Echoes of 9/11

One month had passed since the 9/11 attacks that shocked the entire Fantasy Universe. In that time, much had happened. The dominant narrative remained the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. The military trial of Osama ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bin Laden, the mastermind captured through the success of Thor's Hammer operation, was drawing global attention and was still ongoing. The smart bombing campaign in Afghanistan continued. Al-Qaeda was being reduced to dust. Even ground forces had been deployed, though limited to special operations units. By separating Al-Qaeda from the Taliban, even a small force achieved remarkable results. The previous Afghanistan War had effectively vanished. Back then, the Taliban and Al-Qaeda were seen as indistinguishable, forcing a full-scale war against the entire country. Despite the vast gap in national power between the United States and Afghanistan, the Americans had entered confidently. They ended up repeating the Soviet Union's fate. No matter how great the disparity in strength, the advantage of defense was immense. Overcoming fortress-like terrain and guerrilla tactics required enormous effort—effort measured in American soldiers' blood. Ironically, that very blood made withdrawal difficult. Now, however, the tactical objective was the complete elimination of Al-Qaeda, an organization numbering only in the hundreds. Osama bin Laden's computer had yielded personnel files and phone lists of operatives. Using this intelligence, the eradication operation was underway and delivering spectacular results. Al-Qaeda was being surgically excised from Afghanistan.

The real problem lay with the Al-Qaeda operatives who had infiltrated the United States for plane-hijacking suicide attacks. It was revealed that the twelve attackers used on 9/11 were not the full contingent—far more had already entered the country. The relatively small number of Al-Qaeda members remaining in Afghanistan was partly because some had already slipped into America.

The resulting anxiety prompted citizens to pressure the government. In response, the Al Gore administration decided to establish a specialized organization called CTU to track Al-Qaeda operatives and respond to future terrorist threats against the United States. It also resolved to enact various legal measures to ensure CTU's smooth operation.

“Hmm. CTU, huh.”

Yoo Jae-won sat in the plush first-class seat of the airplane, browsing the web on his iWorks laptop. The device was online, not offline—a clear sign that the world had changed. Internet access was now possible even aboard aircraft, albeit under highly specialized conditions.

“Still, something about it feels off.”

Yoo Jae-won muttered as he read the article on his iWorks screen. It featured a photograph of President Al Gore delivering a speech to Congress about the creation of CTU, his face filled with passion. The problem was the name itself. While others might be hearing it for the first time, Yoo Jae-won was not. He had encountered it before his regression—in the American drama 24. The issue was that CTU in the show rarely functioned effectively. To highlight the protagonist, those around him had to be incompetent, and since they were all CTU agents, the Counter Terrorist Unit never lived up to its name in the series.

“Anyway, 24 is going to be a massive hit.”

The premiere of the drama 24 was just around the corner. The exact date was November 6—only days away. With a real-life CTU now being formed, the production company had essentially won the lottery.

Yoo Jae-won felt a twinge of regret as he thought about 24. His mind contained an enormous library of video content. Just as ID Investment was succeeding spectacularly in the financial world, he knew exactly which pieces of content would become blockbusters. Through the Million Dollar Challenge, he had already secured a wealth of high-quality material. Yet none of it had been released. He had no intention of enriching someone else's network, so he planned to wait until ID Group had its own broadcasting station.

More than a year had passed since discussions began with Time Warner about acquiring a network, but little progress had been made. They had only managed to lease programming rights for a few unpopular ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠channels—far from satisfactory. The reason was simple: Yoo Jae-won's permanent residency status made it difficult for him to become the owner or majority shareholder of a broadcast network. This was less a matter of written law and more an unwritten rule. Even Rupert Murdoch of News Corp had faced major obstacles due to his nationality and only resolved them after acquiring U.S. citizenship in 1985. Yoo Jae-won was no exception.

Fortunately, a solution was emerging. A few days earlier, the White House had contacted him discreetly about plans to award him honorary citizenship. His achievements were deemed more than sufficient to warrant the honor, though they apologized that they could not give a definitive answer yet because public sentiment and congressional approval were required. Objectively speaking, the odds of clearing Congress were somewhat low. While Yoo Jae-won's accomplishments were undeniable, not every American was aware of them. Had he stepped forward as a visible hero, the outcome might have been different, but that had not happened. Recently, controversy over personal data protection with Apple had also increased the number of people who viewed him unfavorably. The articles published today would certainly add a new variable to the public opinion landscape.

Linking image-analysis modules to traffic cameras was already being implemented in some cities. With the establishment of CTU, the decision had been made to roll it out across North America. Because Al-Qaeda operatives were still inside the United States and no one knew what attacks they might attempt, Congress passed the measure immediately. The 2002 budget also included funding for stealth drone procurement. The U.S. military, impressed by the drones' performance during Thor's Hammer, had strongly requested their adoption, and the White House had agreed. As a result, Yoo Jae-won's hobby project—the stealth drone—was highly likely to become standard U.S. military equipment. The unit price was around thirty million dollars, roughly twice that of an F-16. The cost was controversial, but the reason was straightforward: each aircraft was hand-built by the expensive PhDs at ID High Tech Research Institute. The stealth coating also required specially manufactured materials, further driving up the price. If the military ordered hundreds of units, a mass-production line could lower costs dramatically, but for now only a small number had been ordered for special operations use.

The problem was that every piece of equipment the U.S. authorities planned to adopt bore the ID Group logo.

“There will definitely be talk again.”

His tone was annoyed, but his expression said he did not care. Apple, which had threatened lawsuits, had yet to take action, and the personal-data-protection controversy surrounding ID Group had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠significantly weakened after the transparency report was released. Besides, this was the United States—the same country that had passed the even more sweeping Patriot Act in his previous life. While individualism and privacy concerns currently outweighed security, he knew public opinion would shift as time passed. The rampage of Islamic extremists was only just beginning. The emergence of ISIS, radical enough to make the Taliban seem moderate, was only a matter of time.

“Next!”

Even Yoo Jae-won had to throw up his hands when it came to Islamic extremists. There was no point dwelling on it, so he clicked on the next new article. His previously furrowed brow finally relaxed.

The first film in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone—the world-renowned masterpiece that had even drawn children away from television and video games—was about to open, and a private screening had just been held. Warner Bros., under Time Warner Nextcom, had secured the film rights much earlier than in the original timeline and had invested far more effort in the adaptation. The casting alone had generated enormous buzz. Even when 9/11 struck, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was not buried. America was a vast country; even the worst terrorist attack in history could not derail the production. If anything, the tension that had been released during the final stages of filming only heightened the movie's quality. The screening reactions were overwhelmingly positive. Warner Bros. executives, professionals who knew better than to accept praise at face value from an internal audience, were satisfied. No one would have praised subpar material. Most importantly, author Joanne Rowling herself expressed great satisfaction. Yoo Jae-won had already known her reaction before receiving the official report—she had been so delighted that she sent him a message of thanks via ID Talk the moment the private screening ended.

When the film adaptation was first decided, Rowling had not been entirely confident of success. While Warner Bros. was a reliable studio, it was not without its failures. Harry Potter was still an ongoing series with many unwritten volumes. If the movies flopped, she worried it would affect her primary career in publishing. Fortunately, the film had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exceeded expectations. The depiction of Hogwarts and the wizards felt as though it had been pulled straight from her mind, with an extraordinarily high degree of fidelity. The cutting-edge CG technology from ID Entertainment blended seamlessly with the actors' performances.

“I'm curious too.”

If he wanted, Yoo Jae-won could obtain the rough cut shown at the screening. But for this particular film, he wanted to see it in a theater. It had been one of his favorites in his previous life, so he already knew the entire series and its hidden stories. Still, with CG technology and budgets on an entirely different scale, there would surely be differences.

“And one more!”

The next article concerned the game gamers had been eagerly awaiting: the open beta schedule for World of Warcraft had been set. October 31, 2001—two full years earlier than in the original timeline. One might assume the earlier launch meant lower quality, but that was not the case. Development had begun far sooner than before, in 1998. The know-how accumulated from Ultima Online, ID Technology's distributed server system, and ID Software's graphics technology had all been applied. The resulting open beta version boasted far higher completion than the pre-regression version. Of course, Yoo Jae-won's eyes still spotted shortcomings. Graphics could not be pushed beyond the limits of current computer technology. Although technological acceleration had advanced seven years ahead of the previous timeline, World of Warcraft's cartoon rendering style made dramatic visual improvements difficult. On the other hand, many systemic improvements were possible—inventory, auction house, arena, warfare, quests, and countless other elements that defined World of Warcraft had yet to be implemented even now, on the eve of open beta.

“Well, add-ons didn't appear for nothing.”

Unlike Harry Potter, Yoo Jae-won had secured closed alpha tester access to World of Warcraft and logged in whenever he had time. He knew the open beta version would not differ greatly from what he had already played. Even so, its overall quality was on a completely different level from the flood of MMORPGs that had appeared like bamboo shoots after rain. Lineage, which had already become a massive hit in Korea, was already causing various social problems. Beyond addiction, issues such as item trading, real-money trading, gold farming, and macros—problems that would only surface much later in America—were already emerging. World of Warcraft would face similar real-money trading issues once it achieved global popularity, but the team had prepared thoroughly to steer the game toward story-driven content.

“There's only one source of anxiety—the fact that it's launching two years early.”

Even with thorough preparation, releasing two years ahead of the original timetable was a significant risk. Countless excellent products and games had failed simply because of bad timing. There was no guarantee World of Warcraft would escape that fate, so he felt a measure of unease.

“Still, the timing is perfect.”

While Harry Potter was also fantasy, the release of an undisputed classic of traditional fantasy was also imminent: The Lord of the Rings, the eternal reference point for all fantasy works, would open in January of the following year. It was the largest investment in ID Entertainment's history. A film that had previously been impossible due to insufficient technology and funding was finally ready. Beginning with Harry Potter, moving through World of Warcraft, and culminating in The Lord of the Rings—though their worlds differed, they shared the common thread of fantasy. The synergy was expected to be powerful enough to naturally mitigate the risk of World of Warcraft's early launch.

As rosy prospects filled Yoo Jae-won's mind, the in-flight announcement sounded. He closed his laptop and looked out the window. The Seattle skyline—today's destination—came into hazy view.