The day started quiet enough—no alarms, no explosions, no one threatening to strangle Gene for once.  

Then Reina’s voice cut through the calm.  

“Movement at the east gate. One old man, two kids, one cart.”

Gene looked up from his half-eaten sandwich. “Define cart.”

Reina zoomed the camera feed. On-screen, an old man was dragging a handcart overloaded with cracked solar panels and dusty battery packs. Two small kids pushed from behind, wobbling under the weight.

Liz leaned over her shoulder. “A solar parade, huh? Cute.”

The old man stopped at the gate and slipped a note into the mailbox. Reina read the scanned text aloud.  

“‘We have panels and batteries. Request: clean water, canned food, and a blanket, if possible.’”

Freya pressed her hands together. “Gene… look at them. They’re freezing.”

Gene didn’t answer. He kept staring at the monitor, expression unreadable.

The voice came, smooth and clinical.

> **System:** “Analyzing trade offer: scrap solar panels, defunct battery modules.  

>  Market value—insignificant.  

>  Recommended exchange: one bottle of clean water, one canned meal, one blanket.”

Freya gasped. “That’s all?! But there are kids!”

Kayla snorted. “Rules are rules. The machine said no.”

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. “Technically, the algorithm’s fair.”

Gene sighed. “Yeah, fair like a tax office.”

He knew how this went—system decides, he looks like the villain. Standard operating procedure.

Then, right when he was about to move on, the System spoke again—with a tone that could only mean trouble.

> **System:** “Additional scan complete.  

>  Subject: female child, approximate age nine.  

>  Projection: ten years later—potential attractiveness rating ninety-five points.”

Everyone froze.

“…What?” Gene said flatly.

> **System:** “Statistical forecast only. If she survives, probability of beauty: extremely high.”

Kayla stared at the ceiling. “Your AI just rated a child.”

> **System:** “For data accuracy. Not for inappropriate purposes.”

Liz burst out laughing. “Oh my god. The apocalypse is run by a pervert calculator!”

Freya covered her mouth. “That’s… kind of sweet?”

“Sweet?” Reina muttered. “That’s terrifying.”

Gene buried his face in his hands. “I swear, one day I’m scrapping this machine.”

> **System:** “Host emotional distress detected.  

>  Initiating ‘Gift Mode’ for stress relief.”

Reina blinked. “Gift mode?”

> **System:** “Recalculating humanitarian output…  

>  Adjusted trade contents: one crate of bottled water, two crates of canned food,  

>  five blankets, and ten sets of clean clothes.  

>  Including message card: ‘May you grow up safe.’”

Freya gasped. “It even writes cards now!”

Liz slapped the table, laughing uncontrollably. “From stingy supplier to Santa Claus in ten seconds!”

Kayla pointed at Gene. “You just bribed fate with your own AI.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Gene yelled. “It’s freelancing!”

Alyssa typed furiously on her pad. “Fascinating. The algorithm displays emotional mimicry when encountering minors. Possibly… a parental subroutine?”

> **System:** “Incorrect. I simply prefer not to waste potential 95-point genes.”

“Stop talking!” Gene groaned.

On the monitor, the gate opened. The old man stepped in cautiously, only to find the pile of supplies waiting—water, food, blankets stacked neatly.  

He stared for a long time, then picked up the small white card on top.

He read it aloud to the children.  

“‘May you grow up safe.’”

The girl’s eyes shimmered. The boy grinned, hugging the blanket like treasure.  

The old man bowed toward the camera.  

“Thank you… whoever you are.”

Inside the control room, no one spoke.

Freya sniffled. “That was beautiful.”

Kayla muttered, “I hate that I’m crying.”

Liz, still giggling, wiped a tear. “Our fortress just adopted the apocalypse.”

Gene exhaled, slumping back in his chair.  

“Yeah, great. Now the machine’s doing charity. Next it’ll start taking confession.”

> **System:** “Unlikely. But installing a donation feature could improve morale by thirty-eight percent.”

“Don’t you dare,” Gene said.

Everyone laughed. Even Reina smiled—just barely.  

And for a brief, quiet moment, the fortress didn’t feel like a bunker.  

It felt like a home.