Terracorp (1)
Terracorp (1). Total war. The concept of mobilizing every available resource when a nation faces existential crisis. Korea hadn't fought a total war even during the Korean War, but this one was the exception. Infected don't surrender or accept it—they have no concept of human rights or morality. It's us or them: extinction for one side or the other.
Men were stripped bare, even pulling convicts from prisons to throw onto the front lines. Women were mobilized in the rear for medical support and resource production. Industrial facilities were requisitioned to churn out military supplies.
"Walkers milling about. Not even standing guard or anything."
Through the binoculars, the dock behind the factory. Walkers stood scattered all over it. Our target for this external expedition, the Terracorp Company industrial facility, was a civilian helicopter manufacturing plant. It hugged a canal on one side, making it a key transportation hub. Right after the war broke out, it was requisitioned and turned into a military maintenance depot.
It was a fair distance from the Shelter, but with aerial transport essential for our future journeys, it was a must-have. Plus, no major cities or villages lay along the route, so the distance wasn't a real threat.
Just one problem. Ground footage from the aerial drone.
Thud—!Thud—!
A massive variant Infected shaking the earth just by moving. A Lugnut, that bastard. And not just it—thousands of Walkers clustered in front of the factory.
They'd all been evacuees once. In total war, refugee tents doubled as labor offices. At the height of the fighting, thousands of tents dotted the fields outside the factory. The government had a moral duty to care for its citizens and needed the manpower. Refugees wanted better food and protection. Interests aligned, so tent cities sprang up around requisitioned munitions plants like this one.
Thud—!Thud—!
Now just monster nests.
A frontal assault would be suicide. The expedition I led was a drop in the bucket compared to them. But to get into the industrial facility, we had to break through that horde.
If we went through the main gate, anyway.
"Coming this way was the right call."
We were hundreds of meters from the drone's view. Splash. The canal, completed just two years ago, was pristine despite zero maintenance. Our side of the bank was thick with grass and trees; the path was an earthy trail rich with fresh natural scents. In the center, two pristine mallards floated lazily, foraging.
They'd learned: stay away from the banks, and you're safe.
Quack! One just snagged a fish. It plunged headfirst underwater, orange webbed feet paddling the air. Sunlight danced on the ripples, scattering brilliant light.
If you ignored the factory side, it evoked the peaceful pre-war world. A beautiful scene.
"Only three skirmishes getting here. Impressive performance."
We'd ridden Artemis's newly developed APC all the way. Optimized for survival against Infected, not human wars, it differed from standard APCs. Light armor, but high mobility, low noise, and front-end crash resistance. In a pinch, it could plow through most obstacles. Drone recon on top let us dodge nearly all fights.
Ready?
"Questions like that are for rookies."
Plan was underwater infiltration into the factory. The accompanying robots didn't breathe and were waterproof, so just me prepping was enough.
"Never done underwater ops, but my body's in perfect shape. Trained plenty."
Back at the Shelter, I'd run VR sims for underwater infiltration multiple times.
Didn't you say you ignore VR training?
Artemis teased lightly.
"If I don't like it, fine—but war means using whatever works. In this world, where else do underwater infiltration drills? And..."
I glanced at my one-piece dive-infiltration suit. Artemis's amphibious design excelled not just underwater but as protective gear too.
"Nothing you've made has ever disappointed. Food, gear, procedures, training programs—anything."
Of course.
I waded into the water. Black-painted robots followed. Alloy frames wrapped in high-density plastic, reinforced silicone soles—new model. "Raiders." Slightly less durable than the old "Insomniac" series, but lighter and more agile. Optimized for stealth and speed-critical infiltration like this. Low production meant only eight deployed, but no plans for full assault anyway.
Even with noise countermeasures, vehicles draw eyes if more than a couple roll together.
"Entering the water."
Robots sank from the weight, walking the riverbed. I grabbed their shoulders and let them tow me.
Artemis's gas mask was all-transparent upfront for great visibility. Tough enough for pistol rounds. Linked to a mini oxygen tank at the neck for underwater breathing—essential for this op.
Oxygen tank isn't generous. Keep an eye on remaining time.
I flashed a circle with thumb and index, then thumbs-up to the body cam. Her laughter echoed in my ear.
Near the dock, I peered up from below the surface. Even through the rippling, distorting window, their ugliness didn't fade a bit.
Stick to the plan. Quiet takedowns.
Slip. Barely a sound as I surfaced head-only. A Walker's foot right in front of me. One more step and it'd plunge in—but even stumbling, it never did.
Human swimming's as unstable as helicopter flight; takes high intelligence to control limbs. Land-based Infected without it? Perfect drowning bait. Instincts hardwired that in.
War's all about exploiting weaknesses. I reached out, grabbed its ankle, yanked hard.
Splash!
No scream—just sinking. It flailed underwater, confused, till our eyes met.
"Grgggrrrrooo—!"
Tried bellowing, but lungs filled with water instead. In a movie, I'd stab it a few times with a combat knife and toss it coolly. No need.
Crunch! It looked down to see an inhuman metal grip on its ankle. Lower still: red eyes glowing from the dark riverbed. Multiple robots.
The ones holding both ankles dragged harder.
"Rrrggg..."
Lungs full now. A few bubbles, then just carp-like mouth gasps. If intellect remained, it'd prioritize escape from drowning. No brains for that. Limbs thrashed to attack me, then went limp. Stopped.
Blink. Blink. Eyes still tracked me amid it all. Loaded with unnatural malice and obsession toward anything not-them.
One robot drew a knife, severed the cervical spine. Eyes rolled back, dead.
It shoved the corpse riverward; it bobbed up diagonally. Faint splashes as it drifted off.
Splash! Splash!
Not just here. Dozens of meters away, other Walkers dragged under at distant docks. No fights. Thrashing Walkers, silent red-eyed soldiers never letting go. Like Japan's kappa yokai—dragging river players under to drown.
River monster myths like that are universal folklore.
Splash! Splash! Lung-filled, neck-snapped corpses surfaced. A modern retelling of river monster lore unfolding before us.
But we're the good monsters.
Dock clear, I climbed out. Nearly ten bodies floated away. Canal ducks up to seven now, paddling eagerly toward corpses like pros. More arriving.
Ignoring the scene, headed for the factory back door.
Pop! Pop! New suppressor spat rounds. Toward moored boats.
Glass shattering. Flesh and skull piercing. Plywood thudding. Bodies flopping.
All whisper-quiet compared to any noise. Secret: special foam inside the suppressor. Lets bullets pass resistance-free, but snares combustion gases like spiderwebs. Gases slow, baffle through the baffles, emerge at near-zero speed and pressure.
Great performance, but bulky and needs frequent changes.
"This one's American military?"
One dead Walker in U.S. fatigues.
Unarmed. Probably maintenance crew.
Just a requisitioned depot—why U.S. military here?
We pressed on to the back door. All factory doors shut, shutters down. Survivors must've emergency-sealed it at the end.
Forcing it would blare alarms.
"Lucky. Inside might be clean."
Registered my ID at the entry auth panel on the back door wall.
Authentication complete. Welcome, Commander Seo Jinsu.
Unlocked the side door inward. My heightened hearing caught faint voices beyond.
"Weapons ready."
Grip on the handle, robots assumed firing stances.
—Vrrrooom!!!
The world slowed. The door, easy for a child, felt boulder-heavy. But I could open it. Not the door's weight—the world's. Door just followed the rules.
Muscles screamed, overtaking time. Stationary dust particles pelted and bounced off me.
Door half-open, I twisted inside. Four Walkers. Unaware of me yet.
Door at 70%, me fully in—they sensed something off. Left one's face slowly turned my way. Closed mouth twitched, fang tips emerging.
Right one's vacant stare drifted diagonally down. Ending at me.
Center two worse—facing away. How long till they turned?
My trigger finger finished four actions. Crack!
Two center first. Rounds burrowed occipital; hair rippled circular, bullet hole contracted then bloomed. Brain and blood sprayed gorgeously.
Body fluids beaded in the air—no shine like Nina's sweat in our lovemaking.
Right one satisfied dropping its eyeball 50cm from me, checked out. Died clueless who killed it.
Last left one took it temple-side. Never saw me. Like a train glimpsed through subway doors—bullet tunneling past its eye.
Acceleration off. Optic nerve severed; eyeball rolled forward. Brain goo oozed from empty socket. It crumpled.
Okay?
"Perfect. Couldn't be better."
First real-world acceleration: flawless.
"External movement?"
No anomalies.
Factory interior pitch-black. Robots' red eyes from the side door our only light source. But I'd fought mostly in the dark even on active duty.
If we can't see them easy, they can't see us.
I melted into the shadows with the robots. As trained. As I'd built my career.