The Radio
"What brings someone from Ganjeol Point all the way out here?"
Sanghae said.
Across from him sat a young man in a loose short-sleeve shirt and shorts, a baseball cap perched on his head.
Hardly the kind of outfit you'd wear wandering an apocalyptic wasteland.
Then again, for a survivor permanently stationed in Sabbath, it was understandable enough.
But the broker Sanghae had memorized every resident living in Shelter Sabbath. There was a vast difference between someone using the shelter and someone who actually lived there — and this man had strolled in wearing clothes far too comfortable for the occasion.
His whole attitude screamed that he was ready to order fried chicken and beer on the spot.
"I heard this place was famous for good food. Am I wrong?"
"This isn't a restaurant."
"I know."
"And I don't take contracts from just anyone."
"Well, I did come from Ganjeol Point. Guess I'll have to start carrying business cards around."
"The people outside—"
"Nothing happened. I just told them to stay put for a bit."
"I see. That's a relief."
"A relief for you, sure."
"I said it's a relief for you. If you'd laid a hand on my guests, you wouldn't have walked out of here alive."
"You've got more spine than most brokers."
"Let's hear your business, then. It seems I won't be serving you any food today."
"Shouldn't I introduce myself first? I'm with the Ganjeolgot Coalition—"
"No introduction necessary. I know exactly who you are. All Kind..."
"Oh..."
Those close to him called him Cain for short, but to the wider world he was known as All Kind.
One of Ganjeol's many capable children.
The reason he'd earned the nickname All Kind in the enhancement game was simple: every one of his stats sat uniformly high.
Most enhancers poured everything into a single focus. They kept their other abilities merely above average while pushing one to extraordinary heights. Failing that, the ideal approach was to pick two main stats and build around them.
All Kind had done neither. Every stat he owned was high across the board.
And not just high compared to ordinary survivors — high even measured against fellow enhancers, which was precisely why his name carried so much weight. Put him against a strength-focused enhancer and he didn't yield an inch. The same went for his toughness and endurance.
"Now then, state your business. Why has Ganjeol Point broken our agreement and come looking for me? You haven't forgotten we pledged to stay out of each other's territory, have you?"
"Director Gong is dead."
"...?"
Sanghae's eyes went round. Then his face crumpled.
"Can you prove that?"
The moment the words left him, Sanghae's tone had turned to ice — and Cain matched it just as quickly.
"Looks like something went sideways while they were hunting Thaderson. What can you do? That's just the world we live in."
"Where's the body?"
"Big fire. Real big one."
"So there's no body?"
"Oh, there'd be a body somewhere. Charred corpses all over the place near Mt. Yuhyang. Go look. Sharp eyes might even pick out the right one."
"..."
"A quick study like you already knows why we came, don't you?"
"So since Director Gong is dead, you're here to tell us Ganjeol Point will be managing this place now? What a situation..."
"Fast, right? But that's reality. You have to accept it. People go. The ones left behind keep on living."
Sanghae wanted nothing more than to drive his fist into that smirking face.
But he didn't. His first task was finding out whether Gong Won-goo was truly dead.
A Ganjeolgot executive wouldn't have trekked all this way for a joke. Even if it sounded plausible, Sanghae refused to swallow it so easily.
Gong Won-goo? That Gong Won-goo?
He couldn't believe it. Every other bastard in the world could die a pathetic death and he'd shrug — but that Gong Won-goo? Dying just like that?
It was Gong Won-goo they were talking about.
"I'll find it hard to believe until I've laid eyes on the body myself."
"I know how much weight the name Won-goo's Services carries around here. Director Gong — great man, truly. But you know how it is. The world's gotten easy about replacing people. In the end, he was only ever that good."
"Until it's confirmed, I don't see us discussing anything."
"You can't even spare me a glass of water?"
"I feed people I know. Ganjeol Point is not someone I know."
"Think it over. Without Won-goo's Services, this place is just a good restaurant. Where else is a neighborhood as livable as Sabbath? The food variety. The prices, actually reasonable. Security that actually works."
"Every last bit of that held together because of Director Gong."
"And now we'll be the ones managing it."
"Am I supposed to call that coincidence? Black Shelter vanishes, Director Gong takes Ganjeol's contract and goes off to hunt Thaderson. Then he disappears. And the moment he's gone, Ganjeol Point shows up hungry to swallow this place?"
"Makes it look like we ran some grand project, doesn't it? But not even a little."
"A coincidence?"
"Of course. When you do business in this world, what's the first thing you check before an op? The contract, right? We signed one too. There's no way Director Gong moved on a job without covering that base."
"A hell of a coincidence."
"It's not called coincidence, it's called adapting fast. You'd better adapt fast too."
"..."
"I'll be back. Next time, you'll be putting food on the table."
Cain walked out grinning.
The moment he confirmed Cain was gone, Sanghae moved — straight outside, and at a remarkably brisk pace.
His destination was Sapiens' office.
"Here's what I'm thinking. We wait for the moment Ganjeol Point makes its move to swallow Sabbath — and strike then."
Fresh stood at the whiteboard, walking everyone through the plan. Every face around him wore a grave expression as they listened.
"That's a hard no. Slow might be a strange shelter, but a shelter is still a shelter. Kick off an operation inside one and the fallout is more than we can handle."
"Can't you work something out with your Gift, Director Gong?"
"In Sabbath, maybe. Not there. Besides, Slow's Shelter Director never even shows his face — how am I supposed to get a hook in him?"
Fresh and Won-goo traded lines like this was everyday banter, but the Montage crew saw it very differently.
They were visibly stunned.
"Why're you all staring at me like that?"
"That's real?"
"What's real?"
"You can really go toe-to-toe with the Sabbath Shelter Director?"
"Wouldn't say I can't. It'd cost me something, but..."
"Damn... I figured that was just talk floating around, but it was true? You're the real deal, man."
"The Sabbath Shelter Director is a bit of a special case, that's all. Anyway — Fresh, that plan's dead on arrival. And come to think of it, there's something we've all been getting wrong."
"What's that?"
Pacific asked.
"First off, wiping out Ganjeol Point entirely. That's no easy feat. Black Shelter was physically possible to erase, but Ganjeol Point has a base shelter backing it."
"So?"
"We need to pick our target carefully."
"You're not saying we should negotiate, are you?"
"Can't just negotiate. We got shot at — you think we let that slide? But if everyone digs in over this, we all lose. Can any of you keep dropping your own bread-and-butter work to grind away at this?"
As he spoke, Won-goo's gaze moved from Pacific to Fresh to Montage.
Nobody could answer right away.
"Didn't think so."
"That'd be rough."
"Exactly. It's a hard ask. Everyone's got mouths to feed and a living to make. But if we go into a war of annihilation with Ganjeol Point, there's no telling when it ends. And what if Ganjeol — that bastard — just never sets foot outside his shelter?"
"Then we make him come out, don't we?"
That was Montage.
"And if he doesn't? Ganjeol Point is a coalition. A coalition. And Ganjeol, that snake at the head of it, could hunker down in there for ten years, twenty, no problem. He'll have stockpiled that many coins, you can bet. So — this line of thinking gets us nowhere."
"Fair point. Though if Ganjeol stays alive and keeps playing Roadkill out there, that's its own nightmare."
"Right. And Ganjeol Point has plenty of strong bastards besides Ganjeol himself. War's always a roll of the dice, but it'll cost us our lives too — especially if it drags into a long one."
"So what's your play then, Director Gong?"
"Best ambush there is? Coming out of the ground, six feet under. Those bastards are already licking their teeth and making contact over swallowing Sabbath — so it won't be long before they start moving."
"But aren't they already spreading word that Director Gong's dead, even here in Sabbath?"
"They will be."
"Then what in the hell are we supposed to do about it, just grin and eat it?"
"Eat what? The businesses in Sabbath aren't exactly docile. Forget Ganjeol Point — even if Ganjeol's granddaddy himself showed up, they couldn't swallow this place with words alone."
"That's because you were here, ain't it, Director Gong?"
"Same without me. Every one of them is a street-tough shark. They all know the rule: hand everything over nice and polite, and they'll keep coming back for more. But if you make them bleed a fair amount first, you can give up a lot less."
"Usually it works the other way round, don't it?"
"Normally, sure. But that's what a shelter is for. Ganjeol Point's got numbers and strength, no argument. But a shelter is a space where even a handful of people can hold out indefinitely. Ganjeol Point claims they can hold out ten years, right? The businesses here can hold out every bit as long."
"So we can tweak their noses all we like, is what you're saying?"
"Plenty of businesses around these parts are quietly entangled with us. If Ganjeol Point takes them lightly, they're in for a bloody nose."
"Oh, right — Won-goo. Abal's got a stake in this too, doesn't she?"
Fresh said.
"She does. Soon as Abal hears something's happened, she'll come running."
Won-goo thought of Baek Seol as well — and deliberately said nothing. The more people who knew about Baek Seol, the worse it would be for everyone.
"Isn't Abal off working contracts somewhere?"
Pacific asked.
"You think that son of a— would sit still? She's still out there hunting down whoever backstabbed her."
"True. Poor Respect, though. Of all people to run into..."
At Fresh's words, Won-goo shook his head.
"Poor, my ass. He dug his own grave with a shovel. Anyway, my conclusion is this: we wait for the moment Ganjeol Point comes down to swallow Sabbath — and we hit them then."
"Can we pin that timing down exactly?"
"We get word from inside Sabbath."
"The pigeon needs handling real careful, you hear? One slip and this whole thing goes down the drain. You know that, right?"
"Given the situation, who are we supposed to trust? We contact them direct."
"You got the means for that? The post office?"
"Isn't the post office risky too? Ganjeol Point's bound to have planted people in Sabbath by now?"
"Good point. That's why we've kept anyone even tangentially involved in this affair out of circulation, remember. Nobody knows who's watching, or from where."
"Which is exactly why there is a way."
"Seriously? How?"
"You're talking about an item, aren't you, Director Gong? Am I right?"
"That's right. Pacific, you hawk-eyed merchant — didn't even blink."
"But something that can carry a direct signal from here all the way to Sabbath... that's no ordinary piece of kit, is it?"
"If it were ordinary, I wouldn't be agonizing over it. This is going to burn through money like nothing else."
At that, Montage, who'd been slouched back in his chair, pulled himself upright.
"How much we talking?"
"You're offering?"
"If we're riding the same boat, we eat together and we bleed together — that's only fair, ain't it?"
"Exactly."
"And the way I see it, we've already got this one eight-tenths won. The moment we walked off that mountain alive, this fight was as good as over."
"So no whining later when we split the spoils?"
"You heard me. Now name your price — something reasonable, so a man can stomach it."
"Five apiece."
Everyone nodded along. Five gold coins apiece was a serious expense, yet they accepted without so much as a grumble.
"But seriously, that thing works? The..."
"It works, which is why I'm saying it. If it didn't, I wouldn't take your coins. And when have you ever caught me talking out of my ass? Jo Mu-sa! The bag!"
"Yes, Director!"
Jo Mu-sa came sprinting over with a briefcase. Won-goo flicked the number on the handle, adjusting it with a click, and opened the case.
Inside sat a rough, battered-looking radio.
"Who are we contacting with that?"
"Sanghae."