Guardian Angel
A while back, we dispatched drone carriers to the South Sea and confirmed survivor groups across the water. Unlike the inland regions, which were in a total state of annihilation, we spotted a substantial number of survivors there. The isolated islands—including Jeju and Geoje—had eradicated the infected threat. Overpopulation, scarce supplies, and faction rivalries made conditions harsh, but survival itself was holding steady without major issues. That gave us some breathing room to figure out our approach.
Even if we wanted to help, there was no feasible way right now. We'd have to cross the ocean, contend with Noise Trees jamming everything, and the refugee numbers dwarfed our resources. Way tougher than the Berlin airlift.
Still, there were spots we had to aid inefficiently, pronto: Yeosu and Gohung, the mainland-connected survivor pockets. Yeosu was especially dire. First drone recon showed daily skirmishes with infected, organized control teetering on collapse. Military units managed minimal rations amid the hardship, but even those were scraping bottom. Safe outer zones depleted, forcing scout teams into risky inner areas—casualties piling up slowly.
So we rushed a combat drone unit to Yeosu alone. Small mercy: the southern tip had lower infected density than inland. First, evacuees had fled to nearby islands early, clearing the land. Second, military sweeps during the Jeju exodus had done solid work.
Artemis and I reviewed the operating drones' memory logs from Yeosu.
The first clip: a trio of survivors—two guys, one woman—hauling a rickety cart while fleeing. Civilians raiding a distant rest stop, far from their camp.
"Kieeeek—!"
With a pack of a dozen walkers hot on their tails. Nearby spots were already looted clean, forcing the long trek. They looked gaunt, starved for weeks. The tallest guy pulled the cart up front; the other two pushed from behind. Inside: snacks, cans, formula, toothpaste, dubious ramen packs in a jumble.
"Kieeeek—!"
"Huff! Heave!"
Outlook grim. When they entered the drone carrier's view, they were already gassed—slowly losing ground to the walkers.
"Fuck!"
One pusher ditched the cart and bolted solo, tanking their speed hard. Audio reconstruction from the distance nailed his raw voice.
"Where the hell you going?!"
The puller yelled desperately.
"Gotta live first! Ditch it!"
"What about the babies?!"
The woman pushing with him screamed.
"Not my kids—fuck 'em!"
"You bastard!"
Walkers closed in. The woman bailed too, fleeing. The lone guy clung stubbornly, dragging till the end—then quit. Too late. Exhausted, he collapsed after a few steps. Walker shadows loomed over him.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing hit. Whoosh! Whoosh! Seconds later, peeking up: three drones streaking overhead. What he saw—blaring gunfire shredding the walkers. Drones dropped low enough to draw aggro but kept distance. Walkers flailed skyward, palms and faces pulped, crumpling.
"Hah..."
Tears streamed down his dazed, skyward gaze.
Whoosh! Drones climbed, scanning threats. The deserters slunk back to the cart. One drone caught the puller decking the traitor's skull before moving on. Too many souls needed saving.
Second clip: isolated haenyeo divers. They'd strayed too far from usual foraging grounds—plenty of seafood, but off patrol routes, high risk. Sure enough, heading back, they spotted an infected horde on the shore. Recent coastal clears had lulled them.
"Grrrrowl—!"
Worse: slave dogs mixed in. No safe landing to sprint ashore. Barred from beaches, they huddled on a tiny reef. Winter-short days: dusk falling fast. Daytime fishable, but night? Brutal. Gale howled, whipping hair; naked divers clung, shivering.
Splash. Spray battered the reef, foaming white on goosebumped skin—convulsing. Dusk sharpened the infected's shoreward glares. They'd freeze or worse overnight—no guarantee the horde would leave by dawn, no patrol rescue odds.
Despair gripped their huddle. Then miracle.
"What's that noise?"
Drones invisible in dark—just rotor hum, then yellow muzzle flashes erupting skyward. Shore infected dropped like flies. Divers eyed spent casings plunking around. Apocalypse survivors ain't blind: they locked eyes shoreward, dove at the last faller.
Whoosh! Drone ascended, path-checking.
Third clip: no kills. Two groups clashing over a rationed rice sack—five hauling it, seven trying to snatch. Knives and crude spears out, life-or-death vibes. Odds obvious: seven adults vs. five kids.
What a tragedy.
One kid barely elementary age, tiny hands white-knuckling a kitchen knife, trembling at adults.
Drones buzzed in pre-charge—fight froze.
"Scatter! Cops incoming!"
Bearded leader signaled; men masked up, fled. Mistook drones for military. Implies local garrison runs observers.
Kids collapsed sobbing post-flee. Eldest boy coaxed them, sack hefted homeward—barefoot.
"Surprising. Not Jeju, but stragglers packing drone op capacity."
Probably just observation multicopters. Can't compare to our combat drones.
Artemis's tone brimmed pride. Fair: ours are tiltrotor dual-rotors—crushing military multis in speed, payload, efficiency. Tricky design, stability issues? Irrelevant to her flawless algo.
"Sharp-eyed soldier spots ours, might sniff civilian warlords."
Banned real firearms nation, yet armed drones superior to military-grade. Suspicious as hell.
Fourth: intercepted distress, rescue service. Two guys dangling from a mart rooftop sign—roof-end banner.
Food run gone wrong—trapped. Walkers howled below and atop.
"Woooah!"
Six drones swarmed, mowing perimeter walkers. The dazed duo waved frantically.
"We're alive! Hell yeah!"
Spotting descending carrier docking, reloading drones via mech arms—they froze.
"Drone carrier? This existed?!"
"Military...? Nah."
Mil-spec savvy; realized saviors weren't national forces.
Fifth: firefight with recon squad. Five dudes siphoning fuel from vehicles in the city.
"Hostiles! Subway entrance!"
One soldier pointed. Walker horde poured out. Engaged instant—but issues. Only two assault rifles. Elder air rifle, civs unarmed mules. Half-dressed: impressed locals.
Scraping by with low firepower—then twist.
"Leapers!"
Long-limbed Rip duo—compressed muscle, ape-like—leapt godlike from subway. Soldiers reloading mid-jump.
Despair flickered on elder's face—
"Kwek—!"
Sky bullets tumbled them.
Whoosh!
"Ooh!"
Soldiers cheered first, but doubt lingered. Tiltrotor gatling drone—unfamiliar model.
Six scout drones hovered overhead, volley-firing savior-style.
"Agh!"
One mule tripped fleeing hot brass rain. "Fire!" Reloaded soldier barked; others piled on. No more infected: three drones probed subway, three scouted skies.
Dozens more clips like this, endless.
Anticipating intercepts, groups hailed open channels. Yeosu camps blared radio chatter, hyped voices.
Dozens of survivor camps immediately requested communication. Among them was the camp belonging to the adults who had tried to steal supplies from the children.
An older woman offered her greetings. She seemed confident in their self-sufficiency, as she ended the transmission with only a message of gratitude.
A moment later, a chorus of children shouting in unison with nasally, childish pronunciation rang out over the radio.
[You're grinning from ear to ear.] Artemis teased. But even her voice carried a tone of distinct amusement.
It's a camp where the haenyeo and the kids are staying together.
She pulled up a map of Yeosu City. The travel paths of the two groups we saved in the second and third videos converged at one elementary school building. It looked like the divers were taking care of the children.
Even the military attempted to contact us.
All of these activities and communication interceptions were happening beyond the Noise Tree. The drones maintained strict radio silence, following their pre-set algorithms as they continued their rescue operations.
Simultaneously, they filtered the camps that appeared to be in desperate need of supplies and transmitted the data back to us.
At my command, Chloro, who was stationed at the central factory complex, began organizing relief supplies.
The survivors of Yeosu would undoubtedly be chattering away in their respective camps about the saviors from the sky they had witnessed or heard about.
Our existence had officially been revealed to the outside survivor groups.