38. Can't Hide It Anymore (1)
Shwaaa. I braced my hand against the wall as the shower water pounded down on my head. Cold streams soaked my hair, washing away blood and sweat as they cascaded over my body. Tiny splashes danced up from between my toes like raindrops. I glanced down, then closed my eyes.
My head was a mess. Monster cat. Monster dog pack. All those human heads—undeniably human—inside their bodies. The world was full of big, strong beasts, and the population they could devour was pushing eight billion.
Eight billion. Not everyone had turned, but judging from what I'd seen today, it was only a matter of time before wild beasts outnumbered the human beasts.
I stared at my hands. Calluses thick from gripping and swinging swords nonstop. Then up my knuckles, over the back of my hand, all the way to my shoulders—encircling rings of glowing tattoos. Proof of my power. But could even this wipe out every beast bloated from eating people?
Perks from maxing Strength and Sense at 100: 200 melee hits. 200 ranged hits. That was it.
I slowly clenched my fist.
If I run into them, I'll have to fight. Just... wish I had more power. Stronger power.
It was natural to feel that way right after battling the monster cat and facing the dog pack.
The mirror showed a body carved with sharp angles now. My abs formed a clear six-pack even without flexing, chest and shoulders bulked up nicely. Just a few months ago, I hadn't looked like this. Running around swinging blades played a part, sure, but the dramatic change screamed connection to the status window.
But what good was a hot body? Four hundred attack hits total.
"Tch." Whatever. No point overthinking. If I can't solo it, bring in army-level firepower. Rockets, portable missiles—blast 'em all to hell.
Wonder if rockets count toward Sense stat? I chuckled mid-shower at the thought. Who the hell carries a multi-kilo missile launcher? Lifting belt? Yeah, right.
Snickering, I stepped out of the shower. The Special Forces guys all turned to stare.
"Sung-hoon, what's the plan now?"
I nodded, towel-drying my hair in my underwear. "Let's head back to the US base tomorrow."
"The US base?" Special Forces Captain Seong Gyu-hyuk tilted his head. "You think they'll accept our proposal this time?"
I shook my head. "Dunno. Ideal would be teaming up with the Americans to handle those beasts and score some weapons, but yesterday they said they could manage alone. Probably not."
"Then why...?"
I grabbed a worn old T-shirt—probably the former owner's—from the bathroom floor and pulled it on. "I just fought those beasts. Problem is, what I saw isn't everything. You all know this, Gyu-hyuk— we're just an hour from Seoul. What happens here can happen there."
The fridge hummed with chilled water bottles. I chugged one and sat with the team.
"The US commander said they could handle it. Means they've sized up the beasts' scale, at least in my view. We should get some intel out of them."
The Special Forces exchanged glances, then nodded slowly. Seong Ga-yeon had been looking away; now she turned to me. "Hope the negotiations go well this time."
I smirked. "Gotta clash and see."
The next morning, we scarfed cup ramen scavenged from the convenience store, geared up, and left the building. Dawn hinted at sunrise, a blue glow blooming far in the sky. Cool early breeze on our faces, we crossed the quiet streets to the runway.
At the far end, shadows moved—people. They'd spotted us. Some ducked into buildings, others hurried onto the runway. Busy as hell.
We glanced at each other and walked the strip. "US troops? What's the hustle? Not sentry duty."
Seong Ga-yeon muttered it. No one answered.
We trudged on until sunrise lit the world bright. We reached the US base.
The young American soldier who'd watched us approach yesterday lifted his chin. "Hey."
Hey...? Tone was pretty friendly. Seong Gyu-hyuk cocked his head, flashed a faint smile. "Did you guys expect us? 'Cause you look like it."
The soldier shrugged. "Can't say no."
What the...? Speak Korean, man.
His eyes shifted to me, staring hard. Hard to describe the look.
He approached, extended a hand. "I'm Sergeant Garcia. Luke Garcia."
Handshake? I gripped it. His face waited for something. I opened slow. "Uh, I am... Hoon, Han Sung... Hoon?"
What the fuck. How do you say my name in English? Ah, Han Sung-hoon. His is Garcia? Or Luke?
He smiled, nodded. "Glad to see you again, Hoon. I admire you."
The Special Forces—Gyu-hyuk, Ga-yeon—all changed expressions. Ga-yeon asked, "Did you just say you admire him? Why?"
Garcia glanced at her, smiled. "I think you already know. And now we all know what he's capable of."
What? Why talk around me? Ears burning but catching nothing, I just stood there.
"Do you...?"
Gyu-hyuk started, but another soldier approached from the barracks. They exchanged looks, then he retreated. Garcia spoke. Gyu-hyuk turned to me. "Commander's waiting. Says come in, all of us."
I glanced at the smiling soldier—so different from yesterday—nodded, and headed to the barracks.
En route, Americans—white, black, Latino, men and women—froze at our approach. Staring at me.
Those eyes are heavy. Staring's not our culture, Americans.
Me and Ga-yeon, who'd been here before, led up the stairs to the meeting room. A soldier waiting there spotted us, smiled. Offered me a handshake again.
The black soldier grinned white teeth gripping my hand. "It's an honor, sir. He's waiting for you."
What? Someone translate!
Gyu-hyuk and Ga-yeon looked mildly surprised but no help. I nodded awkwardly. "Uh... okay?"
He laughed, opened the door.
Into the wide room. Yesterday's commander and a few others rose from chairs. He beamed at me, rattled off something, hand out.
Ga-yeon translated. "He expected to see you again. Sit."
I nodded, took a seat. Waited for everyone, then the commander spoke. I eyed Ga-yeon. She met my gaze slow. "...They saw everything. Wants to know how."
I narrowed my eyes. "...Saw everything? What does that mean?"
Commander smiled at her translation, nodded to a civilian-looking guy nearby. Latino civilian smiled at me, pulled a projector from below, set it on the table. Unrolled a white screen from the wall.
Home theater setup...?
My eyes widened. "...You filmed it?"
He hit play. Aerial footage. There I was, monster cat. It smashed through the roof. I loosed arrows. In a blink—fractions of seconds—dozens flew like machine-gun fire.
Cat's head pincushioned, crashed through the wall.
Then shadow warrior burst from my hand.
Even that recorded.
Sword back to me, finished with bow. All caught.
Dog pack hit the village. Giant alpha and me in a stare-down.
From this angle, I don't look overwhelmed.
Footage ended. Room went dead silent.
Other Special Forces—minus Ga-yeon—saw me fight for the first time. Eyes wide on the blank screen.
I turned slow to the commander. "...How'd you record that?"
He smiled, spoke. Ga-yeon: "We have military recon drones."
The Latino pulled out a plain white plastic hunk—half-finished plane?
That's the military recon drone.