Something Strange Appears
Tap, tap.
On the way to the TF office where our team was stationed, my shoes echoed through the corridor with every step.
As I moved along the hall, I ran into employees from other TF offices.
They weren’t people I knew all that well.
At most, we exchanged greetings when we crossed paths.
At least, that had been true until recently.
We used to chat about trivial things—the weather, yesterday’s national team soccer match.
We even traded jokes.
Even when we weren’t speaking, we’d still smile and nod at one another.
But now...
Everyone avoided my eyes.
Some pretended not to see me; others kept their heads down and walked past, staring at the floor.
When had that started?
It had been a little while, I guess, but was this... really something that couldn’t be helped?
“Good morning, Manager Baek.”
“Good morning!”
When I reached the office of our team, the Next-Generation Composite Armor TF, my teammates greeted me.
Assistant Manager Kim Soyeon and Assistant Manager Jung Yunho.
They were the two people working with me on the internal structural design of the composite armor.
“Yeah. Morning.”
I gave them a light wave and sat down at my desk.
Then I forced down the sigh trying to rise in my throat.
There was pity in the eyes of the two people looking at me.
Since when?
As far as I remembered, it had been about a week...
So that was it. Rumors were spreading.
Something only everyone else knew, while I remained in the dark.
Until yesterday, there had been no obvious sign of anything.
Swallowing hard, I logged into the intranet.
Please.
Please don’t let it be there. Please.
Praying all the while, I opened the intranet—
and when I saw the notice posted this morning, I could only clench my teeth.
[Notice Regarding the Voluntary Retirement Program Under the Mid- to Long-Term Workforce Management Plan]
The notice about voluntary retirement was plain enough on its face.
If you applied, what compensation you’d receive, when applications would begin—nothing more than a series of dry, practical details.
And yet my heart was pounding so violently as I read it that it almost hurt.
The looks I’d seen from employees in other departments on the way in, and the strange expressions on my own team’s faces, all of it kept flashing through my head and vanishing again.
Then, from beside me—
“Morning.”
A deep, gravelly voice rang out.
Department Head Song Younghoon.
He was a parachuted executive who had spent more than ten years at the Agency for Defense Development before transferring to our company, Hanseo Defense.
“You’re in, sir.”
“Yeah.”
After returning my greeting, Song headed to his seat and sat down.
He powered up his computer and checked something for a moment, then let out a small sigh and came over to me.
He tapped my shoulder twice.
He was motioning for me to step out and talk for a minute.
“I’m going to grab coffee with Manager Baek. Keep an eye on things while I’m out.”
“Yes, sir. Have a good one, sir.”
I followed after Song.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning, sir.”
“Yeah, good morning.”
He was completely different from me.
Song walked ahead, answering every greeting he received with easy familiarity.
We arrived at the cafeteria.
Song ordered two coffees, then said, “Manager Baek. Did you see the notice that went up?”
“...Yes.”
“People have been saying for a while that they might shut down the Composite Armor TF, and it looks like they’re finally moving to clean house. They’ve poured more than twenty billion won into it over the past three years, and there’s still no sign of a solution.”
Song sighed from deep in his chest, sounding like he was truly fed up with the situation, and went on.
“There are a lot of projects they’ve dumped huge amounts of money into that still haven’t gone anywhere. We kept making the case that our Composite Armor TF had potential, that they just needed to wait a little longer—but it doesn’t look like anyone’s listening.”
“So that’s where the voluntary retirement talk comes from?”
Song gave a bitter smile and nodded.
Seeing that, I could only let out the same kind of sigh he had a moment ago, one that seemed to rise from the very bottom of my chest.
I knew the company was in bad shape.
Still, since we were a major corporation, I’d thought we wouldn’t need to panic over every rumor—as long as we delivered results, we’d be fine somehow.
...But then.
“Lately, the people in other departments have been avoiding my eyes. Am I on the list?”
“...”
Song didn’t answer.
Instead, just as our coffee came out, he picked it up and set it down in front of me.
His face was lined with misery.
“There wasn’t any choice. If we sent out the rookies, HR wouldn’t even blink. They’d just keep demanding managers and above.”
“...So you’re telling me to leave? I’ve busted my ass for this company for fifteen years. I’ve worked myself to the bone, damn near coughed up blood doing it, and now you want me out?”
I forced the surge of anger back down and spoke through clenched teeth.
“I don’t think I was bad at my job. I think I did my share and then some. So why is this happening to me?”
“...As you know, you’re excellent in land combat systems R&D. But can you do more than your share in guided weapons systems? Aviation? Mass production?”
“...I can.”
“Maybe you can. But if you move over there, there are plenty of people who can do it better than you, Manager Baek. The company’s trying to shrink the organization. There’s no reason to keep people who aren’t first-string—people who are barely second-string, maybe two and a half string.”
What a load of garbage.
The answer was already decided; all that was left was for him to steer me into saying it myself.
As if I’d do what he wanted.
No matter how bitter it made me, I wasn’t walking out like this.
The company would use every trick in the book, but I could do the same and hold out.
I knew very well the cases of office workers who had refused voluntary retirement and survived by digging in their heels.
Just as I was thinking that, Song spoke in a low voice.
“Manager Baek.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We can come back to this later and talk more, but for now, let’s get up. It’s not the kind of conversation we need to sit around on forever, and work’s urgent.”
He wanted to talk about work, of all things, right here?
My temper flared again, but when I saw the look on Song’s face—genuinely apologetic—I forced myself to swallow it back down.
It wasn’t as though today was the end of the world, and refusing work orders simply because I intended to stay and not resign would only hurt me in the end.
“Yes. Understood.”
“...Thanks. When you get back to the office, take Assistant Manager Jung and head over to Deputy Head Park’s team to help out. They’re short-handed for today’s test.”
“Yes. I’ll head over there.”
*
The drive from Pangyo HQ to the Pocheon proving ground took a little over two hours.
During that entire stretch, Assistant Manager Jung, who was driving, didn’t say a word.
I, too, just sat in the passenger seat, staring silently out the window.
It was right after I’d heard about voluntary retirement.
I didn’t feel like talking.
Especially not in front of this guy, who already knew I was a candidate and had looked at me with that pitying expression.
Gradually, the scenery changed.
From a concrete jungle of towering, massive buildings to a truly barren landscape—dusty mountain foothills and shabby four- and five-story buildings that looked miserable by comparison.
The shift in scenery felt almost like a mirror of my own situation.
“We’ve arrived, Manager Baek.”
After what felt like a long time, Assistant Manager Jung spoke up.
“Thanks for driving, Assistant Manager Jung.”
When I got out of the car, a cold mountain wind swept over me.
The air at this Pocheon live-fire test range had a different weight to it than the air in Seoul or Pangyo.
For the military, it was simply a place to conduct live-fire exercises and training, but for engineers like me who worked in the defense industry, it was practically an exam hall.
What we spent months, even years, researching was laid bare here.
And in not much time, I might never be able to come here again.
With a heavy heart, I took in the view.
A vast basin walled in on all sides by mountains.
Untamed dirt, not even properly paved, crisscrossed with tire tracks; safety fences stood in scattered places, and beyond them people in yellow safety vests moved briskly back and forth.
They were Deputy Head Park’s team members, along with safety controllers dispatched from the military.
“Let’s go, Assistant Manager Jung.”
I adjusted my work gloves and started walking.
Assistant Manager Jung slung the equipment bag over his shoulder and followed behind me.
We were heading toward the command container along the unpaved road, dust kicking up beneath us, when Assistant Manager Jung hesitated and said, “Manager... there.”
“Hm?”
“Isn’t that the division head?”
Where he pointed, a familiar silhouette stood in front of the on-site container.
It was Choi Kichul, the head of the Land Systems Business Division.
What was someone who should’ve been sitting in an executive meeting at headquarters doing out here in this dusty pit?
“Good to see you, Division Head.”
As I approached and bowed, Choi flinched and turned.
For a moment, I couldn’t help staring.
He looked awful.
He had always had a few wrinkles, but today his face looked unusually drained, as if all the color had been sucked out of it.
His eyes were hollow from what looked like several sleepless nights.
“Oh, right. Manager Baek. You’re here to help?”
“Yes. I came at Department Head Song Younghoon’s request to help with the setup. But... are you feeling unwell? You look terrible.”
I asked without thinking.
When I first joined the company, Choi had been my manager.
He was a superior who had taken care of me quite well, and someone I was sincerely grateful to.
Seeing him look that bad, I couldn’t help feeling concerned even in the middle of my own mess.
“Ha, haha... I’m fine. Just a little tired. Don’t worry about me and get to work.”
Choi gave an awkward laugh and went inside the container.
Watching his weary back disappear inside, Song’s earlier words suddenly came back to me.
It looks like they’re trying to shrink the Land Systems Business Division, too.
Ah.
So even this guy was standing on the blade’s edge?
With the entire division on the chopping block, there was no way the division head himself would be spared.
He probably had even more to answer for, too.
A sour taste slid down my throat.
But I was hardly in a position to feel sympathy for anyone else.
“...Come on, Yunho. Let’s get set up.”
“Yes, Manager Baek.”
We headed over to where Deputy Head Park’s team members were gathered.
There stood the star of today’s show, a monster in its own right.
The driving-test chassis, the so-called dummy.
It hadn’t even been painted, leaving it with the hideous look of red rust-prevention primer still slapped across the surface.
Where the cannon barrel should have been, a thick steel pipe stuck out awkwardly, installed to balance the center of gravity.
It looked like a beast that had been beheaded.
All over the chassis, wires linked to various sensors were tangled like veins and ran into a laptop.
I wondered how much longer I’d be able to keep seeing this thing.
As I watched the dummy, that thought crossed my mind—and then I heard a familiar voice.
“You’re here, Manager Baek!”
“Yeah, Assistant Manager Kim. Let’s start right away. Guide the crane.”
I joined Deputy Head Park’s team and got straight to work.
Today, my job was to fit one of the many versions of composite armor developed by our TF—the TP-C armor module—onto the dummy’s side and upper section.
“Lower it! More, more! Stop!”
With a low mechanical hum, the crane moved the heavy composite armor panel to the side of the chassis.
Once the workers from Deputy Head Park’s team had it in position, Assistant Manager Jung and I tightened the bolts with impact wrenches.
“Bolt one secured.”
“Two and three checked. No play.”
Clack-clack, thunk.
Familiar machine sounds rang out.
We embedded vibration sensors into the panel gaps, then ran the wiring to connect them to the data logger.
When I was moving mechanically like this, it was nice—there was no room for stray thoughts.
“The sides are done. Manager Baek, I think we’ll need a ladder for the top.”
“Got it. Bring one over.”
The last task was checking the armor and sensors on top of the turret.
Three meters above the ground.
Assistant Manager Jung brought over a portable ladder, braced it against the chassis, and held it tightly with both hands as he looked up.
“The wind’s a bit cold. Be careful, sir.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”
I climbed the ladder and went up onto the tank.
Each time my boots landed, the cold feel of steel plates seemed to pierce straight through the soles.
I inserted the sensor into the gap between the upper armor plates and tightened the bolts.
The fingers turning the wrench were a little numb.
Whoooosh—
The wind that came down from the mountain valley cut into my collar.
My body swayed slightly.
“Manager! The wind’s strong! Be careful!”
Assistant Manager Jung shouted from below.
“Yeah, got it. I’m almost done.”
I answered while lowering my posture.
All I had left was to tighten the final bolt.
That was the moment I leaned in slightly, putting force into the wrench.
Ka-boom—!
Suddenly, an unexpected gust slammed into me.
It felt as though someone had shoved my body as hard as they could.
“Wha—ah?”
My balance collapsed.
I flailed, trying to find something to grab, but my hands only met empty air.
The world spun.
“Manager!!”
I thought I heard Assistant Manager Jung screaming.
But before that, gravity dragged my body down to the ground.
Thud!
My back—no, my head?
The moment I felt myself hit the ground, I also felt my breath get crushed out of me.
I couldn’t breathe.
I tried to suck in air, but instead my vision only blurred further.
Beyond that failing sight, I could see people rushing toward me.
Assistant Manager Jung, and even Choi Kichul, whose face had gone white as paper.
The sounds were getting farther away.
I think... I’m really screwed.
*
The smell of disinfectant.
That was the first thing I noticed—the smell, sharp in my nose.
Then I opened my eyes and saw an unfamiliar white ceiling.
My head throbbed as if it were about to split open.
What happened?
I remembered working at the Pocheon test range.
Then the sudden gust of wind, and falling from the dummy chassis.
I hadn’t been able to breathe.
I’d thought I might be seriously hurt, but... hm. My body felt fine.
My arms and legs were moving normally.
Maybe I’d lost consciousness from a mild concussion?
Thinking that, I tried to sit up.
Then—
An annoying sound came from beside me.
Vmm... vmm... vmm...
It was the operating noise of an infusion pump, the machine that delivered IV fluid at a steady rate.
Just a tiny motor in ordinary circumstances, nothing worth paying attention to.
But maybe because of the concussion, the sound dug into my ears with the sharpness of metal scraping against them.
Frowning, I turned my head to look at the machine.
It was an old, outdated model.
No wonder it was making noise.
But... something was off.
The inside of the machine, which should have been hidden behind a white plastic casing, was fully visible to me.
At first I thought maybe I was seeing through it, but that wasn’t it.
The outer shell was still there—yet on top of it, there was a strange afterimage, like a layer of something superimposed over reality.
Near the center of the machine, around the rotating motor shaft...
a bright red light was blinking there.
Like a warning lamp.
...What the hell is that?