Wasteland Executor: I Handed Over My Doomsday System

Three hundred meters underground in the NSCC (National Strategic Command Center), the air was as cold as the iron plates of a morgue. My name is Jack. As the nation's chief tactician, every minute of my time is spent calculating how to secure a last chance for humanity's survival on this island where civilization has collapsed.

But tonight, I couldn't calculate this sudden change.

"Buzz—"

A line of pale characters, like sulfuric acid corrosion, appeared out of nowhere in my vision. It didn't exist in real optical imaging; it was forcibly imprinted on my retina through nerve impulses.

[Host Jack detected. [Redemption AI] bound. Civilization Redemption Mission: Detected an armed scavenging group on the outskirts of the base with an extreme thirst for survival supplies and rampant hostility. Mission Issued: Within 30 minutes, distribute the stockpiled supplies in Zone 3 free of charge, conduct a meeting with compassion, resolve the hostility, and initiate the civilization repair process.]

My fingers tightened around the coffee cup, but I didn't jump up from the swivel chair. This thing thinks it's a god? It doesn't even understand what "survival game" is.

“Useless electronic virus,” I muttered to myself, my fingers flying across the tactical terminal. Physical isolation, LAN blocking, neural connection noise reduction… a series of actions executed flawlessly. I wasn’t led by the nose by this “mandatory task,” but instead, I captured its logical structure and mapped it in real time onto the giant tactical sand table in the command center.

If it was an alien gift, then it had to pass through the laboratory’s dissection table. If it was an alien invasion, then we had to be prepared to become strategic fuel for the nation.

“Ding.”

The heavy hydraulic blast door let out a mournful cry as it was forcibly pried open by the external electromagnetic breaching device. Commander Renault strode in, his faded military uniform still reeking of gunpowder. Behind him followed two heavily armed “Anvil” special operations team members, their gun barrels instinctively locked onto the strange, shimmering blue text on the large screen.

“Jack, if you’re doing some kind of tactical simulation, your script is disgustingly bad.” Reno walked over to my desk, his war-hardened eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, fixed on the screen, the embers of his cigar flickering in the darkness. “'Free distribution of supplies'? To those heartless scum sharpening their knives under the wall?”

I calmly stood up, shoving the virtual keyboard toward him, pointing to the line of logic: “This isn’t a script, this is an intrusion. But I’ve confirmed one thing, sir—this thing is real.”

Reno narrowed his eyes, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, his gaze locked onto the instruction set on the screen that the AI was trying to forcibly rewrite my understanding of. Unlike most people, he didn't question the system. A seasoned veteran, he asked the most crucial question: "How fast is this thing's logic processing? If used properly, how many resources can it mobilize?"

"It possesses some kind of superdimensional computing power beyond our comprehension, and it urgently needs the 'redemption mission' to be executed." A playful smile curved my lips. "It gave me a script, but the directing rights now belong to us."

"For example?" Renault sneered, a chilling fervor emanating from his laugh.

“Modify its preconditions.” I typed a few lines of code, rewriting the original “unconditional donation” to “humanitarianly binding material delivery.” “Tell those scum on the perimeter that the base has launched a ‘charitable aid operation.’ Anyone attempting to collect rations must undergo a ‘full-body health scan’ and register. Otherwise, give them a thermobaric bath.”

Reno stubbed out his cigar on my desk, his eyes flashing with the ruthlessness of a predator. “Jack, you’re a genius. Notify the Special Operations Team to replace all the material distribution points with the Research Department’s transit warehouses. Distribution? Ha, that’s just for the system. What we need to do is treat that trash like living biological samples and stuff them all into Sarah’s lab.”

“Execute the order,” I calmly commanded.

Ten minutes later, the chaos on the base’s perimeter abruptly subsided. The armed thugs who had originally planned to take advantage of the chaos cheered and rushed towards the fence when they saw the drone carrying a full load of compressed rations.

They never dreamed that the moment they stepped through the door, they would be greeted by precise mechanical claws and riot-proof electrical nets. They were neatly stacked on metal trolleys like livestock and sent directly into Professor Sarah's research operating room.

A sharp electronic voice pounded wildly in their minds.

[Mission Progress: Material distribution complete (100%). Audience emotions have been calmed (with forced sedation), and 'deep education' is now under complete control. Mission Judgment: Logical closed loop, perfectly achieving the goal of persuasion.]

"Boom—"

A data stream that only I could perceive exploded instantly, blue fragments condensing on my retina, ultimately transforming into an extremely complex technical blueprint—[Nano-metal composite formula].

Professor Sarah was already screaming in the laboratory. Through the blast-proof glass, I saw her looking at the blueprint as if she were seeing the face of God.

"Jack! Look at this molecular arrangement! If this thing goes into mass production, our exoskeleton protection level will increase by at least four orders of magnitude!" Sarah excitedly pounded on the glass.

I looked at Renault, who no longer cared about the lives of the thugs. He stared at the blueprint the system had awarded him, as if it were a juicy piece of spoils.

"This is just an appetizer, Commander," I said softly, gazing calmly at the desolate wasteland night outside the window. "The system wants 'redemption,' and all we need to do is ensure it continues to provide this 'gift.' As long as it keeps issuing missions, this world will evolve for our army."