Stalker Report - Inland
Stalker Report - Inland: This is the Gohung Garrison headquarters. In the break room, a sergeant and a captain are sharing a cigarette.
"Captain, what about a welcome party for those three new defectors?"
"Welcome party? You kidding me?"
The sergeant had been the captain's radio operator before being forcibly promoted to NCO during the infection war. That's why they spoke casually, without formalities.
"Oh, uh, sorry, sir."
The captain puffed away at his cigarette, his mood as gloomy as a storm cloud. He'd thought he'd earned major credit for getting those Yeosu soldiers to defect from the mart, but then those mystery drone legions showed up and buried his achievement in seconds.
Gohung warlord leader Lee Man-cheol had planned to use the defectors as mascots—a symbol of how superior his control was that even enemy soldiers would defect. It was meant to legitimize his rule and build a pretext for marching on Yeosu.
The captain had even imagined Lee Man-cheol pinning a medal on him with a satisfied grin. But it all fizzled out.
"Who gives a damn about a defector welcome party right now? We're lucky if we don't get laughed at."
Yeosu Garrison, receiving precious supplies from the mystery force, versus Gohung Garrison gaining three lowly grunts. Which one gets the spotlight? Obvious. Plus, rival warlords getting aid had the higher-ups pissed too.
"So what do we do? I already mentioned it, and they're kinda looking forward to it."
The captain scratched his head furiously.
"Just take the three of 'em out for a simple meal. Or drag 'em to a brothel or something."
"Got it."
The drone carriers slicing through the clouds had made quite the impression. Yeosu and the surrounding areas were in an uproar over this mystery force. Reactions split into two camps.
Civilians scraping by day-to-day were thrilled about the supply drops—especially packed with antibiotics and medical goods.
But those without survival worries, especially the armed types, fixated on the drones themselves.
While the sergeant and captain mulled over petty issues with their smokes, the Gohung Garrison conference room was thick with tension.
The wall screen showed the mystery drones and massive airships. On the table sat one downed drone, riddled with bullets.
"I-I don't know. They're all completely unfamiliar models," the drone center director stammered desperately.
The officers glared like they wanted to devour him. One fiddling with his black holster looked terrifying.
At the back, Lee Man-cheol lounged arrogantly behind sunglasses.
"Look here. We're not asking for much. You might not know one or two—tech advances so fast these days, right?"
"Yes, sir!"
A lieutenant clapped a hand on the director's shoulder.
"But not knowing any of them? Come on! You're the drone center director—the top expert in Korea, aren't you?"
"Urk!"
The frail old director buckled under the vise grip.
"Tch!" Lee Man-cheol clicked his tongue. "Enough."
"Yes, sir!"
The pressure vanished instantly.
"Forgive my subordinate's rudeness. He's got a lot of youthful vigor, you see."
"N-no, it's fine."
The director gritted his teeth. The blatant good cop-bad cop routine made him want to curse, but he held it in.
"Just tell us what you do know, step by step."
Lee Man-cheol glanced at the drone carrier on the screen behind him. The director signaled a young male researcher standing by.
Officially the top dog, but really there thanks to connections and his robotics professor title. The kid knew way more hands-on drone stuff.
"Excuse me."
The researcher stepped forward, shooting a pitiful look at the director slinking behind him.
The officers' faces turned friendly at once. Since Lee Man-cheol's army took Gohung, the drone center became a munitions factory, producing and repairing drones. This young researcher had worked the front lines with soldiers, fixing drones side-by-side—practically a comrade, saving lives in the process.
Lee Man-cheol's face soured with irritation. He'd wanted answers, but even this reliable researcher couldn't deliver. Worse, the guy seemed more like he was satisfying his own curiosity than reporting to a superior.
"Take the drone if you want. You'll need time to look it over, right?"
Polite words belying his annoyance. The researcher nodded.
The meeting adjourned.
Yeosu's military was confused too, but relief outweighed anxiety. Timely supply drops from a force supporting them. That boosted morale sky-high. Desertions stopped; order restored. Rations improved, calming civilian gripes.
Officers couldn't celebrate fully, though.
"Who the hell... why are they backing us?"
Lee Seong-bong muttered in the ops room— to himself or everyone? Staff went silent as clams.
"Something real inland, maybe?"
He didn't mean my shelter and Artemis. Just the inevitable rumors in hard times: unseaworthy land amid floods, unirradiated soil post-nukes, zombie-free cities in apocalypses. Hopes bundled into whispers.
Southern Korea had them too amid the infection disaster.
"What? Inland's pure hell."
"Gov's across the sea; every unit got scrambled down here. Nothing left up there."
Instant denial. They'd watched inland cities fall firsthand: hold Seoul line, fall back, redraw below, repeat endlessly till the southern tip. Each retreat turned their cities into monster nests. No way any capable group survived those ruins.
"What about those Cold War bunker trends? Personal, family, even village-sized ones in ads."
The officer mumbled defensively amid backlash.
"We gotta report it, right?"
"To the mainland... sorry."
Lee Seong-bong glared at the ops officer.
"To Jeju, I mean."
"Hold off."
"Sir?"
"No reports. Ignore any queries from Jeju about what's going on."
Everyone stared. Mr. By-The-Book skipping protocol?
"I'll report myself next week. Tell those bastards to feel even 1% of our isolation itch—government, rivals, infected, cold, all abandoned."
"Understood."
He was pissed from the hellish conditions. Still, a supporter amid total isolation? Huge comfort for everyone in that Yeosu ops room.
Meanwhile, the center of attention was focused elsewhere entirely.
"Shall we check the inland this time?"
I scrolled the touch panel.
Southern survivors hunting, harvesting, scavenging—it was a raw survival contest. But stalker robot inland records were fascinating too.
Stalkers excelled in indoor probes where drones struggled, yielding massive hauls. Low material/tech value, but gold for grasping infection war society: CCTV, comms logs, diaries, phone data, med logs, military orders, gov secrets.
Artemis bundled them into digestible formats for me.
Example? Early infection war, social collapse—gov's first move: media control. "Control" meant armed troops with live rounds.
Broadcast stations got internal checkpoints for "outbreak search/defense." Studios guarded by armed personnel.
Variants rare then, but contagion insane. Inevitably, outbreaks inside.
Not shambling zombies, but skin/eye changes gave time to spot pre-mutation.
Bang! Gunshots mixed into live news sometimes.
Reading gov-scripted lies, the anchor showed symptoms a week later. "Replaced." His understudy took over.
The guarding soldier? Replaced three days after.
Should've shut it down, but brass figured periodic executions for fake news was profitable. Fresh troops arrived; staff rotated one by one.
They didn't predict: endless replacements breed crazies.
"No need to rush like that."
Past footage—no telling those plucky soldiers to take it easy.
Next scene: nearby base. Per "Unlimited Control Directive" secret gov doc we nabbed, standby team should've rolled out in five, crushed revolt, killed broadcast.
Didn't happen. CCTV/comms explained why.
Parade ground: lieutenant bellowing at two privates, jabbing finger. Nearby: armed-up deuce-and-a-half truck ready, gas-masked troops loaded.
Lt. pointed frantically at bed, urging mount-up. Privates froze.
Red-faced, he pulled phone. Transcript:
Hung up, pistol out.
Bang! One resisting civilian-massacre refuser down.
Pistol on the other. Decent, simple guy—no fight, just turned to flee.
Bang! Thigh hit, sprawled.
Begging face shadowed by gun. Paused, eyed truck bed. All troops watching the farce.
Lt. wanted wartime example: charisma via summary execution. Control tool for rough ops ahead.
Pointed pistol at corpse and beggar alternately, yelled at bed troops.
They roared back.
Rat-tat-tat-tat! Over ten muzzles bloomed yellow in the dark. Lt. shredded, death-danced to ground.
Troops piled out, dragged driver and shotgun sergeant. Some stanched thigh guy's bleed; rest stormed command post.
Duty officer fumbling armory keys bloodied, down.
CO barricaded in office, pistol-ready siege.
No door breach risk. Window shattered by shots; grenade rolled in.
"Can't comprehend. These commanders think armed subordinates obey blindly, any situation? Where does that baseless faith come from?"
Artemis pursues logic-based control. Hard for her to grasp brass fragging themselves by abusing troops.
"Secret to my long frontline survival: Treat armed subordinates like your own kids."
[And yet you use them as ladders and discard them at whim.]
"..."
Cowardly fact-stab.
Anyway, command collapse led to mass desertion. Troops grabbed gear, bailed.
Stunned holdouts? Swallowed by incoming infected wave soon after.
Tragic, absurd incidents—but routine. Inland infection war: every crazy event imaginable. Stalker hauls brimmed with comedy, tragedy, black humor.