Let the Refugees In

"Finally!"

"Very nice."

The superwave transceiver.

It was basically a communication device that blasted radio waves with such absurd, disgusting output that it could punch through anything, no matter how thick the concentration of Bloom Spore on the route was. In other words, a real man’s transmitter. As long as this thing remained intact, Roseberry could stay in contact with the World Union indefinitely.

"Looks like the shop system’s about to open up."

In the game, every time you completed a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠refugee intake quest or any other request from the World Union, they handed out something called Tokens, which you could spend like currency. He figured it would work the same way here, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Put it through."

At Huihyeon's words, the giant screen he had been watching was instantly replaced by a middle-aged man with an officious expression.

-Commander. It’s a pleasure to meet you again. Our Seleyne has been observing your quarantine zone and those of the other commanders through satellite imagery. Now that your communications are operational, and especially since you’ve expanded the rocket landing pad, additional food production facilities, and residential capacity, I can only call you highly competent.-

"Glad to hear it. But I’m busy, so let’s keep this short. You only called because you’re sending refugees by rocket, so just tell me when they’ll arrive."

-If you’re going to be that blunt, then by all means, we welcome it. The first rocket will arrive in three hours, the second in seven, and the third in fifteen. Three hundred passengers on each. Please don’t expect professionalism. We’re in no position to be picky either.-

The World Union’s spokesman didn’t look especially apologetic. Very much the posture of a civil servant.

As he’d said, the World Union was currently choking on population pressure much like Soylent Green, so shipping out nine hundred evacuees must have been one of the few choices left to them.

"So, spokesman. You’re saying nine hundred refugees will be arriving within twenty-four hours?"

-That is correct.-

"Send more."

-Hm?—

"Roseberry currently has enough stockpiled food to feed ten thousand citizens. It’d be a shame to let it rot. We still can’t build rockets on our end, so load up as many people as you can over there and send them our way."

At that, the spokesman’s face smoothed out just a little.

As far as a bureaucrat was concerned, if there was any excuse at all to pacify starving refugees on the verge of rioting, then even if Huihyeon’s words were a lie, it was still better to send them along first.

If they went and lived well, great. If they died, then at least it wouldn’t be his fault.

"As payment, if you want to call it that, I’d like a few forms of support."

-What exactly would that be? If it’s within a certain limit, we’re willing to comply.-

"Nothing much. Just send the blueprints. The Assault Walker blueprint, the Mule Combat Suit blueprint, and the Wiesel Light Armored Vehicle blueprint."

"That much should be manageable on our end as well."

The bureaucrat’s face lit up, visibly and shamelessly.

Of course it did. Strictly speaking, the commanders of quarantine zones were in the same position as the military governors of old China. In other words, legal warlords. From the World Union’s perspective, already stuck maintaining an unstable balance of power, directly dealing in military equipment was a slippery business.

But if they didn’t trade the actual gear and instead handed out blueprints so the equipment could be manufactured locally, the World Union got to save resources and keep up appearances, while the players got military strength. A win-win, if you ignored the part where everyone was lying to everyone else.

Of course, it was all smoke and mirrors, but without a setup like this, the players would be stuck sucking their thumbs with nothing but raw infantry long after the early game was over.

"I’ll send over the blueprints right away. And over the next week, roughly six thousand refugees will be arriving in Roseberry."

"Mm. Very good. Contact us ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if you need anything else."

"Yes, sir."

*

"So this is the Mule Combat Suit, huh?"

"It says it’s a non-powered exoskeleton. What does that even mean?"

"If I knew that, do you think I’d have gone into engineering? I’d be a rifleman, same as you."

The Mule Combat Suit.

True to its name, it was a combat suit that let you carry ammunition the way a mule carried a load. By attaching a non-powered exoskeleton structure commonly used in industrial work to the suit, it let infantry transport three times the usual amount of ammo. A glorious, hardworking suit if there ever was one.

Where they’d normally carry eight to twelve magazines, the Mule Combat Suit let them carry twenty-four to thirty-six with no penalty at all.

"Damn, this is insane. Even with the magazines strapped all over it, it feels the same as usual."

"No kidding. If this is a new-model combat suit, the performance’s killer."

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t actually a new-model combat suit. It was more than ten years old.

Still, since it had only just been produced at the armory, in terms of production date it was technically brand-new.

There was no way the rank-and-file soldiers could know that, of course.

"So what do we do now?"

"Captain Jeremy said we’re going out on an outside expedition to bring back more trucks."

"Trucks? You mean that parking tower?"

"No. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Not there. Apparently he’s got somewhere else in mind. Think about it. When we took out those three trucks, most of the others had already turned into spore colonies. Do you really think there’d still be any clean ones left there?"

"Ah... so where are we going?"

"The quarry."

"The quarry..."

And so, with the added goal of testing the new combat suits and securing more of the vehicles they were short on, Jeremy’s unit drew up a plan to requisition huge trucks from the quarry and bring them back.

Magazines were packed as tightly as they could fit into the suit’s pouches, while the empty spaces in the trucks were loaded with fully charged vehicle batteries, fuel, and air spray for blasting Bloom Spore off the surface.

"We move out in four minutes! Everyone get in the trucks!"

"Platoon leaders, report to your company commanders!"

*

Among the refugees, that saying spread like wildfire.

Joy at being alive lasted only a moment. There were too many people, so most of them had to sleep out on the streets. Disease from filth, heatstroke and frostbite from exposure, new plagues from the growing piles of corpses... The coastal cities were screaming under chronic food and medicine shortages.

"Get the hell out of where you live, you thieves!"

"Please, just one meal...!"

"We don’t have enough to eat either! This is all because you people swarmed in here! Get the hell outside the wall!!!!"

There was no humanity left in the face of economic hardship. Once the pantry began to run dry, the native citizens started treating refugees like garbage in order to preserve their own privileges, and the refugees, who had no property and no rights, would pick up the wrong seaweed or shellfish from the coast, catch waterborne diseases, and die in the end after endless diarrhea and stomach cramps.

It really was true.

Humanity, now numbering twelve billion, had not shrunk much even after the Bloom pandemic spread, and within the vastly tightened living space, there was no way to feed everyone.

First, the children died. Then the women. Then the old. And finally, the young men.

When the children died, the streets were full of screams. When the women died, firebombs flew through those same streets. When the old died, the streets were lined with corpses. And when the young men died, the streets somehow ended up looking cleaner.

[System: Safe zones are hell.]

It wasn’t because of Bloom Spore. It wasn’t because of the BTs.

It meant hell made by human hands. It didn’t take the refugees long to realize the hidden meaning behind the line. And it took even less time for them to become part of that hell.

"We’re recruiting pioneers to go to the quarantine zone! Those interested should apply at the nearest government office!"

"You want us to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠just go die now, huh, you motherfuckers! Go to the Red Zone packed with BTs!?"

"...A large portion of the quarantine zone is not Red Zone but Yellow Zone..."

"Shut it! It’s not like we get to decide where we can go anyway!"

"Hand over the bread! Hand over the porridge! Hand over the medicine!"

If there was even the tiniest spark, it would spread into a riot in no time at all. And after the armed suppression, and the days of rotting corpses stinking up the air, the hell made by people would begin all over again.

And through all that struggle, the survivors headed for the quarantine zone. To overcome starvation and despair, they had no choice but to willingly step into the spore-filled hell.

---