Eastern Watchman
China, a missile base near Shanghai.
Agents from China's Ministry of State Security (MSS) bustled back and forth in front of a massive display screen.
The screen showed a live feed from a camera attached to an unidentified projectile as it streaked toward its target.
Behind the agent operating the remote controller stood a stern-faced general with his hands clasped behind his back.
He was the same general who had briefed the premier on the current crisis at the State Council not long ago.
Beside him was the tense-faced director of the MSS.
The director kept glancing nervously at the general's face, clearly burdened by his presence.
This operation was a once-in-a-lifetime turning point not just for the general, but for the director as well.
If they pulled it off flawlessly, China would rise as a superpower unlike any in human history.
And the first button on that path was effectively in his hands right now.
The general standing before him was probably thinking the same thing.
He was already among the elite, but the power struggles within the Communist Party were more brutal than any fiction.
For the general, the stakes of this operation went without saying.
The general, staring at the screen, finally spoke.
"We need to wipe it clean. Not just the people—turn that serum-filled bag to dust as well."
He glanced sideways at the screen and added,
The director bowed deeply in response.
"Yeouido will vanish without a trace. No need to worry."
"Good. As you know, the Korean government is useless now. Better for us if they disappear entirely. If we leave them half-assed and that bag falls into American hands... that'd be the worst-case scenario."
"Understood."
"Even if the Americans figure it out later, we just need to buy time. We'll do whatever it takes to develop the vaccine. How's the South China Sea situation?"
"Thanks to the provocations you ordered, tensions are at an all-time high."
"Perfect. The Americans will be fixated on the South China Sea. Watching what we do with the neighboring countries and Taiwan. We need to exploit that. They don't give a damn about the Korean Peninsula or the islands anyway. Probably worried the fire might spread there. We have to keep their eyes locked."
"Wise words, sir."
The director bowed again.
"Oh... and I heard over eighty percent of Yeouido's forces boarded transport ships and left. That right?"
"Yes, sir. Seems like an attempt to expand their territory with a landing operation."
"Doesn't matter. Whether they expand or not, we just focus on Yeouido."
"Absolutely right, sir."
"By the way, what about what Director Jang Riming secured in Pyongyang?"
"Experiments are underway in the lab. We're pushing for a vaccine in the shortest time possible."
"How long do you think it'll take?"
"I can't give a firm answer. My apologies."
"Hm..."
The general stroked his chin, his face hardening for a moment before softening into a mild expression.
"I understand how you feel. Must be stressful with me breathing down your neck. The Party's poured everything into this op, after all. But what can we do? Like always, we'll make it happen. Just as you're burdened by my gaze, I'm burdened thinking about reporting to the premier and the chairman."
"N-no, sir, it's not a burden at all."
The director stammered in response.
"Haha, come on. That's not what I want to hear. We need to communicate openly, at least between us. You think if I screw up, the Party will just take my head and call it a day?"
A cold glint of killing intent flashed in the general's eyes.
The director swallowed dryly, feeling it, and replied,
"We'll give it our all."
"Casually, honestly. Got it? Barriers in communication slow everything down. No half-assed lies—just the straight truth. That's how I gauge the situation and plan countermeasures."
"Understood."
"You... I like how you don't talk much."
"Thank you, sir."
The general nodded and fell deep into thought.
In truth, the vaccine was the most critical element in this crisis.
Why else would the Party show such intense interest and spare no expense in funding?
It was all for a new China.
China had been carrying bombs of problems for years.
The bubble of its rapidly growing economy was starting to burst, and the suppression of minority rights had drawn steady international criticism for decades.
On top of that, the chairman's prolonged rule was complicating relations with Taiwan.
And the U.S. was threatening economic sanctions at the slightest move by Chinese forces in the South China Sea.
China blustered through its media that it wouldn't sit idle... but unlike the outside view, China had far more to lose in that fight.
If a vaccine was developed in this situation—and if China alone held people immune to the virus—everything would flip.
This virus, hellish for the Korean and Japanese governments, would become their ultimate weapon.
They absolutely could not let this chance slip.
The general was lost in such contemplations when
"Korean Peninsula entry in 30 seconds!"
the agent controlling the missile shouted loudly.
All the bustling agents snapped their eyes to the screen, as did the general and director.
The missile, piercing through gathering storm clouds, began a steep dive from an altitude where Seoul was visible at a glance.
"30 seconds to target impact!"
The agent's briefings continued rapidly, and soon Yeouido loomed massive on the screen.
"Commencing countdown. 10, 9, 8..."
Right at that moment.
ZZZT!
The feed suddenly glitched and vanished in an instant.
How many seconds passed?
Or did any time pass at all?
A vein throbbed on the general's forehead as he stared at the black screen.
The director was so flustered he couldn't even open his mouth.
The team leader up front, grasping the situation, ran around shouting,
"Link to the unmanned recon drone over the peninsula! Pull up the satellite feed!"
The blacked-out screen soon filled with a live satellite view of the area around Yeouido.
A massive fireball scattering across Yeouido's skies.
As the general glared at the sight, something caught his eye.
And...
Finally losing his composure, a short curse slipped from his lips in a low growl.
"Those fucking bastards...!"
A single fighter jet was entering Korean airspace.
Tension was etched on the pilot's face in the cockpit.
He wasn't flying with a formation—he was entering alone.
It felt like piloting a strategic bomber off solo to drop "Little Boy" on Hiroshima during World War II.
How long had he been flying?
The sprawling cityscape of the greater Seoul capital area came into view not far off.
Lowering altitude, the pilot was speechless at the scene below.
If hell existed, would it look like this?
He'd only seen the virus in footage.
Like everyone, he'd joked about how two countries could fall to zombies.
Even right up until takeoff.
But that joke evaporated the instant he laid eyes on the peninsula for real.
Cities burned everywhere, streets choked with stalled cars.
The only things moving were hordes of monsters swarming in packs.
Nothing else stirred on this land—alive.
Swallowing hard, the pilot glanced at his wife's photo taped to the cockpit and muttered,
"What would you have said if you saw this? Now I get why the government's avoided mentioning the peninsula since the virus hit. If this happened in America, everyone might envy you."
He murmured to the photo of his much younger-looking wife, then throttled up.
Moments later.
Something pinged on the fighter's radar.
An unidentified projectile racing toward Yeouido.
"This is 837, target confirmed. Requesting permission to engage."
"Intercepting at low altitude risks Yeouido—and me. Request reasonable judgment."
Following orders, the fighter held altitude and approached Yeouido airspace. Not far off, the unidentified projectile tore through the sky, flaunting its menace.
Soon, the distance closed enough for the pilot to spot it with the naked eye.
"Copy. 837, intercept missile armed and firing."
With the pilot's report, an intercept missile launched from the fighter with a roar.
The pilot banked sharply, eyes on the radar.
The intercept and target closed in rapidly.
His gaze shifted outside the cockpit.
BOOM!
A massive explosion scattered blinding light in all directions.
But the fireball expanded faster and wider than expected.
"Wait—what? This is—!"
Disbelief flashed in the banking pilot's eyes.
By a hair's breadth, the fighter kept distance from the flames—then got sucked in and vanished.
A split second passed.
WHOOSH!
Bursting from the inferno, the fighter climbed desperately.
Looking down, the pilot let out a short exclamation.
"Holy shit, that was close."
As he exhaled in relief, urgent comms crackled in his ear.
"Loud and clear. Lucky to hear it from this side of the dirt."
"No issues. All systems nominal."
The missile's mid-air intercept had blanketed Yeouido's skies in fire, blinding recon satellites.
Flying past Yeouido and glancing down, the pilot nodded.
"This is 837, Operation Eastern Watchman. Success. Repeat: Eastern Watchman, success. Yeouido stands intact."
"Leave it like this? What else are they gonna pull that you're pulling me out?"
The pilot said, eyeing the fading flames.
Leaving now meant no telling what China might try next, as he implied.
"Got it. Returning to base. Tch, you sure love beating around the bush for 'bait.'"
The pilot grumbled after signing off.
Still, the op was a success.
This mission was America's declaration: no more standing by.
Rather than hiding, they'd made their presence a blatant warning to China.
Based on intel from spies in communist states, the U.S. had waited for the right moment and pretext, just like in World War II.
They hadn't even launched routine stealth recon to build that pretext.
Pretending to be distracted by China's South China Sea provocations—on purpose.
Then China bared its ambitions fully, and the U.S. could no longer sit idle.
Now it was China's turn to squirm.
If they made an issue of the intercept, their secret ops would be exposed—not to mention their claims of sealing off the peninsula.
The U.S. position was different.
Even if everything came to light, no problem.
The intercept was justifiable self-defense internationally.
Korea was America's military ally, after all.
Plus, with U.S. troops stationed on the peninsula unaccounted for, China's missile strike made a perfect excuse.
The issue: both nations yammered about the virus, Korean government, survivors—but moved for their own gains.
Once more, foreign war machines flew over Korean skies like they owned the place, throwing their feast.
Infected People