Scouting the Southern Seas
Just as I was on the verge of mastering the Infected encyclopedia from the reconnaissance results.
Jinsu. Come to the Central Control Room right now.
Artemis urgently summoned me. The drones I'd dispatched beyond the southern sea had finally returned.
I sprinted to the Central Control Room in one breath. Ever since the blood enhancement, I never got out of breath—damn convenient.
> Awaiting Orders
This short phrase, which I'd seen hundreds of times, had never looked so welcome or impressive.
Artemis was already waiting for me, having edited the footage down to the prime cuts.
The reconnaissance started from the waters off Busan. From there, it swept across every island in the South Sea, heading toward Jeju Island—that was the gist.
The video opened on a rocky gray outcrop at the edge of a small island. Waves crashed endlessly, spraying white foam into the air. The sea beside it was crystal clear, like glass, with fish lazily swimming along the currents clearly visible.
The crisp sounds of waves and sea breeze washed over the Central Control Room speakers. Amid that blue ocean, a single brown figure stood out, swimming powerfully. White foam trailed long behind its legs.
"A survivor!"
That's right. There were survivors.
My exclamation was pure awe, but her tone was all business, delivering facts. One second for me was worth more than a day to her. Even sharing info at the same time, our timelines differed—she'd already finished every analysis by now. This dynamic wasn't changing anytime soon.
"Looks like the survivors are in better shape than expected?"
How did you know?
"Just a hunch."
When it was good news, Artemis's tone had this subtle itch, like she was dying to spill it. A tiny difference, but I'd learned to feel it.
"Zoom in on the footage."
A nude woman swimming alone against a field of blue. She looked twenties or thirties. Winter was closing in, but temps were mild this year, and with warm currents from the south, sea activities wouldn't be an issue.
Three other women greeted her as she climbed onto the rocky beach. One seemed nearing fifty, the other two in their twenties. Each held a net brimming with shellfish.
The South Sea has always been a treasure trove of marine life. With modern fishing and pollution halted, the waters must be teeming. Led by an experienced veteran, feeding themselves is no issue.
I'd figured only completely isolated Jeju would hold out, but no. The South Sea, dubbed the land of myriad islands, was full of similar scenes as we scouted. Haenyeo—female divers—swimming and diving in nearby waters everywhere. Teams were uniform: one elder haenyeo with several young ones. These veterans, suddenly saddled with young apprentices, led the girls with stern yet warm faces.
All swam expertly, their bronzed skin free of swimsuit tan lines. Lean, beautiful muscles without an ounce of fat. They'd been at this for a while.
"Korea's got survivors, but globally? Plenty, I'd bet." Places like Indonesia, the UK, Japan, Vietnam, Mediterranean, and Caribbean isles—archipelagos everywhere—must have sizable groups.
"Military's still kicking."
Not long after leaving Busan, we spotted a decent-sized survivor group. It was Geoje Island. Around the shops near the Geoje Bridge connecting to the mainland, a platoon-sized military unit was distributing rations.
Less army, more warlord. Cross-referencing footage, they don't seem under unified national command. Operating independently from Yeosu, Namhae, Gohung, Jeju militaries.
The bridges linking Geoje to the mainland—Gade Bridge, Geoje Bridge, New Geoje Bridge—were all collapsed.
"Zoom on the bridges?"
I nodded after a quick scan. "Deliberately cut."
Explosives planted at the most stressed points, blown to hell. To block infected hordes from the mainland and isolate themselves.
The drone carriers pressed toward Jeju, cameras capturing everything below. It was a hymn to humanity.
Even islands with just a national park or reservoir had people. They tilled every scrap of land, fished relentlessly.
"This is too proactive, isn't it?" Even tiny isles where a home-run baseball would splash into the sea had residents.
They have freshwater sources.
She zoomed: water trickling from rock crevices. Nearby, a solid kitchen garden.
Solid gear too.
Spears, rods, nets lined up by the tent. A bit away, a meal site: ring of stones for a fire pit, fish bones piled around. Two hens with yellow chicks.
Fish heads, guts, jellyfish as feed. Crushed bones for the hens—calcium for eggs. Smart method.
Near the shore, a black marine inflatable boat. Beside it, a Taegeukgi flag tied in a burlap sack, fluttering.
They row to nearby mid-sized islands for bartering.
"Solo rowing?"
Whipping along faster than a motorboat.
A muscular man stretching beside the boat.
"What if they hit a big sea monster..." His face burned with survival grit, shouting during stretches.
Singing a military march.
My jaw dropped. "Damn, wanna drop 'em something."
That tenacity drew a hollow laugh.
Jeju Island finally appeared, blanketed in tents. Geoje City, Namhae County, Gohung County, Yeosu City had groups too, but nothing like Jeju's scale. Still, folks here looked rougher. Tattered clothes and worn shoes were lucky; some wrapped feet in plastic bags or went barefoot. Wounds, rashes, discolored skin common. Matted hair screamed lice epidemic.
Small-island survivors en route looked healthier. Daily sea dives and seafood kept hygiene and nutrition solid.
No hopeful eyes—just daily grind etched in. Some toted crude weapons. Near cities, appearances improved: proper clothes, jackets, blankets. Wary glances at ragged outsiders screamed locals vs. refugees.
Villages, big or small, barricaded entrances. Soldiers in ballistic helmets, gear, rifles on guard. Some guarded by cops with pistols, shotguns. Poorer spots had civilians with air rifles. None left open to the outside.
Inside: peace. Folks mending nets, tending crops. Small markets buzzing with trades. Orderly beyond expectations, but no nation—just parallel villages linked.
Even during deep recon, survivors missed the drone carriers overhead. Blimp-quiet, camouflaged for sky. Mostly, no one looked up—just hunched over ground or side-eyeing neighbors.
"How long can they hold like this?"
Vague "help people!" wouldn't cut it—where to start?
As long as food holds? No limit. Could last years like this.
From Geoje to Jeju, cut off from mainland, they'd beaten infected threats. No walkers, no infected wildlife. Some settled deep woods or caves.
Inland? Dead in a week.
"Boats?" Shockingly, they ran boats. Despite sea leviathans shredding navy and sub-drones.
Fishermen docking after haul, tying ropes. More vessels rocking nearby.
Old-school beats high-tech security?
All boats motored stripped, oar-powered like galleys. Many makeshift rafts. Crews all burly men, shambling off.
"Explains no men at sea—only haenyeo."
Geoje had docked ships too—not abandoned, resting.
"Sea monsters sense engine noise keenly?"
Engines off guarantee safety? Or just a big factor? Unknown.
All small craft, coastal only.
Reveal ourselves to them?
"Of course. Why send drones otherwise?"
Issue: who to contact. Survivors dotted in loose cells, no unified big-city command. Factions from above.
First: coastal holders. Navy uniforms—navy remnants? Control ports, shores. Those fishermen belonged.
Second: city controllers. Big orgs centered on northern Jeju City, southern Seogwipo. Separate, clashing with gunfire.
Mountain hunters bagged a deer at the border. Five city patrolmen muscled in to steal. Bang! One dropped; navy group fired back from afar. Skirmish, minor losses both sides, retreat. No one wanted bullets hauling venison.
Coastal had east, north, south factions—unified or not, unclear. White-robed cultists, militia spotted. Too many small groups.
Aerial recon limits info.
"Who do we approach?"
Revealing us posed no risk—they couldn't touch us. But for intel swap and aid, wanted competent, people-focused group.
They don't desperately need us yet. Could hold years. Air transport dependency limits our aid anyway.
Two plans set.
First: intel drone carrier. Customized for sigint amid Jeju comms chatter. Scout bays swapped for meds, antibiotics. Scout island, gift to most reliable org.
Second: Noise Tree takedown. Relay messaging via trees possible but slow—hours per word. No real talk.
No need to destroy all.
She pulled up ops plan on screen. Shelter-low orbit sat-Noise Tree-Jeju straight line. Hit path trees, station drone blimps as relays.
This enables real-time comms.
"Guess we're busy again."
I nodded. No reason against.
Screen shifted to undulating white mutant trees.
Really want to see 'em blaze and crash, huh? Every one.
Not long since I said that, and now execution. Seed Vault flooding started it. We hustled our tasks as things worsened. Speed mattered.
"Time to plan the next expedition?"
A bit early?
I shook my head. "No adaptation needed like implants. No long breaks."
I scrolled next target on PDA. Tech goldmine I'd eyed forever: Geno Plan.
'Design your muscles.'
Poster: buff man and woman flexing grins. Looks gym ad, but no. Arrows from biceps, abs, legs pointing out to circular internal muscle pics—all artificially redesigned.