Whispers of the White Waves
As the southern coast came into view from the Blackout, we were greeted not by the blue sea but by waves of white foam first. I figured it would be like this.Noise Trees. Massive mutant trees sprouting along the ridgeline near the shore.
"Let's think positive. At least now we have hope for survivors beyond them, right?"
The branches fluttered ethereally. Was it their way of emitting jamming signals? Or just the strong sea breeze? The white limbs stretched out like cat's whiskers, dancing endlessly. Glimpses of the ocean's blue peeking through the gaps added to the hypnotic scene. What would it look like if trees grew from an angel's corpse? Natives kneeling in worship would be the final puzzle piece to complete this majestic picture—no room for monsters or armies here.
"It's the first time."
What is?
"I've ever thought something fits so perfectly with nature."
It was hard to believe these were the product of infection. The sight was so mesmerizing, I wanted to accept it as just another of nature's beauties. But the soldier's instinct buried deep inside me—the one that had pulled me from countless death spirals—pushed back against the temptation. That thing doesn't belong in our world. It's the enemy, the foe of your reality. It must be destroyed. My instincts screamed it.
"What would it take to wipe those bastards out? Dumping bombs seems wasteful. Napalm, probably? Trees burn great once they're lit."
Back in my active duty days, during a joint op, we'd hit a terrorist hideout inside a mountain. My American buddies called in precision strikes, but the problem was the massive underground oil reservoir. The fuel-air explosion sent a pillar of fire sky-high. That's when I first learned how fast wildfires spread. Imagine those giant Noise Trees engulfed in flames—it'd be one hell of a show.
"You really wanna see it, huh? All of them blazing and crashing down. Night op if possible."
They'd burn well, but it depends on their composition. Remember those heat sources detected inside?
I nodded.
What do you think those heat sources are?
"Well..."
I was suddenly at a loss for words. Self-heating wood? Was that even possible?
Is it even a tree to begin with? What if it's something else that just looks like one? What if you cut it in half and guts spill out, or arterial blood sprays from the cross-section?
Ridiculous hypothesis, but that's what made the infected so terrifying—they turned the absurd into reality. Just then, static crackled, the screen shook, and our conversation cut off.
Radio blackout. Interference is intense.
Were the clustered Noise Trees to blame? Even farther out than during the Seed Vault run, the feed was already distorting.
"Stop."
At my command, the drone carrier cut thrust and fired reverse engines. As we slowed, the invisible energy field hammered our comms even harder, but pulling back restored them gradually. From what we'd learned, Noise Trees only jammed signals—they didn't disable hardware. Ditch direct control from Artemis and switch to autonomous mode, and we could scout beyond. But that meant relying on the drones' onboard judgment for data collection. Perfect programming was key.
Coding from the Shelter ahead of time was less efficient than scouting the limit, assessing the south, then programming on the fly. A human coder would call it a brutally tight deadline. But Artemis didn't waste time adapting plans to changes—she predicted, calculated, and revised nonstop. Data from the journey here was already integrated. The drone carriers held distance, scanned surroundings, and plotted optimal paths. Her progress bar flickered in real-time: locked at 100%, dipping to 99% briefly, then snapping back. Rinse and repeat.
After a bit, it selected an infiltration point.
"Ready?"
All set.
"Good."
I steepled my fingers over my mouth at the desk. "Let's see what's on the other side."
The drone carriers advanced toward the white waves. Into that eerie, beckoning flutter—without a shred of fear.
ZZZzt. Speed climbed, distortion hit both video and audio. The white waves loomed closer, alarms blared spasmodically, afterimages worsened. Then, suddenly—
"This is..."
Beautiful.
Artemis was right. The black-and-white noise exploded into rainbow hues. The slashing glitches smoothed into harmonious streams, like water carving a valley. It was like the aurora descending on a night sky. Only the shaking white branches beyond reminded us of our mission.
WHOOOOSH—
The static vanished, replaced by the roar of a storm-tossed ocean filling the Central Control Room. Flying through thunderclouds on hallucinogens? The prismatic waves merged, split, collapsed, swirled endlessly. It felt like peeking into a dimensional rift to another world.
"Haha."
I laughed without realizing. Hypnotic! And gorgeous! That thing was... that was really...
RUMBLE—
The drone carrier plunged into the aurora's glowing heart.
BEEP. No signal.
"..."
Snapping to, I saw black screens across the board. Not just the lead carriers—the standbys outside range went dark too. Did the Noise Trees detect them? Some unidentified radio wave had expanded, swallowing everything.
They aren't destroyed.
Post-cutoff, ID beacons held for about two seconds, signaling all systems nominal. A strong EMP would've fried them and messed with the beacons. The drone carriers were now autonomous beyond our range. We'd know what they saw and heard when they punched back through after the mission.
"Wonder if NASA felt like this sending Voyager?" I muttered at the black screens.
Nothing like that. We can predict what our drones bring back. One of three: empty islands, monster-infested islands, or survivor-held islands.
"Just not the second."
Not hoping for the third?
I sighed. "That'd be asking too much."
* * *
Drones would take time to return—not a simple there-and-back. They'd scout Jeju and southern islands thoroughly. Japanese isles were considered but nixed; it'd drag the timeline too long.
A mix of anticipation and dread at potential disappointment. Luckily, there was a distraction: natural fabric.
First residents got outfit batches, but that wouldn't last. More clothes, undies, socks, shoes—essential. No external suppliers now. Shelter factories could synth fibers, but our oil was military-only from here on. Fabric for ten outfits? Load it into a flamethrower and turn a monster pile to charcoal.
I tasked Chloro with alternatives; she delivered.
Sorry I can't guide you myself. Had to rush the spinning factory startup.
Chloro's face and dozens of residents filled the PDA video call. All in workwear, at the new spinning & weaving plant in the central factory zone.
"No worries. Not here for a report—just curiosity."
Quick well-wishes and I hung up. Otherwise, she'd apologize forever. Rose and Chloro preferred android bodies for resident mingling. Artemis barely engaged beyond trials—opposite Kids, who broadcast but ignored interaction.
I was in hydroponics now. Everywhere blinding white.
"Heard about it, but first time seeing."
Cotton in my hand. Like landscaping plants blanketed in snow, fluffy bolls hung heavy. These headed to Chloro's factory for processing into versatile cotton: outerwear, undies, socks, gloves.
All thanks to Manager's feats. Seed Vault seeds you risked life for—bringing warmth and fluff to residents.
Kids' chibi hologram had tailed me from the entrance.
You're the 21st century—no, apocalypse's Mun Ik-jeom! Wait, more than that. He didn't risk life for cotton seeds.
Her holo vanished; expedition footage appeared. Trees toppling from mountaintops.
Whoa! That seven-eyed beast chasing us at the end—residents screamed at its roar!
"Let me show you the rest."
Nong-soon cut off Kids' embarrassing praise. She managed for Chloro today, my guide. Hemp and flax grew there: skinny perilla-like hemp leaves, blue-flowered flax. All Seed Vault seeds.
"These make sackcloth and linen. Great feel and breathability."
She offered tray samples—prototypes already spun.
I rubbed pieces between thumb and forefinger. "Kinda rough? First time touching these too."
Textbook stuff, now real. Wild.
"Synths pushed them out. But perfect for mass issue now."
Nong-soon smiled.
Big win.
We glanced at her. Rare serious face.
One day, Manager crushes infected, purifies the world.
Impossible to say if feasible, but in her mind, it was set.
Then hidden survivor groups emerge, right?
"We'll see. Drone results pending."
Big hopes, big letdowns.
Think positive. Hudson survived across the sea, motel supply folks too. Assume people live somewhere.
"Hmm." I crossed arms. "And?"
Post-apoc bartering booms as we rebuild.
Plausible.
Nothing beats hemp in this world... Eek!
Flick to her forehead silenced her.
"Dangerous talk."
Kids sulked, buzzing around me.
"Our city's temp-stable. Cotton suffices. Hemp or linen for hot spots."
Nong-soon, awkward from watching, added: "All resident clothes and shoes from here. Perfect closed loop."
Fists clenched, pride beaming. Self-sufficiency in disaster? Huge security and accomplishment boost. From seed to sprout, bloom, fruit—to factory weave, worn cloth. Watching and wearing it? Ultimate motivation cycle.
"Hello!"
Workers bright-faced greetings everywhere. Clean air from plants, life-filled workspace? Shelter's happiest, most satisfied spot, as I'd sensed before.
"Love this place."
Nong-soon grinned proudly at crops and passing women. Time to add joy.
"Seed Vault frozen embryos included silkworms."
"No way?!"
Her eyes sparkled.
"Yup. Silk production next."
She bounced in glee. Hydroponics for non-food? Fine—population low, capacity excess.
Realizing I watched, she flushed. "Ahaha. Sorry, got carried away."
"All good. Really."
In these times, such vibrant happiness was priceless.
"Onward! More to see—harvest time! Well, always is here."
I hoped my Shelter brimmed with this energy forever. Watching her stride ahead, I thought so.