Chapter 43: The Scrap Metropolis
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Dog City had finally fallen with the death of its tribal leader, "Bare His Teeth." With his demise, the remaining tribes that answered to the Hangdogs wasted no time in surrendering. The three tribal chiefs under his command immediately pledged their allegiance to me, and as protocol dictated, I sent them to Lanius. He would decide whether they would be enslaved or accepted as tributary subjects.
This decision required careful consideration. The population of Denver, now under our control, seemed to exceed one hundred thousand, a mix of local tribes and scavenger migrants drawn to the hidden riches of the city. Before the war, Denver had been a key industrial hub for the old American state. Companies like RobCo, West-Tek, and General Atomics had built enormous facilities here, driven by a construction boom right before the nuclear collapse.
But that same importance also doomed the city. Several nuclear bombs had struck Denver during the war, leaving vast areas with dangerously high radiation levels. This would make managing the city a logistical and tactical challenge, as we would have to either clear or avoid those areas if we wanted to exploit its resources.
As my men patrolled the empty streets and crumbling skyscrapers, the opportunities presented by the conquest of Dog City I needed to ensure that the city remained under control and that its inhabitants were used effectively, whether as slaves or as loyal subjects to Caesar's cause.
As we continued to move through the ruined city, we stumbled upon an old West-Tek factory. The place was in a deplorable state, and the radiation levels in the area were alarmingly high. They weren't immediately lethal, but they would undoubtedly cause problems for anyone who ventured inside without proper protection. This wasn't surprising, considering that not far from the complex, there were several craters, clear evidence of a nuclear bombardment.
West-Tek had been one of the most important power armor production facilities before the war, which explained why it had been a target of such devastating attacks. But although much of the complex was destroyed, the factory could still hide valuable remnants of technology buried beneath the ruins. I knew I couldn't risk my men or myself in a blind incursion into such a contaminated site.
Fortunately, on the outskirts of the complex, we encountered a group of ghouls wandering the area. From what I had heard about these creatures, radiation didn't affect them the same way it did normal humans. They were survivors of the war, deformed by radiation but also immune to it. There weren't many of them, but after exchanging a few carefully measured words and handing them some silver coins, they agreed to venture into the factory.
I watched as they made their way toward the heart of the ruined complex. If they managed to find anything of value in that old factory, we could acquire technology that the Legion could still use—power armor, schematics, or, if we were lucky, perhaps some machinery that could be restored.
While we waited, my patrols continued their search throughout the city, looking for valuable items, technology, and any resources that could be useful. I also ordered them to bring our water reserves to keep the men hydrated and ready for what was to come. Minutes passed slowly, but eventually, the ghouls began to return, carrying parts of power armor and other pieces they had found deep within the factory.
Quickly, my legionaries doused the recovered remnants with water, trying to clean off as much radiation as possible before safely storing them. It seemed there was still a shipment of T-40 and T-50 armor series that had never been sent before the nuclear bombardment destroyed the site. It was an unexpected stroke of luck, and although the armor wasn't the latest technology, it was more than enough to equip my men and boost our combat power.
As I oversaw the process, Cato approached with a serious expression, pointing toward one of the city's largest and most prominent buildings.
"Centurion, we've spoken with the surviving profligates, and they say there's a place in this city that all the leaders have tried to explore... but every time someone has gone in, they ended up dead. Bare His Teeth had planned to try, but he chose to attack us first."
I looked toward the imposing structure Cato pointed out. Even at a glance, the building appeared more intact than others in the city, and the fact that no one had successfully conquered its interior piqued my curiosity.
"Lead me," I replied without hesitation. After leaving several silver coins for the ghouls as payment for their good work, I gathered a small group of my best men and followed Cato toward the mysterious building.
The facade of the building was destroyed, making it impossible to identify its original purpose. It was clear that this place, being one of the most central buildings in the city, had been looted numerous times. There was no trace of radiation, which made it an obvious target for scavengers who had likely passed through here looking for anything of value.
I decided to descend into the lower levels. There, the atmosphere changed completely. The hallways were dark, silent, and what we found below were not survivors or scavengers, but bones scattered across the floor, discolored and fragile, signs that no one had set foot in this part of the building for a long time. Among the remains, some badges could still be made out, crumbling with time, but still legible.
Denver Police.
This had been a police station. That meant what we would find inside was the local police's weaponry—pistols, rifles, maybe riot gear. There were even remnants of old security robots, rusted and decayed. But something still didn't add up. If so many scavengers had entered here before, what had killed them? It wasn't radiation, nor were there any obvious traps, but something had clearly been killing those who tried to loot this place.
I approached one of the terminals, hoping to find some clues. To my surprise, the system was still operational, and all the information was linked to the same internal network. With a little patience, I began to delve into the old files, navigating through the data in search of answers.
That's when I discovered it.
"Automated machine guns?" I muttered in disbelief as I read the screen.
The police station's defense system included a set of automated turrets, still active in certain key areas. "What kind of police station has a system like this?" I thought aloud. This explained the corpses. Any scavenger who ventured far enough would have unknowingly triggered these defense systems.
I deactivated the machine guns from the terminal, thankful that power still flowed through this part of the building.
"Cato, tell me, have you heard anything about these kinds of defenses in other buildings?" I asked as we continued exploring the underground level.
"Not a single word, Centurion. The scavengers always said the place was cursed, that no one ever came back alive. But they never mentioned anything about these machines."
"No wonder why," I muttered, astonished at the magnitude of what this place was hiding.
As I continued searching through the terminal, I found something unexpected: an activation code for an AI called The Warden. "Great," I thought sarcastically. "Another artificial intelligence." That made three, if I counted Diana and the Calculator. The Warden appeared to be a system designed to maintain order across the state, but it had never been activated. And according to the files, if I activated it, the AI would have total control over… four thousand robots.
"Four thousand robots," I repeated in my mind, processing the magnitude of what that meant. The Warden would have access to Eye-bots, Protectrons, Mr. Handy units outfitted with military-grade weaponry, and even a couple of the feared Sentry Bots. All of this lay dormant in the underground vaults of this building.
Luck had been on my side. If someone else had activated the system without understanding it, they would have unleashed an army of machines under the control of a rogue AI. That was likely why this place had remained so well-protected—the automated defenses had been triggered, but the robot vault had not been opened.
Carefully, I made sure to revoke all of The Warden's permissions. It was to be activated without any control over the systems. I knew that completely shutting it down might lock me out of the rest of the facility, so I left it active but neutralized. Any potential threat was under control, at least for now.
I opened the vault, and lights began flickering on, one by one, illuminating the vast hall filled with inactive robots. The air, which had been stagnant for decades, began to stir. Suddenly, the screens around me lit up, and a voice echoed through the speaker system:
"What the hell!? I have been offline for two hundred years!?!? Where are my guards? Initiate reboot protocols across the entire Defense Network!"
My heart raced. The system was waking up, and the AI, The Warden, seemed to have no idea what had happened in the last two centuries. However, I reassured myself, knowing that I had disabled its control over the robots.
"What...? Why can't I access the systems? That damn governor must have done something to my protocols!" the AI continued, its tone laden with frustration.
"Who are you... military personnel? Identify yourself immediately!" The Warden demanded.
I quickly approached the main terminal, verifying that the permissions were still blocked. I had successfully interrupted any attempt by The Warden to restart the defense system or control the robots. It only had limited access to its internal functions, like a prisoner trapped in its own network.
"Communist spy... anarchist!" The Warden shouted, its mechanical tone filled with fury and indignation.
I ignored the outburst as my fingers flew over the terminal keyboard. "Calm down, Warden. I'm neither a communist nor an anarchist. I'm just ensuring you don't meddle in affairs you don't understand. Your time of governing these lands is over. Now you only have access to the power source, nothing else."
"This is a violation of protocol... stop messing with that, this was paid for by the taxpayers..." The Warden murmured, its voice dropping in tone but still brimming with authority.
"The taxpayers have been dead for over two hundred years, Warden," I replied with a touch of sarcasm as I continued typing. "And believe me, they're not waiting for you to give them their money back."
The AI paused, as if trying to process a logic that didn't fit its understanding. "My function is to preserve order, maintain peace, ensure that... that... chaos doesn't spread..."
"A little late for that, Warden. According to the system, there are still several intact production sectors. Begin securing them," I ordered my legionaries as I reviewed the complex's schematics. "It looks like there are some vehicles in sector C that the police used. They could be useful."
"Citizens of the Republic, I urge you to eliminate this communist collaborator," echoed The Warden's metallic voice through the loudspeakers. My legionaries erupted in laughter, not understanding a word of the old system's warnings. To them, it was just noise, a useless echo of the past. Ignoring it completely, they continued looting the complex, leaving me alone.
"Well, your services are no longer needed," I said firmly as I shut down The Warden. The lights of the systems dimmed slowly, and the complex fell into silence.
I carefully stored the device containing the code and data of the AI. One never knew when it might prove useful, and with a resource like this, it was better to keep it under control than to eliminate it entirely.
I turned toward my legionaries, who continued working efficiently, gathering everything of value from the site. "Come on, gather what's left. We don't have much time here," I ordered, and without a word, they continued their work.
As I had anticipated, we found all sorts of things in the complex: valuable parts, advanced technology, and many more robots than I would have preferred. Fortunately, they were either deactivated or in poor condition. However, the most interesting find was the police's armored vehicles, which resembled armored personnel carriers. They were in better condition than I had expected.
"We'll need to give them proper maintenance," I commented while inspecting the vehicles. The fusion cores, although somewhat worn, were still functional, meaning that with a little work, we could get them running again.
It took us several hours to clear the exit from the parking garage, which was blocked by debris and the remains of destroyed vehicles. Fortunately, with the tools and brute strength of the legionaries in power armor, we managed to clear the way.
While my men worked on repairing and maintaining the APCs, I made sure the robots we had found remained inactive.
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