Unleashed Super Soldier Rampage
Hyaah! How much time had I spent poring over those records? Hiss. The lock on the incubator that had sealed me away released with a pop. As gas escaped, cool outside air slowly filtered in. My immune system recovery was finally complete—it was time to head out. The treatment fluid filling the lower drain began gurgling away.
For the first time in ages, my skin met the air, sending a refreshing chill across it, right around when the tubes were removed.
Good job. How's the outside air?
I tried to answer, but out came a long, glorious belch instead.
[...]
“Sorry.”
I hadn't moved in so long that my condition was rough, but power surged through my body. I rose from the incubator and stepped into the prepared slippers. Residual treatment fluid poured from my skin onto the floor. Dizziness hit for a split second, nearly staggering me, but it was crushed in 0.1 seconds flat. The advanced power of my blood.
Calm down. No need to rush at all.
Every sensation was razor-sharp. My muscles bulged with energy. I wanted to swing my arms. I wanted to kick off the ground. It felt like a border collie who'd been banned from walks for years.
Wiggle. After a few steps, I stopped and flexed my toes. The slippers felt wrong. No way I could unleash this body's potential in those.
Detecting abnormally high dopamine levels. Sit down first...
I kicked off the slippers like flicking away trash. They rocketed across the room and thunked into the wall, cutting Artemis off.
Jinsu?
Artemis's voice carried a hint of unease. Splat. I planted my wet bare feet on the floor.
Hey, technician!
The full contact sensation flooded my feet. Power like molten lava surged from every muscle, draining through my soles into the floor. A grin spread across my face unbidden.
“Administrator command. Open all doors from here to the outside.”
The room's exit sprang open instantly. My sharpened hearing picked up doors unlocking beyond the walls—room after room.
Hey! You can't move yet!
The moment a medical robot with a sedative syringe entered my view, I kicked off and bolted. I couldn't contain the boiling power surging through me any longer. My whole body felt like a pressure cooker about to blow.
Oh, this guy!
Artemis's voice faded rapidly behind me. With every pounding step, I didn't tire—instead, power swelled further. My blood, starved for a worthy challenge, exploded with oxygen and energy delivery. My muscles transcended steam engines, radiating like miniature reactors.
The scenery ahead vanished in blinks, drifting through open doorways mid-stride. Artemis wasn't just going to let this childish protocol violation slide. As I hit the lobby just before the exit, a defensive line formed: crowd-control robots, like upside-down classroom trash cans. They'd normally paired with guard bots but had been warehoused for lack of use.
> Sir!
They formed a single-file wall.
> Halt!
They chanted in flat unison.
“No thanks.”
I leaped without slowing. Their top-mounted cameras whirred 180 degrees to track me, but that was it. My leg output exceeded even my imagination—the ceiling rushed up fast, on a collision course.
-GWOOONG!!!
My nerves detected the danger and auto-engaged acceleration. In midair, I twisted my waist nearly 180 degrees, kicked off the ceiling, and dove earthward. The robots below could only gawk as I blew past overhead.
“Coming through!”
I shot past the sunlit road into the park—opulent natural scenery incomparable to the Lower Park. Barefoot through it all: smooth paved walkways, babbling gravel streams, lush green lawns, indoor sand beaches, clay paths, black soil trails, wooden planks, leaf-strewn lanes. I pierced the entire theme-park gauntlet like a bullet, utterly untired.
“Haaaaah!”
I halted in a dense forest bath, drawing a massive breath. Crisp mountain air flooded my lungs to the depths, washing away the incubator's stifling confinement.
“Manager!”
Rose, who'd somehow kept up, called out. Artemis couldn't corral me with bots, so she was appealing to sentiment to stop me? Not that I minded—I was plenty satisfied, no urge to run more.
“Calm down. I'm good now.”
I waved her off.
You need to calm down, you idiot!
“You've worked hard. In every way.”
Unlike the scolding Artemis, Rose pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped my cheeks and neck.
If you just indulge him, he'll get spoiled.
“Artemis, you've worked hard too.”
Artemis sighed at Rose's guileless gratitude.
How's it feel after running wild? Condition good?
Gurgle. My stomach beat me to the answer.
“Perfect. I could smash a hundred walkers bare-knuckled or outrun a lugnut no problem.” I rubbed my growling belly and replied. A casual jab forward whistled through the air with serious force.
“Shoes will be here shortly,” Rose said.
“Ah, thanks... wait, what the hell?”
“Pardon?”
I glanced down at her feet.
“Why're you barefoot too?”
She was in her usual suit and stockings—but no heels.
“They got in the way of running. I tossed them somewhere over there. I'll retrieve yours too.”
Her stockings were shredded and hole-riddled everywhere.
“No injuries?”
“None. Just grass, dirt, or smooth pavement.”
Rose smiled. “Pardon me.”
She stepped into a nearby stream, rubbing her feet against the pretty pebbles. Dirt and grass fragments washed cleanly away.
“Manager, come on in. It's cool and feels great.”
Led by her, I waded in too—just as our shoes arrived. Rose headed to a nearby bench after rinsing off. Her path left cute wet footprints behind.
She sat, propping one foot on her opposite knee, peeling away the clinging stocking scraps. Her pale sole was pristine, not a scratch.
Watching her, thunder rumbled in my gut again.
“Meal first, I think,” Rose said with a laugh.
“I'd chew raw rice at this point. IV nutrition's a nightmare. That's not eating.”
During recovery, the hunger had been worse than any itch.
“Whoa... this is.”
What was laid before me: stew.
You've been starving. Sudden slabs of meat could cause issues.
“I know. Just surprised by the menu.”
Potato, carrot, and turnip base, bobbing with spices and shellfish chunks. Fragrant steam teased my nostrils. Straight out of those Yeosu ration carts.
“Survival camp standard fare?”
You watched the Yeosu footage with those curious eyes—like you really wanted to try it.
Seafood galore—every spoonful scooped at least one piece. Gulp. First: mussel meat and potato chunk. Slurp. Second: scallop and carrot slice. Chew chew. Third dredged up crab meat with fibers unraveling strand by strand. I savored the warm, tender solids melting on my tongue. Sour veggies, nutty seafood, salty spices in perfect harmony.
It's called survival camp standard, but almost no one in the south eats something this balanced. If you've got seafood, no veggies—and vice versa. Hell, having even one is lucky.
The meal proceeded quietly after that.
Why don't you stop watching the screens and focus on eating? If you eat distracted like that, it won't digest properly.
I was eating while watching video feeds of survivors in the southern region having their meals. I suddenly had the urge to see the dietary habits of the people outside.
Most camps generally ate similar things. First, there was stew with all sorts of things thrown in—truly a "hunter's pot." Essentially, it was a porridge made by tossing in everything available and boiling it. To put it harshly, it was close to pig slop. Still, it satisfied basic needs: nutrition, satiety, easy cooking, and sterilization, making it an inevitable staple.
Famine relief crops that have been relied upon since ancient times, like sweet potatoes, potatoes, and turnips, were also heavily featured. Turnips, in particular, were the most popular cultivated crop in survivor camps.
Seafood, including dried fish, served as an excellent source of vitamins. Southern camps heading inland for scavenging sometimes traded their loot with the haenyeo (female divers). On ration days, they might eat canned goods or instant ramen, and on days when search parties hit the jackpot, they sometimes scored bread or meat.
Still, fundamentally, they always maintained a diet that left them wanting. The larger the camp, the rarer it was to go hungry, but pursuing the simple joy of taste or genuine fullness was impossible. You couldn't find a fat person anywhere.
"Actually, it seems like camps that live individually or in small, tight-knit groups eat better?"
That's because those groups don't have people who consume food without contributing much.
If a small camp got lucky and recovered just one box of canned goods, they could easily eat for a month.
I don't mean to speak ill of dependents.
"No. I can't exactly disagree with you either."
The elderly, children, and adults with no skills, combat power, or guts to explore outside merely survived day by day on rations. From a humanitarian standpoint, they were people who rightfully must be protected and carried along. However, from a cold, practical standpoint, they lowered the nutritional status of the entire group and made everyone collectively weaker.
The Inevitable War
"They're holding on for now, but once the looting in southern Honam is over, they'll head up to the central region. It's dangerous there, but it's not a place where you can't move around at all."
Feeling thirsty, I downed some beer. I had missed this crisp, refreshing sting.
"But after they strip central Honam bare, will they head up north after that? The infected colonies are holding out heavily from there on. Or will they go east? Towards the Yeongnam region, I mean."
If they do that, a fight will break out with the survivor camps in that vicinity.
I shook my head. "It won't be a fight. It'll be a war."
A war?
"Right, a war. Right now, if they find a location and someone's already claimed it, they can just shrug and go somewhere else. At most, some curses fly back and forth. But when it reaches a point where there's nowhere else to go... from then on, it becomes a life-or-death battle for survival. I saw it many times when I was deployed overseas."
I remembered the skirmishes between gangs and rebels when I briefly stayed in the Middle East during a civil war.
A gunfight broke out over an oxcart and the ox pulling it. When the ox died and the cart was destroyed, they kept fighting over the carcass. The next day, bombs were exchanged over the ownership of the area around the warehouse where the ox carcass was hung.
The last thing I saw was the ox, charred black, inside a warehouse that was equally charred. A middle-aged woman was using a machete to peel off the carbonized outer crust just to dig out the unspoiled meat underneath—and she, too, had a rifle slung over her back.
Korea's situation in the future might become even worse than that. Because this is a world where horrifying monsters roam free, making rebels, gangs, and terrorists look like child's play.
Even a rebel soldier with countless bloodstains on his hands might hesitate to pull the trigger on a child. A heinous criminal might do a good deed for a fleeting moment out of some incomprehensible whim.
'God resided in them for a moment.' That's how the locals used to phrase it.
But the infected possess neither hesitation nor whims. They are filled only with a consistent, unyielding hatred. There isn't a single moment, nor a single corner inside them, for God to reside.