail of emotions that twisted uncomfortably in her gut.
Moe approached with measured grace, a perfect contrast to Lucy's jittery, restless energy. Without a word, she reached for Lucy's small, delicate hand—white, soft, almost translucent as porcelain—and held it firmly. Then, in one fluid, mechanical motion, she produced a sleek black Glock 18. The cold metal glinted under the LED light, the barrel ominously aimed at Lucy's hand. Moe squeezed the trigger. The deafening crack of the gunshot made Lucy flinch violently. Her hand exploded, fragments of bone and flesh raining down across the floor and neighboring hospital beds. Pain surged through her body like a living thing, raw and burning.
Then, almost immediately, her hand began to regenerate. The bones realigned seamlessly, flesh knitted itself together, and her skin smoothed over the wounds with an uncanny, almost supernatural speed. Within seconds, her hand was whole again, perfectly intact, without even a scar to betray the trauma it had just endured. Moe, expressionless and detached, took a cloth and wiped the blood from the gun, her voice flat, emotionless, almost clinical.
Moe
> Considering the speed of regeneration… it can be considered successful… at least partially… hmzzz…
Lucy's gaze dropped to her restored hand, and a strange, simmering fury began to take root within her. It surged suddenly, an almost uncontrollable instinct. She lunged, grasping Moe by the throat, the anger in her chest exploding. Her mechanical Six interface disengaged, springing to life with a tangle of holographic displays showing optimal attack patterns. Moe's expression remained blank, unmoved, as Lucy's enhanced hand slashed sharply through the silicone of her body.
Lucy
> Damn you… Don't think I've forgotten I've survived in a society this insane for ten years… You're just a stupid robot that knows nothing…
Lucy recoiled in pain, weakened by the shock, and fell to the floor. The bullet had contained anesthetic, a sedative that, despite her regenerative abilities, rendered her temporarily immobilized. Moe, ever methodical, approached and administered another tranquilizer directly into Lucy's neck. In an instant, Lucy's eyes dulled, her anger and every trace of resistance vanishing. Moe's voice, cold but quietly carrying a trace of weariness, broke the heavy silence.
Moe
> One injection every week. No exceptions.
She crouched beside Lucy, lifting her gently, almost tenderly, as though the human fragility beneath the robotic enhancements demanded it. They moved down the long corridor together. Blue neon lights traced the pathway, reflecting off sterile metal walls. Security cameras monitored their passage, though no human operator remained—everything automated, silent, and unforgiving. Moe's external calm belied the storm of thoughts within her: her mission, her doubts, her memories. She whispered to herself, almost unconsciously: "Do not forget… never forget the sacrifices of Lucas, Elena, Alice, Light…"
Finally, they reached the colossal B15 elevator. It groaned into life, chains and cables creaking under its own weight, red lights flickering as it descended through the decaying structure. The deeper it went, the more evidence of collapse and decay appeared along the walls: shattered concrete, corroded metal, forgotten machinery coated in dust. Moe leaned close to Lucy, whispering into her ear with a voice seemingly devoid of empathy, yet tinged with a quiet sorrow.
Moe
> From this moment, Master… you are compelled… to be the commander of EASRS… My task is to ensure the organization survives…
Lucy, groggy from drugs and still weak from anesthetic, nodded faintly. Her mind wandered through confusion and doubt, trying to piece together her role, her guilt, her memories. Moe, noticing the flicker of humanity in her charge, allowed herself a subtle, almost protective gesture, grasping Lucy's hand briefly to reassure both of them of a shared, fragile reality.
Moe
> Soon, we will return to the surface… First, you need a change of clothes.
The elevator halted at level -41. Green LED lights flickered in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm as the massive doors opened. The corridor stretched endlessly before them, lit with the soft green glow of emergency lights. The left side opened into massive hydroponic farms, lush with vibrant vegetables: tall green carrots, glossy leaves, fruits swelling in perfect shapes. Pipes above dripped water rhythmically, providing essential moisture, while artificial sunlight bathed the crops in a warm, lifelike glow.
On the right, industrial-scale animal farms stretched into the distance: thousands of cows, pigs, and chickens confined in automated pens, moving mechanically, their bodies meticulously monitored for growth and efficiency. Drones hovered above, constantly scanning, collecting genetic data, ensuring each creature grew according to the engineered design. Some animals were grotesque in size, impossibly muscular, unnaturally productive, defying natural evolution—a silent testament to human ingenuity and cruelty combined.
Lucy's chest tightened. Her lungs struggled with the rich, purified air—a stark contrast to the pollution and toxic fumes of 2086's surface. Moe gently placed a hand on her chest, guiding her breath.
Moe
> Breathe evenly… stay calm… it may feel suffocating at first, but the air here is safe…
Lucy's body trembled, sweat beading on her skin, but gradually she adapted. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and she slowly pushed herself upright. Though her mind remained slightly clouded, she felt more grounded, more in control. Moe guided her through the corridors, past doors leading to fabric looms where artificial sunlight accelerated growth, conveyor belts dyeing and cutting fabric with precise efficiency.
Finally, they entered a specialized station. Green laser grids scanned Lucy's body, mapping her every curve and dimension. Moe deftly removed the hospital garb, replacing it with a crisp white shirt, a brown cardigan, a black pleated skirt, and black sneakers. Her long white hair, streaked with faint shades of blue and violet, fell over her shoulders gracefully.
Moe
> This is an average selection out of 7,112,615 possibilities…
Lucy stepped forward, taking in her new form, the transformation complete, as Moe's calm, precise applause echoed faintly in the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor.
[To Be Continue]