Women's Shelter Life (1)
While Seo Jinsu and the special forces team he led ventured out into the outside world, those remaining in the Shelter enjoyed peaceful days.
'Prisoners must all have rough personalities.' That was the common perception, but it was just a prejudice. Among them were plenty of gentle, timid women who made you wonder how they even ended up there. Like Park Yujin, who was currently giving Nina a foot massage.
In contrast to South Korea's declining population, the number of prison inmates had skyrocketed, reaching bursting levels right before the infection outbreak. To calm the chaotic society, harsh punishment policies had been pushed, slapping absurdly long sentences on crimes that would have gotten you a warning or suspended sentence in the past.
Yujin had received a three-year sentence and was shipped straight to the offshore prison upon arrival.
"I'm Park Yujin. Got three years. Worked as a masseuse outside."
That was her self-introduction when she first entered the room in the women's prison on the mainland.
"Massage? Hey, come rub my back."
That was the first thing Nina—the boss of that room—said to her. A brown-haired Eastern European beauty leaning against the wall with a sly grin. She looked to be in her early twenties. A few bruises marred her face, but they couldn't hide her stunning looks. Besides, most of the women in the room had even worse facial injuries, so it barely stood out.
Nina had arrived just a week earlier. She'd gotten into a fight with another woman outside, took a hit, and paid it back tenfold—earning her prison ticket. And that "tenfold" wasn't just in hits; factoring in power, it was at least twenty times over. She was a Muay Thai practitioner, and self-defense didn't fly. It took her exactly two days in prison to go from newbie to room boss. After one big brawl, even the sisters ten years her senior didn't dare challenge her.
The timid Yujin became Nina's personal masseuse from that day on. Having lived her life as a natural pushover and prey in social dynamics, adapting to this Shelter was a breeze for Yujin. At least it was far better than life in the old offshore prison.
The memory of painstakingly collecting rainwater in a bucket only to have it snatched by stronger inmates before she could take a sip still made her teeth chatter. Parched to the point of trembling limbs, she'd scaled the building walls to suck water pooled in the ceiling tiles—a horrific recollection. Her skin cracked from lack of proper washing, and when she peed, the stench from her privates was worse than the urine itself. Chronic itching left her skin inflamed red, but hunger tormented her even more.
But everything changed after arriving at the Shelter. The food was delicious, clean water flowed freely, and unbelievably, hot baths without time limits were available every day. As for inmate rivalries and violence, things were looser than in a typical prison, and being under Nina meant no worries about protection.
Squeeze. Press.
Yujin's thumbs dug hard into Nina's Yongquan acupoint, holding for two seconds. The pretty arch of her white sole sank deep, forming dozens of wrinkles. The pooled blood there was pushed outward, moistening the neglected peripheral cells and muscles. That was the ebb of circulation. Releasing the pressure let the blood rush back, nourishing them again. The flow of circulation.
Like the Nile-flooded earth enriched by nutrients and blood cells, Nina's foot grew healthier. The powerful acupressure had her sole flushed red. Most people would be screaming in pain by now, but Nina just closed her eyes, humming contentedly without a single grimace.
"No iron bars here—it's the best, right?"
Another woman spoke up beside Yujin, who was focused on the massage. It was true. While many factors drove prisoners insane, the cage-like bars took a huge share. But here, everywhere you looked was wide open. Sure, there were fences limiting the camp, but inside the grounds, everything felt free.
In an apocalypse-level disaster, they had a safe haven with food, clothing, and shelter. Yujin was satisfied with this life.
"Waaahhh."
On the other hand, some women wept rivers of tears. With basic needs met, thoughts turned to families left outside. Watching the city's external surveillance feeds crushed any hope. The mentally tough shook it off, grateful for survival and a decent life, but not everyone could. Some sobs dragged on for two, three, four days straight. Sadly, they didn't get much sympathy.
"We're fed and warm—what's with all the blubbering? So annoying."
Nina, enjoying her foot massage on the heated floor with a "this is paradise" look, suddenly bolted up.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Her brown hair whipping as she charged off like a lioness born with a mane.
"Eek!"
Soon, drumming sounds and screams echoed, then silence.
"Ugh, that fucking bitch."
Someone whispered a curse at Nina. Surprisingly, few agreed. The women sharing the dorm were intimidated by her brutality and lack of consideration, but they also felt relieved knowing they'd sleep soundly tonight. Nina didn't do it for everyone, but she always stepped up when trouble brewed. Sometimes pistol-whipping her own side, sure. But her charisma and leadership had built up this way. Bitchy as she was, everyone accepted her as leader.
This was the state of the women adapting to underground city life. In terms of food, clothing, and shelter, it outshone any prison. With high rates of orphans, family cutoffs, and "me-first" types, their adaptability was top-notch.
"Good thing I never saw that old man dad croak. My dream was to spit on his grave at the funeral."
Even women with families occasionally shrugged them off like "whatever."
Normally, they'd be doing assigned labor under "vocational training" at this hour, but with the sudden influx, even the higher-ups seemed overwhelmed.
"Look at that place—shiny as hell."
A woman in her late thirties remarked, and those around her nodded "yeah, yeah."
From some camp sections, the distant VIP Residential Zone up top was faintly visible—a prime spectacle. Guidance screens promised vacations there as rewards for model behavior, high productivity, or event wins. The footage showed pure splendor: pleasures and luxuries once reserved for the elite even in a normal world.
Meanwhile, others chatted more practically.
"Heard the talk? We're getting sent to the factories."
"Over there?"
A group strolling outdoors opened the topic, one pointing to the central factories.
"Facilities look nice."
A woman with factory experience glanced over.
"Never worked in one."
"Not like chopping fingers off or anything, right?"
Speculation about future labor dominated women's conversations these days.
"Please, not the laundry."
One woman prayed fervently, hands clasped on the floor.
"Why laundry?"
Her Shelter buddy asked.
"Worst job in prison by far. Sure, no help reintegrating to society anymore, but it's just brutal. The laundry coming in is always soaked in something gross."
She clutched her face, recalling the past.
"Restaurant stuff? Grease and cream. Hospital? Sweat and filth. Motels? Caked in whore piss and cum. By the time it hits us, it's fermented!"
She remembered her first day in laundry: arms full of hospital bedsheets, vomiting from the rising stench.
"Sweat pours like rain, steam burns if you're not careful, detergent dust and laundry lint make you cough all year. Saw a girl get pneumonia from it. Anything but laundry, pleeease..."
She trembled, hands clasped tight.
"But this isn't prison. That broadcast guy said he doesn't see us as inmates."
Another noted. Everyone recalled snippets from the city manager's speech. Seo Jinsu had clearly stated he wouldn't treat them as prisoners.
Guidance screens everywhere showed the city's history, panoramas, and zone intros—inevitably introducing its ruler, Seo Jinsu. His face topped the org chart, the only one with a photo amid empty slots. Construction vids showed him bustling from the start, building systems and directing workers. But the highlight followed: post-outbreak, battling monsters alone to restore the city—epic stuff.
Kids, the life management AI, had strategically edited it for propaganda, but no lies mixed in. In tough times, a strong leader was a pillar. Jinsu's savior footage instilled dominance and respect better than any indoctrination.
The same went for his security force. Women sick of offshore prison's law of the jungle, or scarred by the horrors outside, felt oppressed yet relieved by the robot guards. Oppression included baseline protection, after all. Gotta be alive to be oppressed, right? It was pathetic comfort—like eating rice grains stuck to your cheek after a smack with a ricey ladle—but no one complained. That was survival now.