Winter (2)
If the winter in the south had ushered in abundance and expansion, Jeju Island was facing winter in the purest, dictionary sense. An isolated haven safe from infected threats also meant no potential for growth. Cold weather, scant crops to harvest, grueling fishing—a season of nothing but misery. Yet the passion burned hotter than midsummer.
An event was in full swing in downtown Jeju. The roar of the furious, expectant crowd surged like waves. All eyes locked on one spot: a middle-aged man stripped naked, hands bound behind his back, kneeling on the ground. A paper labeled "ACCOMPLICE" was nailed to his chest—not with tape, but tacks driven into his flesh, blood streaming down.
Bang! Blood sprayed from his forehead. Soldiers dragged the corpse away immediately.
"Mmph! Mmph!" Nearby, middle-aged men and elders knelt bound in the same way, thrashing wildly. Their bulging eyes darted from the departing body to the approaching man, then to the pistol in his hand. But duct tape sealed their mouths shut. Every one of them wore a sign around their neck: "ACCOMPLICE" or "INCOMPETENT".
"Comrades! We were ordered to fight an enemy we couldn't possibly defeat! Countless brothers were devoured alive, torn apart! Even as we retreated endlessly southward—southward, further south—we fought with our lives!"
Bang! Another fell. Like the first, his sign read "ACCOMPLICE". The executed and those awaiting the bullet were politicians, high-ranking officials, and generals.
"From Seoul to Busan, all the way to this Jeju—there's no land unsoaked by our blood! We believed it was to protect our nation and its people!"
Bang! Another "ACCOMPLICE" crumpled.
"But it was all a blatant lie!"
The encircling crowd hurled jeers and curses. Some spat phlegm.
"Live experiments on our own citizens? Massacres to cover up information? Millions of civilians abandoned and swallowed by the chaos due to info blackouts? Crimes that would incense heaven and earth—but these bastards cut deals with Japan and America to escape!"
The nominal military had set up a perimeter, but there was no opposition, not even a standoff. Soldiers and civilians linked arms, stood shoulder-to-shoulder in solidarity.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The speaker's blood pressure spiked mid-rant; he squeezed the trigger in rapid bursts, sending them to the grave one after another.
Roooar!!! The crowd erupted in ecstasy.
Bang!Click! The hammer struck an empty chamber.
"We all suffered like this, yet things never improved—and we couldn't understand why. Of course not. We weren't fighting for survival; we were slaving away!"
The smoking barrel fell silent before a wrinkled forehead.
"Mmmph! Hnngh!" Its owner sobbed rivers of tears and snot. He was the prime minister. Former prime minister, now.
Politicians he'd seen for years—sometimes decades—arguing on TV or sharing drinks off-camera. Now they lay sprawled as corpses.
"But no more."
The speaker holstered the pistol, waving it lightly before his own face. "No more."
As he drew a fresh magazine from his belt, the tear-streaked prime minister began leaking from below as well.
"From now on, we begin true survival."
The empty mag dropped; the new one slid home.
"To pour new wine, you must empty out the rotten dregs first."
"Mmmph! Mmmphmmph!!! Mmph mmph!!!" The prime minister convulsed, begging for his life at gunpoint.
Bang! The prime minister's corpse toppled sideways. I don't know much about politicians, but Artemis helpfully subtitled their identities on the screen. Thanks to that, I could track who was being executed in real time.
"So, knew about it and they're accomplices, didn't know and they're incompetents? Something like that?"
Referring to interrogation records: those who confessed got labeled accomplices, those who didn't got incompetent.
I doubt many truly didn't know, but at this point, it doesn't matter. Rat-tat-tat-tat-bang! Soldiers' rifles blazed, and the wall of "ACCOMPLICES" collapsed in a row. Bang! Bang! Headshots turned twitching survivors into blood fountains.
Only the "INCOMPETENTS" remained.
A captain pointed at the "INCOMPETENTS". "What about those guys? Lock 'em up?"
The speaker declared, "They had to know. If the first batch were trash, these are sneaky trash."
"Kill 'em!" "Those bastards!" "Wipe 'em out!"
Jeers from the crowd, stones, wood scraps, empty cans flying—turning the bound men into filth, wounds, and blood.
No eggs in sight; in this world, they were too precious for such spectacles.
The speaker grabbed the mic again, pointing at the "INCOMPETENTS". "We're more sickened by your lies than your tyranny. You treated us like pigs and dogs? Fine! Die chewed alive by pigs. You'll envy those who went quick and painless."
The "INCOMPETENTS" were hoisted by the crowd into the back of a military truck like luggage. Slammed onto the metal bed, stacked layer by layer into a human sandwich—screams erupted. "Move out!"
The truck rolled out, followed by a broadcast van filming. Soldiers kept fingers off triggers—no celebratory fire into the air; they'd been drilled well.
"Where are they headed?"
Tracking route.
Artemis replied. The city-center feed showing the truck and crowd close-up suddenly pulled back high—from hovering drone to gliding aerial view. Toy-block buildings and tiny vehicles raced down ruined roads.
I sipped steaming coffee. The bitter tang coated my tongue, sharpening my mind further.
A pale blue trajectory line extended beside the speeding vehicle, ending in real-time latitude, longitude, and speed readouts. Blue digits glowed over my face in the dim Central Control Room.
Possible destinations popped up on the right like overlays. As the vehicle moved, improbable ones vanished one by one until only one remained. Few operational facilities matched the profile.
Locked in.
"'Pig fodder' wasn't a metaphor—they're serious?"
Jeju Pork Farm. That was the destination.
The piggery held more swine than expected, though underfed and scrawny from harsh conditions. Men lined the entrance, knives for slaughter at the ready—tipped off in advance.
"Enough."
The feed shrank to one panel among many segmented screens.
"Just report the outcome later."
Got it.
Lights brightened the once-dim Central Control Room. The main screen now showed an overview of Jeju, annotated with each faction's rough population, aggression level, leadership, and key traits.
The execution site belonged to the largest faction, packed with most administrative ministers, politicians, and military brass. Practically the government.
No president. Korea no longer ran a presidential system. During the infection war, the president mutated into a Walker; his successor's chopper crashed; the emergency-elected next one went down to a sea monster en route to Jeju by sub. Politics then declared a state of emergency and forced a shift to cabinet rule.
"Who's number one in protocol now?"
Not precise—reference only. From confirmed data, protocol rank 55, Financial Services Commission chair, is now number one.
A photo of a gaunt old man appeared. He'd been elsewhere, dodging the massacre. Not all government members clustered in one spot due to feuds and circumstances.
"Rank 55? Quite the body count. And a finance chair?"
I couldn't help a hollow laugh. In this world, the most useless expert sat at the top of the official government ladder.
Other Jeju factions have politicians, officials, generals too, but...
"Means nothing now. No authority left."
Tap tap tap. I drummed my index finger on the desk, organizing thoughts.
"Reactions down south?"
Lukewarm. Some haven't heard yet; most don't care if they live or die. Influence is severed, plus heavy betrayal vibes amplify it.
They'd cut supplies and troops using sea monsters as excuse, halted refugee intake. This country was fragmented into tribal scarcity.
Places like Yeosu garrison kept nominal loyalty and reporting lines to government, but it was a thin thread.
"Gohung must be thrilled."
Thrilled is an understatement. Already sent fervent support statement.
The screen expanded to satellite-map scale, capturing southern Korea and Jeju. Shot by our low-orbit bird.
A line extended from Gohung to an audio-file icon.
Lee Man-cheol's excited voice played: "We stand united in heart and purpose..."
"Stop. Kill it."
Playback halted.
"Don't wanna hear that fool's drivel."
Didn't want to play it either.
I raised my coffee mug in a mock toast to the screen. One sip washed away the foul mood—like green tea with sushi.
Jinsu, one more report.
"What?"
Those sent to the pig farm. You wanted just the outcome on their disposal, right?
"Results already?"
Yeah.
Quite a crowd; figured they'd just massacred them outright.
Sliced off certain parts and tossed 'em alive into the pens.
"Dismembered?"
Nah, that'd take longer. Just tendons and select bits—shallow cuts.
Speechless.
"Gruesome."
Pigs are beasts at heart. Omnivores with gluttony, starved now. How long till tusks gouge the gut of the writhing human beneath?
No hands used unloading. Grappling hooks to drag 'em out.
Winter had arrived. The world was turning savage for real.
"Never thought I'd see third-world rebel atrocities like that in Korea."
Apocalypse: how cruel can we get? Guess I underestimated my countrymen.
More like overwhelmed by the rebel leaders' charisma and brutality.
With the outside churning so fast, we couldn't just spectate. Time to move again.
We had tech to secure, and the window was closing.
"Time for the final expedition."
I set down the empty mug, clenched my fist. Power like it could shred steel surged through my muscles.
"Mobilize the army."