38. Outside Stories (1)
Gyeongju's internet communities split into two camps over Jo Sun-do's trial and death sentence.
The first group overwhelmingly welcomed the verdict. Naturally, they were led by North Gyeongju citizens who'd suffered under Jo Sun-do's rule and exploitation. No one pitied him—only cheers that he was finally dead. Even South Gyeongju residents, who weren't direct victims, echoed the sentiment. They'd all heard rumors of the horrors up north, and plenty had lost out thanks to Jo Sun-do's disruptions. Plus, the entire trial had been live-streamed and recorded, so just replaying his pathetic antics in court left zero room for sympathy.
However...
Surprisingly, a vocal minority raged against the Balhut Cult's judgment. But dig into who they were, and you'd laugh: every single opponent was either in Jo Sun-do's gang or one of his collaborators.
"Damn it, we're next!"
In this apocalypse, a powerhouse like Jo Sun-do had been casually sentenced to death. Of course his cronies assumed they were doomed. North Gyeongju survivors remembered every atrocity these thugs had committed. For them to survive, Jo Sun-do had to be martyred as a saint resisting the Balhut Cult.
"Do nothing and we're dead!"
"Shit! What do we do?"
"Make him a martyr! Package Brother Jo Sun-do as a hero standing against the cult's oppression!"
Terror gripped them—if they didn't spin this narrative, death awaited. In reality, the Balhut Cult was too busy rebuilding North Gyeongju to bother with them. But to these goons, the cult was a fanatical sect ready to drag them to trial any second.
Luckily for them, outside communities piled on the criticism.
Most out-of-towners criticized the Balhut Cult's trial. In truth, holding a trial amid the apocalypse was a luxury—especially when other cities hadn't even been fully reclaimed. Why waste time on justice when you could help elsewhere? In most places, a villain like Jo Sun-do would've been shot on sight, not dragged through court. The cult's show of mercy just rubbed survivors the wrong way.
From the Balhut Cult's view, it was a war crimes tribunal to win North Gyeongju hearts and secure rule. But outsiders? They judged the flashy surface, ignoring the nuance.
"Why do these cults thrive when life's this brutal?"
To distant survivors, the Balhut Cult was just another pseudo-religion staging medieval show trials to crush rivals. Which brings us to the rest of Korea we've barely touched—especially the capital, Seoul.
After the zombie apocalypse hit, Seoul—unworthy of its "Republic of Seoul" pretensions—plunged into utter misery. As Korea's densest city, it was apocalypse bait. Tens of thousands turned overnight, rampaging unchecked. Police couldn't contain it.
Worse, Seoul squandered its golden hour right at the start.
"I'm finally getting some well-deserved rest. Stay calm, citizens."
Yeah—the head of state jetted off on vacation during the crisis. Just three months into office, no less. He blew the window for self-rescue. If he'd grasped the severity and demanded action, Korea might've contained it nationwide. The country wasn't some fragile pushover; it had top-tier economy and military might. With clear heads, they could've secured Seoul as a safe zone—or even major cities.
But his administration, tanking in polls and spawning "honeymoon duck" memes, was incompetent from day one.
"The president was just fulfilling his schedule. Citizens, return to your lives without worry."
He downplayed the scale, hiding his failure. He didn't budge from vacation, only getting briefings days later. By then, chaos reigned.
Fine, just a few days late. His authority held; unite parties, rally the nation, turn worst-case to manageable. Plenty of time.
"Our party is ready to resolve this!"
"Same here! We're united!"
Both sides saw the threat, ready to cooperate unconditionally. But...
"This is all fake news."
"What?"
The commander-in-chief dismissed it. No contribution, no accountability. He should've unified the nation, transcending sides. Nothing.
Okay, maybe from his safe perch, zombie reports sounded like leftist agitprop. Common sense said "fake news," so he stayed put. But excuses aside, he missed the only window to salvage things.
One question lingers: Korea's an armed nation with conscription, facing North Korea threats. Massive defense budget, world-class military. Zombies couldn't wipe them all; Capital Defense Command existed. Troops could've held Seoul.
"Why no preemptive evac? Meaning it's not bad enough for martial law. This is leftist fake agitation."
Even back in Yongsan, he bungled it—claiming leftist plots, stirring pointless ideology fights. Government ground to a halt.
Crisis response was pathetic; links to agencies frayed.
"Sir! This is real! Our troops are slipping control. Korea faces national crisis!"
"We need your decision! Unite to overcome this!"
"Opposition will cooperate unconditionally. Please, just say the word!"
Sane staff begged for unity. Parliament echoed: parties aligned, demanding he drop ideology for a grand coalition cabinet. But...
"Korea's safer than ever. Why cooperate with criminal suspects?"
"...Yes, sir."
He rejected it outright, insisting Korea was fine, opposition untrustworthy. Honeymoon president paralyzes parliament.
"What the hell? This is scary."
He only grasped reality after losing all military control.
Government floundered; zombies shredded vulnerable troops. One infected soldier? Dozen zombies bloom. "Can't take it! Let's survive on our own!" Infected spread; waiting units broke civilian oversight for survival.
"Grand coalition! Make it work this time!"
"We can still salvage! Your decision!"
Too late—early response botched, army zombified or rogue.
Only path: own responsibility, partner with parliament for normalcy. Authority lingered; Korea was sturdy.
"All this evil is the left's doing!"
Instead, blame opposition entirely. If he'd apologized and resigned, parties might've backed him. But stubborn ego dumped everything on foes.
"What the fuck? That's insane!"
His ideology bomb blew up unity. Parties clashed in unwanted civil war—ironically agreeing he was nuts, trying legislative checks. Veto spam blocked it.
Freshly elected, his faction dominated his party.
"We seized power fair and square. Why team with opposition?"
"You're crazy! We're minority in a hung parliament!"
Intra-party rifts exploded. Loyalists fueled vetoes.
"You wanna throw down for real?!"
"No! This is the president and his cronies gone rogue!"
Intentional war kept coalitions dead. Distrust snowballed; Seoul split into feuding factions, inner war brewing.
"So August floods doomed government and parliament?"
"Yes."
Before civil war, nature crushed them all. Not foe attacks—raw fury of floods.
Government-killer: massive Seoul deluge.
"Zombie mess and floods unsolved after two months? No government's handling it?"
"Several 'legit' ones. Connect you?"
"N-no."
Han River south flooded; rivers burst, roads submerged. Zombies primed it; sovereignty shattered.
Even normally, such rains kill. With zombies? Chaos. Government—parliament and president silent—vanished.
"Real lawmakers in these 'governments'?"
"Barely. Most died or vanished when parliament fell. Survivors? Zombies now."
Self-proclaimed regimes rose from anarchy, no elected reps.
But heroes emerge in crisis. Amid Seoul's top awakener Kim Su-ho saving civilians, officials, bureaucrats, the full farce emerged.
Hearing their lunch-run absurdity:
"End times. Real end times."
Kim Su-ho laughed hollowly, realizing Korea was gone. Nothing changed; unsupported, he reclaimed Seoul anyway.