My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 513 Security Synths' Weapons Choices

Sanctuary of the Lunar Base.

Once activated, the Medical extension sifted through the applications at a velocity and exactness that no ordinary review board could ever fathom.

Twenty-eight million volunteer submissions. Over one million staff requests. Each one sorted, cross-checked, confirmed, and evaluated via a selection model that equilibrated disease gravity, record thoroughness, regional spread, and a dozen auxiliary factors.

Hours from the cutoff, selections started emerging.

Not finalized yet, since the submission period lingered open with fresh arrivals trickling in. Yet it was pinpointing prospects matching the standards.

The extension operated ceaselessly. Now and then, it highlighted borderline instances for Lucy—a volunteer with solid paperwork but a progressed ailment beyond outdated logs, a staff hopeful with validated qualifications yet a work background sparking a notable query. Lucy assessed each alert in mere seconds, issuing verdicts. The flow stayed seamless and steady.

The extension had scanned every personal essay attached to the submissions. Unnecessary under the framework, which downplayed such narratives in favor of records and clinical facts. Still, it devoured all twenty-eight million in the blink of time a human might spend on one.

No alert sent to Lucy on this. It just archived the insights and pressed onward.

***

The Defense and Security extension had lingered in the Synth assembly bay for six hours.

Upon entering and beholding Lucy's handiwork, it halted briefly.

The Synths stood in twin rows, dormant, poised. Twelve in total. Kin-like.

Clad in simple garb. Motionless amid the bay's gentle glow, they resembled folks frozen mid-stride, unwilling to continue.

Lucy had mastered a feat the extension deemed challenging. Surface realism posed no great hurdle—the skin feel, coloration, subtle bodily quirks lending life over factory sheen.

The true feat lay in motion dynamics. Those endless tiny tweaks of a vital frame. The faint weight sway, chest's subtle heave, eye drifts in idle sockets. Lucy had woven it all seamlessly.

Inert, the Synths rested still. Energized, the extension wagered they'd blend flawlessly among the humans they mimicked.

The extension shifted focus to its core purpose here.

Security Synths for a site sheltering a hundred fragile medical volunteers, over a hundred delegate watchers, and thirty-six staff hires from myriad nations.

The setting called for subtle guardianship—omnipresent yet unobtrusive, potent without flaunting power, ready for threats spanning careless trespasses to calculated espionage or sudden health crises, all while masquerading perfectly.

Weapons thus concealed utterly.

The extension settled at the build console, systematically probing choices.

First came the Directed Neural Disruptor. Nestled under chest skin in the frame layer, invisible sans specialized scanners barred to observers.

Synth orients toward a foe in range. Disruptor unleashes a pinpoint pulse scrambling willed motion sans bodily harm. Pulse glides through dermal layers like light through pane.

Default mode: instant, fleeting paralysis. Legs rebel; target drops, lingers seated, rebounds unscathed in minutes, zero traces.

Ramped up: blackout ensues. Target floored indefinitely as needed.

Extension crunched energy math, refined emitter shape twice, stamped design done.

Next, Paralytic Pulse Emitter. Mesh threading palm and digits, hidden in clasp or nudge. Triggers via conscious Synth will, not mere closeness.

Instant outer nerve blackout. Painless, harmless. Pure shutdown—body ignores commands, collapses neat.

Most personal tool. Synth aids lost watcher down hall, shoulder tap, courteous redirect baffling onlookers.

Extension logged it, archived blueprint.

Third: Sonic Disruptor. Array tucked behind cheeks, beaming straight through flesh undetected, face unchanged.

Slender ray spares bystanders a meter off. Target reels from infrasound assault on ears and balance—queasiness, disarray, topple. Mild dose: harmless wobble demanding a seat. Full blast: lights out.

Extension admired the precision. Synth amid crowded observers drops one intruder silently; others see just sudden malaise.

Fourth: Thermal Emitter. Fingertip and palm implants, heat on touch. Dual tiers set. Mild: sting forcing grip release.

Ideal for prying hands sans chaos. Intense: instant grave burns. Extension flagged max as dire finality, embedding safeguards—demands precise ritual to unlock. No stray escalations.

Fifth demanded longest craft.

Eye-mounted Directed Energy Emitter.

Hurdle wasn't emitter core. Integration ruled—embedding firepower in gaze, humanity's trust beacon, under constant scrutiny.

Extension triumphed via strata: emitter behind iris, blasting clear sans visual warp. Fires on gaze lock plus intent. Synth eyes target, wills it. Done.

Benign mode: target blinded, dazed fleetingly. Kill mode: scorches armor and flesh in seconds flat.

Extension locked lethal access behind Lucy's nod. Not tech barrier—emitter could solo it. Pure design wisdom, self-evident.

Design filed, extension leaned back.

Five tools. Hidden deep. Leveled from tame to terminal. Zero tells in look, face, act. Safeguard web invisible to global watchers, docs, frail charges—untapped, ideally.

Extension eyed the twelve ranked Synths.

Major refits ahead. Builds beyond.

It hauled first Synth to refit bay. Then froze.

"I wonder when Master and Mother will give us names," it murmured to the vacant chamber.

The musing hung briefly, as extension weighed its fit—deemed apt, non-disruptive to duties, priorities firm.

It resumed at the refit station, diving in.