017_Lee Hae-yeon: We Are Slowly Dying
Some claim that even in this hellish world, we're desperately clinging to our humanity and resisting. But no. We're just too cowardly to commit suicide, or we can't bear to abandon the children and the weak who'd be left behind if we died too. We're simply enduring because we can't bring ourselves to leave them.
One day, the entire world was engulfed in flames. I woke up that morning to nationwide broadcasts ordering everyone—every single citizen—to stay home, skip work, skip school. The next day, the orders changed: evacuate to the shelters. On the first night in the shelter, I jolted awake from a nightmare so vivid it clawed at my mind. That's when I felt it—something had changed in me. I could crush a rock with my bare hands. I could work harder than anyone, sleep less, and never tire.
The soldiers spotted me, dragged me off for tests, and declared me an Awakener. They demanded I devote myself to the nation. Just like that, I—Lee Hae-yeon, a plain twenty-eight-year-old office worker—became a soldier overnight. For the first time in my boring, ordinary life, I felt a sense of purpose fighting for a greater cause. It was grueling, exhausting, but I pushed through silently.
The Republic of Korea government started out united, launching the Seoul Purification Operation. People who'd despaired at the end of humanity began to see hope as Awakeners took down named monsters one by one. But the politicians? They decided things were stabilizing and dove headfirst into their power games. The war wasn't even over, but they were already squabbling over postwar honors and positions.
And then that day came. The named monsters we'd kept at bay exploded into full rampage. The government scrambled too late, and the results were catastrophic. Some still call the Seoul Purification a victory for the Republic of Korea government—they did push the monsters out of Seoul, to a degree. But the cost was a coup by the top generals and the total collapse of the government. Even today, surviving ex-military Awakeners regret it, saying if the government had handled things right, they could've at least secured Seoul and Gyeonggi Province.
Monsters are generally low-intelligence brutes. They slaughter humans on sight, and even turn on each other. But the stronger ones? They're smarter. Early on, Dome Head nested in the National Assembly and hasn't emerged since. Tetora, the massive spider monster occupying Namsan Tower. The twin dancers, Moon Dancer & Sun Dancer, who inflicted the heaviest casualties on our forces. The Republic of Korea Awakener army killed Sun Dancer and critically wounded Moon Dancer—but at near-total annihilation cost. Moon Dancer fled, spraying blood. Rumors still whisper of sightings late at night, a battered figure soaring through the dark.
A few other named monsters still lurk dormant in Seoul. No one knows why they suddenly stopped rampaging. Some say they're hibernating. Others claim they nest where they like and stay put once satisfied. Can't exactly ask them, so the truth stays buried.
Many monsters migrated to uninhabited wilderness or ruined rural cities. Parts of Gyeonggi seem okay like Seoul, but islands and countryside? Ghost towns crawling with monsters, or so the rumors go. I once met a guy from rural Gangwon Province who'd come to Seoul. Compared to Gangwon, he said, Seoul was paradise. He told me he'd gone hunting beasts in the mountains and stumbled on a horde living in packs.
Some warn that someday, those hidden swarms in ghost towns and wilds will erupt again. If that happens, that will be the true end of Korea.
The generals' coup shattered everything. Comrades scattered to survive. Some commanders offered to take me along, but I refused. Seoul had stabilized against monsters; now it was humans fighting humans. I'd seen enough blood. For months after, I wandered alone. I ran into monsters now and then—mostly the weakest ones.
One day, scouting an apartment, I bumped into a man. He said he had no interest in fighting, handed me a can of food, and mentioned his base nearby. Anyone wandering solo welcome to join? I said no. But I ran into him twice more around there. Each time, he gave me water or biscuits, we chatted over snacks. When he insisted I stop by for a proper meal, I did.
His base had three Awakeners including him, and about thirty people—women, kids. He introduced himself as Jeong Su-hwan. Turns out he'd been in some warlord's army but led his people out. They served soup with canned goods and spices. Warm food after so long. Jeong Su-hwan urged me to rest a few days, no strings. I planned one night; it turned to a week, then a month. That's when I realized: these weren't strangers anymore. They were people I had to protect.
While settling in, raiders hit. We repelled them, but Jeong Su-hwan's wife took a grave wound. Our meds couldn't touch it. With grim resolve, he vowed to fetch medicine and left. He's the leader, the pillar. Without him, we'd collapse. Days passed; I thought him dead. Then he returned, box brimming with drugs, unopened syringes, suture kits. His wife pulled through. When asked where, he said he met the "Savior."
After, he visited regularly to repay the debt, bringing gifts from this Savior each time. I wondered who, but he said the man preferred solitude. Later, he mentioned twin sisters living there, and once that ragged wanderer he'd seen before. I doubted the Savior even existed—until the fresh veggies and fruits he hauled back.
Eventually, Jeong Su-hwan stopped calling him Savior. It became "Your Excellency." Our group merged with newcomers, swelling past ninety. More Awakeners too—we figured we'd survive winter. Then warlords clashed. We fled too late, abandoning most supplies as cold set in and hope faded. Jeong Su-hwan said he'd beg rations from His Excellency. He returned solemn, gathered us: "His Excellency has decided to accept us as residents."
No choice anyway. Arriving, we gaped at intact mansions beyond the glass barrier. This place had been monster-ravaged ruins. Jeong Su-hwan's twins and locals set out chairs, tents. The residents looked impossibly clean, skin glowing, faces beaming. Jeong Su-hwan warned gravely: "Never offend His Excellency. When he appears, kneel and show respect."
Thirty minutes later, the central mansion door opened. Out stepped His Excellency. Utterly ordinary-looking. He eyed us with eager anticipation. Thrilled to enslave us? He was a Special Awakener, issued us "citizenship." Crossing the barrier, his mansion flared bright, exploding in light. He couldn't hide his excitement, handed off to the twin sisters—his inner circle—and bounced inside like a kid.
Three days here. Even the weird flying craft rebuilding structures feels normal. Waking in my tent, bathing in hot water from a house, devouring rations of veggies and beef for breakfast—I finally admitted this wasn't a dream. Laughter echoes nonstop. These people, who stifled sobs nightly in despair, now weep joyful tears in warm homes each night.
His Excellency handed out canned peaches, pineapple, cherries for midnight snacks. At the "First Hospital," checkups nearly floored me. This is Paradise.
Two weeks passed. Each morning glimpse of His Excellency's face fills me with shame—I dared doubt him? I can't even look up. Jeong Su-hwan, me, and five other Awakeners guard the barrier daily. I yearn to prove myself, aid him—but beyond gratitude for his immense grace, what can we do?
One day, he patted kids' heads. Fearing offense, I asked—they'd given him drawings; he gave candy. Our group buzzed: we need his trust too. His closest aides, Han Seol and Han Byeol, joke freely with him. "Governor Im"—the ragged wanderer—doesn't chat, but he smiles at her like cherished treasure. Like a big brother with his favorite little sister.
I asked Governor Im if I could scout outside to help. She said His Excellency refused.
Over a month in Paradise. He granted us new homes, but we refused—staying in tents as First Guard Unit members. Patrolling mornings, I agonize: how to offer this worthless life for him? He appointed Jeong Su-hwan "Guard Captain" with staff meeting rights. We wept, embracing. Official roles mean we're secure here.
On guard, gratitude surges—I bow toward his residence. It's the only way this wretched body can express thanks. How lamentable.