Rescue Operation (5)
A small rocky island afloat in the sea, with a maritime structure built upon it. This was Korea's one and only Offshore Prison. Just as the ferry pulled away from the harbor, four women were holding a meeting inside the prison's central administration building.
One of them spoke up. "Take a look at this. Just take a look."
She was in her late twenties. Like Sofiya, she was a Slavic beauty. Despite her striking looks, she exuded an aura that made her hard to approach—not like the thorns of a rose, but the poison of a pufferfish. It wasn't poison she'd been born with; it was something she'd accumulated after being battered around by life. Born in Moscow, this woman had lived her life parasitizing danger right up until her imprisonment in Korea's Offshore Prison. Danger always came with money, and she knew how to pocket the cash while dodging the peril itself. Men smitten by her or terrified of her could fill a truck. Treat them according to her special recipes, and they'd throw themselves into danger in her stead.
Her name was Sasha. She led the largest faction among the West Block inmates.
"The rescue team's coming—that's good. I don't wanna starve to death here either. But why'd you go ahead and handle it on your own?"
She was rebuking Sofiya. Tsk. Sasha pulled out a cigarette, lit it up. It was one she'd smoked halfway, stubbed out, twisted up, and saved for later. A shabby habit that didn't suit her elegant appearance, but on this island, a single cigarette could spark murder.
"What, you wanna just sit here and starve to death? You guys might have your stashes, but my crew won't last a week."
Instead of answering, Sasha exhaled a long plume of smoke. A strange smile played on her lips as she flicked the stub between her fingers. Go on, keep talking.
'Damn bitch.' Sofiya hated Sasha with a passion. Once, they'd been like sisters in a foreign land, then employee and boss. Not in any wholesome line of work, though. A classic tale: a hopeful girl steps onto foreign soil, gets exploited by a compatriot speaking the same tongue, and ruins her life. At first, Sofiya had seen Sasha—the one greeting her in their nostalgic native language, helping out with this and that—as a kind big sister. And that illusion had twisted her entire existence. Now here they were, cozy in the slammer together. Life's full of ironies; at least it had saved her skin.
"I'm not criticizing the negotiation itself. Better than sitting here starving to death, right? Fixing the comms and calling in the rescue team? Worthy of praise."
Sasha stepped closer to Sofiya.
"The problem is why you handled it alone."
She exhaled another cloud of smoke.
"Pimps set the price, not whores. Why'd you negotiate on your own?"
"That's ancient history! I'm not your—"
Sasha's foot slipped between the legs of Sofiya, who was seated in her chair.
"You've seen what happens to girls caught haggling with clients behind my back in my place, haven't you?"
"Stop it!"
Sofiya jerked her head up and yelled, but she couldn't hold Sasha's gaze for long. Not with those eyes. Years after cutting ties, Sasha still looked at her the same way: appraising a commodity's price. It made Sofiya's skin crawl.
"Sasha. This isn't the time for pecking-order bullshit..."
"In this game, is there anything more important than hierarchy? Money? Money's just something you make more of."
Sasha reached out and gripped Sofiya's crotch hard.
"Let go! Let me go!"
"Work this right, and the money rolls in. But position? Can't buy that with cash. Harder still to hold onto it."
As she pinned down Sofiya's resistance, Sasha continued.
"In times like these, if some bitch cuts me out and seals a deal that decides if we live or die, what do you think everyone will think? I set prices. I make decisions."
She prodded Sofiya's chest with her long fingers.
"...Fine. Got it."
Sasha withdrew her fingers from the reluctant nod. "You look a mess."
She sighed at the nearly vanished nail art.
"World's gone to shit—why bother with nails?"
A woman who had propped her feet on the table and was staring at the ceiling spoke up. Her name tag read Nina. Her crew was small, but no one in the Offshore Prison—not even Sasha—messed with her lightly. Simple reason.
"Why not work out instead? Gotta maintain your own body now. The days of bossing around thugs with a nod are over."
Her abs flexed sharply with each kick of her feet on the table. Her limbs, honed by martial arts, were whip-lean and lethal. With law collapsed and no more relying on men's brute force, raw power like hers ruled supreme.
"Muscles are wasting away."
Nina stroked her belly sadly. Without decent food, muscles melted off.
"So, that guy—Seo Jinsu, right? Spill everything you know. First impressions, speech quirks, any little detail."
Sasha said.
"We barely talked."
"I'll judge. You just spill."
Sofiya recounted everything she knew, even a little. When the story hit 200,000 cans of beer, every eye in the room bulged.
Whoosh—. The massive screen showed ocean scenery so refreshing just to look at. With all infected cleared from the ship and no threats until we hit the island, it was basically risk-free. At my request to take in the broad seascape via a surveillance drone's feed, the Central Control Room turned into a navigation VR lounge. Artemis was monitoring every squad member and drone anyway, so a little extravagance was fine.
Sunlit horizon stretching forever, waves crashing against the hull, even the sound of them breaking. Artemis tweaked the ceiling vents for a near-perfect 4D theater vibe. Her effort to understand humanity's longing for nature was touching.
As I soaked in the sea, a sudden question hit me.
"The survivors in the Offshore Prison have held out this long—does that mean infected can't cross the ocean?"
You could see it that way.
"Then it's weird, right? Where'd the navy go? No resistance forces shifting to sea bases? Doesn't add up."
You're making me give the answer I hate most.
After a hesitant pause, Artemis replied.
Insufficient data for judgment.
She sounded genuinely reluctant. A bit later, we reached our destination.
"There it is."
The Offshore Prison's outline emerged on the screen. An artificial village on the sea, built purely to isolate from Korean society. A bleak landscape of inorganic concrete and gray rocks.
"Gray, gray, and more gray everywhere."
With the occasional pink mixed in. Huh?
"Wait—pink?"
I zoomed in via the touch panel, revealing an unexpected sight. At the rocky outskirts of the Offshore Prison, naked women—no thread of clothing—were visible. Probably bathing in the seawater. Closer zoom showed their dire state: gaunt bellies from prolonged malnutrition, lifeless faces. Their washing motions were feeble, limp. Even as they starved and withered, clinging to the last shreds of human dignity? Washing off the filth from their bodies in the cold sea.
In a spa or hot spring, their lips would chatter nonstop with gossip, but theirs were sealed tight. As we drew nearer, one spotted us and pointed. Then they all bolted. At the end of their sprint loomed the prison's drab main gate.
Docking at the island's pier, the navigation computer auto-docked seamlessly—linked to the island's mooring system.
Disembarking.
With Rose's words, the rescue squad marched orderly onto the island. No longer a combat zone dealing with human prisoners, they switched to standard voice comms.
"Their condition is abysmal."
Crunch. A guard robot stepped on something that shattered—a small animal bone.
Cat bones. Signs of meat scraped off with tools.
"Food situation's worse than imagined."
Paths from the pier to the prison were filthy with waste. Not just trash, animal and fish bones—human feces everywhere.
"Must reek on-site."
Pity for Rose, passing through with human senses.
"No toilets available, so they shit outside?"
Desalination plant broken, or no one to run it. Can't waste precious water on toilets then.
Desalination maintenance likely handled by external techs—cut off now, obviously.
"Combat risk here is minimal. Maintain vigilance, skirt the filth. No need to step in it."
At my order, the guard robots loosened their rigid formation, nimbly avoiding the mess. Leading prisoners? Best look clean and tough. Shit footprints wouldn't inspire confidence.
A few minutes' walk brought us to the prison entrance. Waiting were Warden Lee Seyoung—who we'd contacted ahead—Sofiya, and one unfamiliar woman.
This is Warden Lee Seyoung. We are truly grateful for your aid in these dire times.
Who are the other two?
Rose asked.
This is Sasha, the representative of the West Wing inmates, and Sofiya, the representative of the East Wing. There are more factions besides these, but for now, these are the only two you need to know.
Inmate representatives or whatever, they're ultimately just the shot-callers of the larger gangs.
It was a bizarre situation where a prison warden was introducing gang leaders to visitors, but the sad reality was that I couldn't just laugh about it.
The woman named Sasha had a smile on her face from afar, but her expression hardened like stone when she saw the true nature of the rescue team.
She then glared at Sofiya next to her. She must have been expecting an ordinary rescue team made up of human men. She looked like she was interrogating her with her eyes, demanding to know why she wasn't told about this.
Sofiya's reaction to that was the very embodiment of 'So what?'
Warden Lee Se-young. We require guidance.
After looking at the two inmates, Rose turned her gaze back to Se-young and spoke.
‘When you land at the offshore prison, there is something you must secure as a top priority.’ She was faithfully executing the orders I had given her in advance.
Please lead us to the Warden's office and the inmate records archive.