Humans Wait

"…."

That was the story that came out after I had asked and asked, stubbornly, because I wanted to know. He was the sort of man who would toss those heavy things out as if they were nothing — tap, tap — and then sit there eating cup ramen and a triangle of kimbap.

Strip away the fondness, and he was a man with something clearly missing — a man with problems, in more ways than one. In truth, maybe that was exactly why I couldn't stop thinking about him.

I kept following him. Maybe he was my lifeline. Or maybe I was his. I clung to the heels of a man who found me insufferable, and I talked to him anyway. We wandered everywhere together.

A good person — the kind who snapped and spat out ugly words, yet consideration for others bled through him as naturally as breathing. A kind person — the kind who would insist he hated it, and then, when you looked back, had already gone and done exactly what you'd asked. A person who had taken so many wounds, and who was, for that very reason, terrified of wounding anyone else.

And so. What still lives in my memory is the day that man — who had always looked so impossibly strong — first shed tears in front of me.

Haetbyeot Orphanage. Halfway up the Daldongne Slum Hill, a shabby place where even the sign had fallen off, finally shut down for good. He wandered the interior wearing a bitter smile, and then, on the second floor, he found the official papers about the closure and a letter scribbled in a pretty hand — and he cried. The oppa who had always seemed to care about nothing but reality and efficiency stood frozen in place for a full ten minutes, and he just kept crying.

I can't forget it. There are things you couldn't forget even if you tried. Whenever it comes back to me, tears just drip down my own face, for no reason at all.

"Ha, Harin…?"

"Ah, I'm sorry. I just thought of something from a while ago."

I'd briefly forgotten that I was, at that very moment, out walking with security guard Jeong Su-yeon — and without meaning to, I'd let a few tears slip.

"Ah, that's…. Uh…, um."

"It's alright."

Maybe things had just been hard lately. To get out of my room and walk around like this, I had no choice but to follow my parents' wishes — dressing up in uncomfortable clothes, making the rounds at every gathering they wanted me at. Maybe that was why thoughts of oppa had come on so strongly.

I thought that as I wiped my tears, and Jeong Su-yeon looked at me with the expression of someone who had no idea what to do.

"Harin, if it's too much, maybe you should go to the infirmary and get checked out…?"

"Hmm. That's a bit…. Mom and Dad are there, so it'd actually be poison."

"But still…."

I looked up at Jeong Su-yeon, who was looking down at me, fidgeting, her face full of guilt. She was genuinely worried about me. A good person, through and through. A good person who felt guilty for worrying about me, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even though none of this was really her fault.

And so.

"Unni."

"Yeah?"

The moment I'd been waiting for was finally here.

"Then… could you help me out, just this once?"

"Uh… help with what?"

A single moment — and if I missed it, I might never get another chance to grab hold of it again. For that, I looked up at her with a bitter smile.

These days, the radio always delivered the news with vigor.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, they seasoned it with the lie of dear fellow citizens and the fake courtesy of good evening, mixed it all together, and served it up in a single bite.

And assuming every word of it was true, the government side was moving with a fair amount of energy. From the sound of it, they could even mobilize ROK military forces — so maybe, just maybe, those people would go and wipe out the cultists for us too.

Hannam-dong, like Cheongdam-dong, sat about fifteen kilometers from the house. Yesterday morning they'd said reconstruction would start from Gangnam, Seocho, and Cheongdam, and today's news was Hannam-dong and Yongsan, a little farther north — which made the government people's base of operations pretty much a lock. In that case, we were still fine for now.

I listened to that radio broadcast as I field-stripped and oiled my firearms. The days were always so cold that if I didn't oil and wipe them down meticulously, there was no telling when a round would jam or a malfunction would crop up. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever properly taught Kim Min-seo's group how to maintain firearms — but Marine Choi Young-ho of the 827th class had joined them, so they'd be fine.

That was complete fucking bullshit. When the world was in this kind of shape, I was the one who looked after my own safety. Hand it off to someone else, take a bullet, and drop dead — and not a single soul would compensate you for it. That was the truth of the world.

I listened to the third verse of the national anthem, thick with static, and I cleaned my guns, and cleaned them again.

Come to think of it. Back in the service, I'd always cleaned my weapon while belting out Motherless Cha's excellent playlist pick — The Man in the Octagonal Cap.

Ah. I couldn't hold it in.

Ahh, the bittersweet memory of getting my joints popped for putting unnecessary vibrato into a military song.

The distant, tender memory of Corporal Cha's passing mark, earned only after I'd sung it over with a voice full of proper fighting spirit.

When it came to weapons maintenance, you simply had to belt out The Man in the Octagonal Cap. And of course, this wasn't the military, which came with the added bonus that I could cram in as much unnecessary vibrato as I wanted and make a complete ass of myself. This — this was the magic that made the oiling go down like a dream.

Hmph. I've gotta admit, I miss this a little, Marine GOAT.

Anyway. Looking at my recent daily routine, there was the Republic of Korea Provisional Government's central radio broadcast, coming through without fail, every single day. Morning, noon, and evening. The broadcasts ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weren't that long — all three wrapped up within ten minutes — but even that much was its own kind of vitality, its own kind of fuel.

Honestly, I wished they'd take song requests. There just wasn't any way to submit one, which was a bit of a shame.

"Wouldn't you like to hear a little Bravo Marine blasting from the government's central broadcast?"

"I have absolutely no desire to hear that."

After today's news wrapped up, I rather wanted to hear Lai-lai cha-cha-cha! Hey papa rippa! ringing out — but Marine Choi Young-ho shook his head with a look of pure disgust.

"What? Why not."

"…I'm more curious why you'd even want to hear that."

Looks like the Marine spirit of the 827th class still hadn't come to a boil in him. I'd need to remind him with some Marine-style bullshit every now and then.

And the one who reacted to my hangdog expression was somebody else entirely.

"Ack!! I want to hear it, sir!!"

"Mm, good, good. At least you get it. A truly outstanding Imaginary KATUSA Warrior."

"Ack! Imaginary KATUSA Warrior Lim! Ju! Cheol! Lai-lai cha-cha-cha! Hey papa rippa!"

This bastard's been full of fighting spirit lately. I liked him more with each passing day. He'd been so thoroughly remodeled I felt like I could call him an honorary Marine at this point.

I clapped along with a look of deep satisfaction as I watched Lim Ju-cheol vigorously performing the Marine clap — and Kim Min-seo, sitting with us, let out a sigh and muttered under her breath.

"Kiddo, you really wrecked a guy."

"What? Looks good to me."

"I never thought Ju-cheol would turn into this much of a dumbass. Didn't you hit his head too much? His IQ looks like it dropped a solid forty points."

"But his odds of survival went up for sure, didn't they?"

She shook her head. She looked at me and Lim Ju-cheol with an expression that said we were both beyond saving, then whipped her head away.

Right. That's enough horsing around. The truth was, the reason I'd been coming to the officetel so often lately was to put our heads together and patch ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the holes in Harin's extraction plan.

"First off, the distance to PH129 is a bit more than twenty kilometers, right? Roughly twenty-three, twenty-four."

"…And kiddo, you've already made that trip twice."

"It's more doable than you'd think. Ten days round trip — but factoring in operation time, waiting time, and unexpected problems, I'm thinking as much as two weeks round trip."

"Okay. I'm not going."

Kim Min-seo gave up on joining the rescue operation with a look of pure disgust. I'd been planning on a three-man team from the start, so it didn't matter. For someone with no qualms about killing people, Kim Min-seo was a worse shot than you'd expect. Even if I brought her along, she wouldn't have that big a role to play.

"I wasn't planning on bringing you anyway, so it's fine."

"That's a cold way to put it. Can't you at least pretend to hold me back once?"

"Yeah, no. None of that."

Let's get back to the operation.

"There's a security gate on basement level two. From what I remember last time I was there, the personnel holding that gate number around ten. Of course, if an emergency kicks off, everyone inside will come pouring up too, so call it about thirty."

"Hmm. Already sounds like a stretch."

"Which is why the objective is to suppress those original ten fast, pull Harin out, and run. It's a speed war, and we'll sync the timing with Harin over the radio."

It was a speedrun, of sorts. Just like the basic principles of CQB that Corporal Cha had drilled into me — hit them as fast and as unexpectedly as possible, suppress, extract only Harin, and run. That was the best play.

"So you're saying you think you can pull that off with non-lethal suppression alone."

"I called it a speed war, but we'll have a decent window. Harin's going to cut the internal power and give us the signal, so the inside will be in chaos too."

"Ehh…."

From what Harin had found out, they weren't soldiers or special forces — they were employees of a Korean private security firm, hired by the PH129 residents.

"If it truly gets dangerous, you're cleared to use it — the K2. I want to make sure it doesn't come to that, but in a world like this, a no-kill policy is just a fairy tale."

"Alright, I hear you. Plenty to fix in the plan, but let's run with this basic framework."

So we could do this. Two invincible Marines and one honorary Marine. That was more than enough to get it done.