Management (4)
I slipped my hands under Seyoung's armpits and helped her to her feet.
"You don't have to go this far."
She said it with a shy flush.
"You've been through a lot."
"It's because I'm lacking that they won't stay in line."
"Bring two ice packs."
I issued the order via PDA to the ambulance waiting outside.
> Understood.
Per the new regulations Artemis had set, an ambulance had to accompany me whenever I left the VIP zone.
"Like the shoes?"
"Yes. Though going barefoot wasn't so bad either. It felt... healthy, somehow?"
Her sandaled toes wiggled cutely. Not long ago, those toenails had been caked in black grime; now they gleamed a clean pink.
"Someday I'll invite you up top. There's a barefoot walking path in the park there. You'll love it."
A beautiful trail lined with trees, grass, flowers, and flowing water everywhere you looked. Moss and tree roots poked up here and there along the path—walking it barefoot was incredibly refreshing. Just strolling along cleared your lungs and your mind. They even had a pebble reflexology path.
"VIP zone, huh? Coming back from there would just make everyone hate me even more."
Seyoung gave a wry smile.
"After what just happened, I don't think it could get any worse."
"True enough."
I touched her cheek.
"That auntie's hand stings."
"I never thought she'd actually slap me."
Seyoung accepted my touch naturally.
> Arrived.
A security robot opened the door and took two ice packs from a waiting drone outside.
"Put it on your face."
"Thank you."
She took the ice pack meekly.
"Having trouble with control?"
"In a situation like this, it's all about rank—who's older, who's tougher. Feels like middle or high school all over again."
"I wanted to talk more progressive operations going forward, but looks like we need to restore order first."
I beckoned to the waiting robots.
"Bring in the ladies. Time to accomplish what we came for."
Moments later, about twenty senior wardens filed into Seyoung's office and lined up.
I stood at a lectern-like setup slightly elevated above them.
"Glad to meet you all."
All eyes locked onto me.
"You've learned about me from the video orientations by now. Name's Seo Jinsu. Shelter system administrator. Due to unfortunate circumstances, I'm currently holding all administrative positions in the city."
All administrative positions. They knew what that meant without explanation.
"First rule: Comply with order. This isn't just about city norms. It applies to relationships among members of this little facility too."
I stepped behind Seyoung, who stood beside me, and placed my hands on her shoulders.
"The warden is still your representative and superior. Her authority must be respected. No more insubordination like earlier. Questions so far?"
A woman in her mid-to-late thirties raised her hand. I gestured for her to speak.
"But the prison's gone now. No government either. Seyoung can't represent us. We want to elect a new rep."
She spoke smoothly, like it was rehearsed.
"Whether she can represent you or not is my call."
She flinched at my firm tone.
"Prison gone, Korean government gone—so you won't recognize old positions or authority? Fine, I'll assign you temporary city roles."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
"Other questions?"
Another woman raised her hand. I nodded and pointed at her.
"How long do we have to stay here? Outside the fence, the city's huge—nice houses everywhere."
Honestly, this was probably their real priority over who their rep was.
"Saw cafes too, looked like downtown."
Amid the murmurs: "Yeah, yeah," or "I wanna grab a coffee."
That morning commute ritual—stopping at a cafe, filling a disposable plastic cup with hot, sweet coffee, carrying it in one hand. It had been everyday normalcy for them. The hope of reclaiming even a sliver of that would be intoxicating.
"And it's too close to the prisoner camp. We're not like those dogs."
"Can we get some tampons? These recycled pads are a pain to suck clean every time."
"While we're at it, a washing machine would be great. Hand-washing with soap in the bathroom hurts my hands."
Suddenly, even those without permission were chiming in, chaos erupting.
I raised a hand to halt the security robots about to intervene.
Some might bristle—"Saved your lives, now you want the kitchen sink too?"—but I got it personally. Innocent folks shipped to an offshore prison, then slammed with hardships they'd never imagined. Understanding didn't mean I'd indulge them, though.
"Any word from outside? Survivor groups?"
The room quieted a bit at the question. Even amid personal gripes, thoughts of family and friends hit them.
"Regrettably, no outside contact. Scattered individual survivors far off, but no organized groups like this confirmed."
Nearly a death sentence for their families, but they seemed prepared—reactions limited to covering mouths.
"One more thing. Time to clear up a fundamental misunderstanding between us."
Question marks appeared on their faces.
"You're not here as Republic of Korea correctional officers or civilians. You're disaster survivors, plucked from a sinking national ship onto the shelter's cruise liner mid-drift."
Still puzzled looks.
"If you're thinking of this like 'government handing out free cup ramen, blankets, and tents to disaster victims,' that's a huge mistake."
I glanced at Seyoung; she nodded faintly, mouthing I've told them several times. But her wry smile said it hadn't sunk in.
"Soon as admin prep wraps, you'll get labor assignments like the prisoners. Gotta pay for room and board. This is a closed city—inputs and outputs must cycle. We tolerate surplus resources, not surplus humans."
Immediate chatter; security robots stomped in unison, silencing them.
"From now on, raise your hand for permission to speak. Violate, and you're out."
Three hands shot up; I pointed to one. She introduced herself as a captain.
"So we'll keep doing warden work?"
She jerked her chin toward the big prisoner camp.
"No. Aptitude tests first, then new assignments: cleaning, cooking, farming, environmental management, factory work. Plenty of jobs. Some might assist security as wardens, but not many."
"We've only ever done warden work. Cleaning and factories...?"
Not just her—nods and murmurs of agreement. Not loyalty to their expertise; they just hated dirty, tough labor. I'd seen that face plenty in the army managing recruits.
A few stood arms crossed, calm and tough-looking. Confident they'd make warden cut.
"Sorry, but you've lost authority. Weren't you naked, begging prisoners for food behind bars just yesterday? Think any inmate will fear you now in uniform with a riot baton?"
Shame flooded their faces. But facts were facts.
"That was a bad situation. Here, we could regain..."
The captain trailed off.
"Regain warden role here? That means leaning on my authority and security team's to control them?"
"...Yes."
Her voice shrank, hitting the sore spot.
"I want a security force that instills fear on its own—no backing needed. We'll run new fitness and combat aggression tests, select the strong ones with real dominance."
Seyoung raised her hand.
"Speak."
"Frankly, under those standards, less than 20% of ex-wardens would pass. Nowhere near enough."
Some glared at her blunt assessment, but she ignored them, focused on reporting facts and issues as an admin.
Her school records said class president all through school—wonder what she was like back then.
"Doesn't matter. We'll recruit from prisoners. Tough women aplenty; easy to fill quotas."
Near-screams from the women.
"Prisoners? Using criminals for security? We'd be under their control?"
The warden I'd been talking to sounded incredulous.
"Problem with that?"
She seemed speechless at my calm counter.
"Don't misunderstand. I don't manage prisoners and you separately with different oversight because they're criminals and you're civilians. To me, you're both shipwrecked refugees. Just differentiated by credit score."
Seyoung sighed beside me. Same words, but they only landed from someone with power.
"This isn't a prison. Republic of Korea's gone. No reason to inherit a dead government's crime records. I value strength, skills, basic credit. That's it. Won't put drug dealers or scammers in management, obviously."
Those were zero-trust humans regardless of ability.
"But a buff inmate in for assault? I'd appoint her to city security gladly—if she follows rules."
We'd monitor performance separately. Better a violent dominator under watch than a weak pacifist.
"Safe here, but not kind. If you see this as Korea 2.0, you'll struggle. Better think of it as joining a warlord's crew to survive the apocalypse."
Now they got my lens on new residents.
"Seen post-apoc movies or shows? Mad Max, Snowpiercer, Walking Dead. What kind of leaders ran the shelters? I'm not that brutal, but don't expect extra kindness."
I paused, scanning them. Fear, worry, anxiety—mostly negative. But some expectation, admiration, excitement. The confident ones.
"That's all for now. You'll learn the rest living here. Questions?"
They glanced around, mouths shut.
"Bravo 1, Bravo 2."
The two robots stepped forward in response.
"From now on, assist Seyoung."
> Command received.
"Seyoung."
"Yes."
"Until specific orders, keep managing as before. These will be your bodyguards and hands. I'll hear new reports at regular meetings. I trust you completely with this place."
"Understood."
She bowed her head slightly.
No one spoke as I left the building. That reaction was enough.
Ever wonder how hierarchies form in military spouses' social clubs? Simple: husband's rank is wife's influence. Division commander's wife acts the part. Saw one once—pure deference, suffocating hierarchy, all polite speech.
To back Seyoung? Easy. Favor her publicly, assign robots. Backtalk behind closed doors, but no one dares to her face.
I expected admin skills from her, not charisma to wrangle residents.