Chapter 163
Chapter 163
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 163
Chapter Title: 80, Breed (2)
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"Is that so?"
The soldiers' eyes quickly grew cold.
"They're a yellow-bellied bunch."
The shaman spat out the words.
"We need to wipe out trash like that before they grow any bigger..."
Those weren't empty words.
He was seriously contemplating murder.
Once they were categorized as raiders, age—whether child or elder—no longer mattered.
The world wasn't lenient enough to show mercy just because they were kids anyway.
In fact, tales of child raiders surpassing adults in brutality were commonplace.
"I hope they don't mix with our kids."
Captain Kwon's thoughts weren't much different from the shaman's.
As we lingered for a moment, two more people stepped out from the transport plane, bundled in thick coats.
A young man and woman.
Both wore glasses and carried no weapons.
Following them were men who were obviously pilots.
The soldiers called out to them.
"Over here. This is the Hunter who'll guide you on-site."
The researchers approached and greeted me.
"I'm Assistant Researcher Jang Mok-hyeon."
"And I'm Assistant Researcher Jo Hyun-su. Nice to meet you."
The pilots just nodded from afar without coming closer.
It felt like they were drawing a line.
I didn't pay it any mind.
We were just one-time acquaintances anyway—mutual feeling.
The pilots lit up cigarettes before returning to the transport plane.
Captain Kwon glanced toward the plane and spoke.
"The pilots say they won't leave the transport."
"Can't they all just stay inside?"
"Heating only works in the cockpit, and it's electric. The cargo hold's an icebox. Can't leave valuable kids in that freezing spot for what might take a full day."
Jang Mok-hyeon, the researcher beside him, nodded in agreement.
"These children are Korea's future."
Korea's future, huh.
I had questions, but now wasn't the time.
We briefly discussed the containment plan.
As planned, the researchers and kids would stay in the underground bunker inside the old airbase.
We searched the bunker with the soldiers.
No zombies had poked around here, but better safe.
A horrific stench wafted from the bathroom—likely lingering from people who used it during Chairman Park Cheol-joo's incident last time.
When I cleared this place, the plumbing and water tanks were still functional.
Nothing else seemed wrong.
"This room looks good. Decent size, good insulation, far enough from the entrance, plenty of cover in between. We can handle any surprise attacks."
The shaman fetched a Jeep from the transport plane.
"We'll head to Incheon then. Should take a day at most—take care until then, Hunter Park."
"You sure it'll be okay?"
I asked the departing soldiers.
They caught on to my concern and gave wry smiles.
"No worries. Armored vehicle, and we can call for main force backup if needed."
Well, if they say it's fine, it is.
The Jeep carrying the soldiers kicked up a snowstorm as it left the runway.
Left on the runway were the oversized transport plane, the researchers, the kids, and me, Park Gyu.
Passing the plane, I peeked inside: the cargo hold was packed with massive machines rivaling my generators. So they really were abandoning Incheon.
Suspicions mounting, I led the researchers and kids underground.
"Here? It's dirty and dark. Smells weird."
"I don't wanna sleep here. I wanna call Mom."
The kids clearly weren't thrilled with the bunker.
"Just for today. Think of it like a field trip. You'll be stuck on Jeju for a while anyway once you get there."
The researchers coaxed them, and the kids reluctantly grabbed sleeping bags and headed in.
While the kids settled, we moved in portable generators, electric heaters, guns, and such.
One researcher's gear caught my eye: a combat robot.
A mini-tank on caterpillar tracks, topped with a 7.62mm machine gun, camera, and sensors. It could identify friend-or-foe and attack autonomously.
Jo Hyun-su whispered to me.
"Avoid approaching at night even if urgent. The combat program's not refined—it blasts anything its sensors pick up without distinction."
"Isn't that dangerous for you guys too?"
"It has a stationary forward-fire mode. Sentry gun style—ignores anything from behind. Remote control too."
"Ah, got it."
I eyed the combat robot again.
Definitely prototype vibes—rough around the edges.
Sturdy-looking, but useless against monsters, like all unmanned gear.
Monsters had EMP abilities among others.
Electronics go dead.
Still vivid: Chinese faces paling as their prized drone swarms—drone swarms—dropped like autumn leaves to a mid-tier monster's EMP roar.
And they kept developing drones? Stubborn or stupid.
The move-in went smoothly.
Grouchy kids soon bounced back with childlike cheer and curiosity, treating it like an extended outing. Researchers worked to keep spirits high.
Even cleaned the bathrooms themselves.
After, they handed out hot lunchboxes from insulated containers.
Menu: meatballs.
With béchamel sauce, no less.
"Hunter Park, want one?"
"Thanks."
Filling up on unexpected luxury, I watched the kids.
The girl from International Residence doted on the youngest boy like her own brother.
Our eyes met once—that was it.
No questions asked or needed.
High chance the laptop boy was dead, but I clung to that 0.001%.
Watching them eat.
They looked healthy—glowing complexions.
Top-notch padded jackets and winter gear stamped with National Crisis Committee logos. Nutrition on point.
Clean teeth, faces, hair stood out.
Contrasted sharply with Sergeant Jang's kids: filthy, scrawny, sunken cheeks from poor hygiene and starvation. Kids forced to kill and steal daily, staring death in the face.
Now, unwanted byproducts of the era.
These chosen ones? Korea's future, as Jang said.
Chosen or not, kids are kids.
Aside from some eyes faintly glowing in the dark, just normal children like any I'd known.
Laughing, chattering, playing, whining.
One mischievous kid fiddling with a radio caught my eye.
Not a toy.
K-woki model, like mine.
I warned Jo Hyun-su.
"Isn't letting kids play with radios dangerous? Legion band and all."
"Yes. I'll confiscate it now."
After watching him retrieve it, I left the bunker.
Passing the lone robot in the dim corridor, kids' bright laughter echoed lightly behind.
*
"Still January, but this mild weather feels like spring. Good news: the weather service says no more cold snaps.
Temps might dip once more, but nothing like last year's -30°C. Wonju's planning an early spring festival.
The military declared this year the 'Year of Hope,' packing in food, sights, fun. Wish I could go."
Listening to the legion band's radio, I scanned the snow-blanketed expanse.
No special threats.
Just one wild animal track—no living movers in sight.
This was my territory's daily scene.
As planned.
"..."
Sunset.
Pilots lounging by a fire outside the plane boarded and shut the cargo shutter. I headed back to the bunker.
"Whew."
No sauna luxuries here—just a warm shower to ease the day's fatigue.
Dinner: extra lunchbox from the researchers.
Decent rice, meat with great chew.
Still tasty cold—prime cut.
Before bed, as usual, checked the board, skimmed hot posts.
Over-the-top reactions on a post—I left a comment to refocus attention.
Board vibe's weirdly upbeat.
Childlike innocence, like those chosen kids earlier.
Snowmen in this era.
I smiled faintly.
Yeah, this is doomer dignity.
Should I join?
Craving some attention lately.
For my mental health, not ego.
Never made one, though.
But I have role model John_nenon.
Browsing foreign board for snowman refs, inspiration burning—then a message.
Good.
Was worried, but it worked out.
Charisma—unavoidable.
3 years sniping outsiders.
"?"
Tap tap.
"..."
Suu's charisma indeed.
A bit absurd, but a pure smile crept in as I went to type.
Sergeant Jang's kids again.
Running low on food this winter.
Nonstop chatter on radio.
As I reached to switch off—
"Who are you kids?"
Another young voice on the radio.
Familiar.
"How old are you?"
Airbase kid.
"Older than you? Who are you? Where?"
Sergeant Jang's kid—probably the oldest girl.
Worn shirt with dirty cartoon, big-headed kids glaring at Jang from shadows.
This situation? Bad.
Worse: new message from Suu.
Silence, then radio crackled.
Grabbed radio, contacted researchers on private channel.
ID: LAB033
"Researcher, Hunter Park."
"Ah, Hunter Park."
Quick pickup. Male—Jang Mok-hyeon?
"How many radios you have?"
"Mine and Jo's—two."
"Fuck, I said confiscate them. Do it now!"
"Why?"
"Know who the kids are talking to?"
"No."
Almost yelled.
His head was a flower field—too much.
Calmed, firm tone.
"Raiders. Raiders."
"Raiders? Kids' voices."
"Kids who lure adults with voices to kill and rob."
"...Confiscating now."
Lab folks detached from reality, but this?
Switched to public freq.
Chummy vibe. Like friends.
To me? Ominous.
Airbase kid soon.
"Yeah. Heading to Jeju."
Blood ran cold.
Cold silence, then Jang's kids.
"Can you take us too?"
Researcher's voice intervened late, cutting comms.
Too late?
Castaways met chosen ones.
[80, Breed (2)] End