Walker Suit 3
The next morning, we carried the various resources I had gloomily sorted while wearing the Walker Suit the day before into the resource processing room—crumpled car doors, shards of glass, and even the bundles of rebar I had desperately yanked free.
I set the rebar bundle on the machine’s intake first. A red warning message immediately flared across the screen.
Purity of input resources is too low. Automatic separation is only possible when different resources are mixed at less than 10%.
Then the conveyor belt shoved the rebar I had so carefully loaded right back out again.
“Why is this…?”
I muttered in confusion just as a deep sigh sounded behind me. It was Yeong-ju. Without a word she went next door to the support room, put the Walker Suit back on herself, and returned.
She looked as if she were wearing a skintight bodysuit. When she tapped the small display on her wrist, the suit sealed around her body with a series of sharp metallic clicks. Nam Jin-ju and I both let out involuntary gasps of admiration. The way she wore it was nothing like how I had looked. She resembled a well-trained female athlete in a full-body swimsuit that left every line of her physique on display—strength and beauty coexisting in a single living painting.
“Wow… Unni, you look amazing! Like something out of a picture!”
I nodded at Nam Jin-ju’s praise.
“You think so too? She looks like a total model.”
Yeong-ju seemed privately pleased by the compliments; for a moment she almost struck a model’s pose.
That peaceful moment was shattered by Yang Jin-ju’s sulky voice.
“Unni… you promised I could try it on today…”
She had clearly been looking forward to it; her face had fallen into a rare pout. Yeong-ju immediately waved her hands.
“Ah, no! I’m only wearing it for a second! Just let me finish this and I’ll take it right off!”
She strode over to the rebar. Using the suit’s overwhelming power, she began casually tearing away the concrete chunks still clinging to the steel as if she were snapping cookies.
“Seriously, why can I see this stuff and you can’t? Can’t you even do this properly?”
She snapped at me while she worked, then fed the cleaned rebar back into the intake. This time the bars slid smoothly inside, and the machine’s display began registering text.
High-Purity Iron: 57 kg
She stripped the suit off at once, walked over to me, and said,
“Do better next time. Got it?”
I had nothing to say in reply.
Using the metal resources now stored in the machine, we decided to try making chopsticks and spoons as a test. The moment we pressed the fabrication button, one side of the machine opened like a door. With a soft whirring, a tray slid out bearing a set of still-warm metal chopsticks and spoons that had just been created.
“Wow, the quality’s not bad at all. These look pretty usable.”
Yeong-ju picked up a spoon and marveled. Nam Jin-ju tried the chopsticks and beamed.
“We don’t have to use those awful plastic spoons from the emergency ration boxes anymore! This is great!”
We were still talking excitedly about the machine’s astonishing performance when an expectant voice came from behind us.
“Um… how do I look? Do I… look okay?”
The speaker was Yang Jin-ju, already standing there in the Walker Suit. For a moment none of us could say a word.
Then Yeong-ju recovered enough to ask Nam Jin-ju,
“Jin-ju… when I wore it, did I look like that too?”
Nam Jin-ju could only shake her head, expression blank with awe.
Of course she hadn’t. There was a clear difference from Yeong-ju’s muscular athlete look. On Yang Jin-ju the chest area stood out dramatically. Even in ordinary clothes the size had been noticeable if the fabric was a little tight, but now the suit clung to every inch of her body, covering her in what felt like armor-like muscle—yet the bust alone still dominated everything above it with overwhelming presence.
“W-why are you looking at me like that? Is something weird? Maybe the size doesn’t fit…”
Sensing the strange atmosphere, Yang Jin-ju fretted about sizing even though the suit automatically molded itself to the wearer. Nam Jin-ju murmured with complete sincerity,
“I’m jealous.”
Yeong-ju said nothing, but her eyes held unmistakable envy and a touch of defeat. Without realizing it she kept glancing back and forth between her own chest and Yang Jin-ju’s.
After the morning’s small uproar and lunch, Yang Jin-ju finally rose with a look of resolve. She stood before the Walker Suit that had already been calibrated to her body, expression solemn.
“I’ll be back.”
The suit opened. As she stepped inside, Nam Jin-ju and I—everyone except Yeong-ju, who remained in the support room—snapped into a simultaneous salute as if we had rehearsed it. Yang Jin-ju snorted a laugh at our sudden formality, closed the helmet, and walked out. She was no longer an object of envy. She was our first pioneer, the one who would shoulder our future.
The moment she left the Shelter we hurried into the support room. The large screen showed the fixed external cameras around the Shelter plus a newly activated feed: the first-person view transmitted from the helmet camera of the Walker Suit Yang Jin-ju was wearing.
The image shook violently with her every movement; her breathing came through the comms in vivid detail. It felt as though we had stepped inside her body and were seeing the world through her eyes.
“Wow… this is just like a movie. Like playing a first-person shooter.”
Nam Jin-ju pressed her face almost against the screen and marveled.
Today’s destination was the old hideout where she and Nam Jin-ju had once stayed. On the map it was only 1.5 kilometers in a straight line. In a city choked with ruins and zombies, that distance was anything but short.
“Today’s objective,” Yang Jin-ju’s voice came over the radio, calm despite the tension, “is clothing. Among the resources we have, fabric for making clothes is critically short. Our old hideout still has the combat boots we collected back then, and the military surplus store on the lower floor still has plenty of untouched clothes. Bringing those back is the goal for today.”
That morning I had experimentally stripped the tattered clothes off a single zombie and fed them into the processing room. The machine had only displayed a cold message:
Contamination exceeds 10%. Recycling impossible.
In the end, clean resources could only be obtained by going out into the world ourselves.
“Straight-line distance is about 1.5 kilometers. You going to be okay? Don’t push yourself alone. If it gets hard, turn around right away.”
I asked with open worry. Her reply came back full of confidence.
“Yes, I’m fine. Before, when we had to sneak everywhere, the distance felt endless. With this suit on it just feels like a light stroll. I’m actually a little excited.”
She was right. In the first-person feed, the zombies shambling around her simply whipped past on either side of her vision like roadside pebbles.
Then a few zombies stubbornly blocked her path. The camera dipped; the sound of rotting nails scraping the suit’s leg plating came through the speakers with a harsh rasp.
“I said get out of the way already! Move!”
Irritation colored her voice as the image lurched hard. She had swung her arm. A dull thud followed, and the zombies flew off the edge of the frame like paper.
“Nice shot! Jin-ju, hit them again!”
Nam Jin-ju clenched her fists and cheered.
“How’s the situation? Anything dangerous? You’re keeping an eye on the energy consumption, right?”
Yeong-ju asked.
“I’m fine… but this bag is a problem.”
The camera tilted down slightly, showing the large military duffel she had slung over her back.
“I brought a big one on purpose so I could carry stuff back, but the zombies keep grabbing it and hanging on… I think it’s going to tear. You can’t see it on the screen, but my back is really noisy. Feels like I’ve got cicadas stuck to me.”
I pictured it and decided it was not a pleasant image—dozens of zombies clinging to her unseen back, biting and clawing at the duffel.
“If you don’t need it, just dump it. Your life is more important than a bag.”
Yeong-ju’s tone was firm.
“No! Without this bag I can’t bring anything back! It’s fine. Just a little annoying… Ah, seriously! Get off!”
Another heavy impact shook the feed.
The three of us sat in the support room, relying solely on her vision and voice, watching her first expedition in real time and trading constant radio chatter. It was tense, yet also strangely thrilling and new—like being operators in a control tower cheering on a warrior who had gone to the front lines while we remained safe inside the base.
“I’ve arrived. This is the commercial building we used to live in.”
Yang Jin-ju’s voice accompanied the helmet camera’s view of a shabby three-story commercial building—the very hideout where we had first met the two of them. Compared to our Shelter the place looked pitiful and dangerous: broken windows, faded signs, a few zombies still prowling the perimeter.
“Taking the stairs would be slower. I think jumping straight to the roof would be faster. I’m going to try it!”
“Huh? Jin-ju, isn’t that dangerous? Just use the stairs—”
Nam Jin-ju’s worried voice had not finished when the image whipped upward toward the sky. A heavy thump of the suit’s powerful thrusters fired, and her viewpoint rocketed three stories high in an instant. A moment later a light impact brought the cracked concrete of the rooftop into frame.
“Whoa! Whoa, I just tried it and it worked? I really made it up in one go! I feel just like Iron Man!”
Yang Jin-ju’s voice over the radio was as excited as a child’s.
I exchanged a look with Yeong-ju that said, Well, she’s enjoying herself. A rare, faint smile touched the corner of her mouth.
“What if you get hurt doing that? Be careful.”
Yeong-ju scolded, but worry underlay the gruff tone.
Yang Jin-ju opened the rooftop door and stepped inside. The helmet light switched on, illuminating the dark, dust-choked interior. The scenery on the screen was vaguely familiar to both Yeong-ju and me, but to Nam Jin-ju, still sitting in the support room, it had to be the most nostalgic and precious place of all.
“Ah! There!”
Sure enough, Nam Jin-ju pointed at the screen and cried out. Yang Jin-ju’s camera slowly panned in the direction she indicated.
“There—the storage room where we first piled up all our resources! Remember, Jin-ju? You found those expired instant noodles and got so happy! You looked like you owned the whole world!”
“Of course I remember. You were jumping around so much you kicked up all the dust and I scolded you.”
Yang Jin-ju on the other end of the camera and Nam Jin-ju in the support room began trading fond memories as if they were standing right beside each other.
“Huh? That’s where we kept the combat boots and shoes! They’re still there! Uncle Park always said shoes were life and told us to pick the best ones…”
Yang Jin-ju’s voice softened for a moment.
“Yeah. We cleaned everything up carefully because we thought we’d come back someday.”
“Right! And if you go to the end of that hallway… the math academy where the two of us lived together… ah, no—our hideout…”
Yeong-ju and I listened in silence, smiling at the two friends’ conversation.
For a long while Yang Jin-ju moved through the hideout under Nam Jin-ju’s remote direction, gathering resources.
“No, not those boots! The ones next to them! The soles look sturdier! Take those! Oppa needs to wear them too, so grab the big sizes!”
Nam Jin-ju sat in the support-room chair, jabbing her finger at the screen and issuing passionate instructions.
“Okay, okay. This and that… the bag’s going to burst. I feel like a moving-company worker.”
Yang Jin-ju grumbled, yet carefully packed everything her friend told her to into the duffel.
“Don’t forget the clothes from the surplus store! Especially the cold-weather liners! Those are super warm! We have to prepare for winter too!”
While Yang Jin-ju on the screen and Nam Jin-ju holding the microphone chattered as excitedly as if they were video-calling while shopping, Yeong-ju and I simply watched and smiled. It was an ordinary, precious slice of everyday life we had not felt in a long time.
Then Yeong-ju’s sudden shout cut through the peaceful conversation.
“Yang Jin-ju!”
Her voice was sharper and more urgent than ever.
“The place your gaze just passed! The spot where they showed us the guns before! Show it again, hurry!”
At the frantic cry, Yang Jin-ju—who had been happily packing—answered, “Yes? Yes! Unni!” and quickly swung the camera back toward the wooden boards camouflaged to look collapsed, the place where we had first discovered the K-2 rifles.
“What’s wrong? There’s nothing special. It’s just like before—”
I started to say, but Yeong-ju cut me off.
“How many rifles did we take from there?”
“Huh? Uh… four. We left one and took the other four, along with the ammo.”
“Right. Four out of five. And we left the last one right there.”
She stared hard at the screen as she spoke. At that same moment Yang Jin-ju on the other end seemed to sense something wrong and murmured,
“…This is strange. We deliberately camouflaged it with spiderwebs and things… but the webs are gone. It’s too clean. Like someone wiped them away.”
Yeong-ju’s next words were quiet and absolute.
“Open it.”
Yang Jin-ju used the suit’s power to shove the heavy wooden boards aside with ease.
Just as we expected, the space inside was empty. The final K-2 rifle we had left behind and the ammunition box that had sat beside it had vanished without a trace.
“…Hah.”
Yeong-ju let out a long breath and fell into deep thought for a moment.
“Zombies waving guns around is impossible… so it has to be other survivors. And clever ones who already know we used this place as a hideout.”
At her analysis the air in the support room turned cold.
“Then… what do we do, Unni? Isn’t this dangerous?”
Nam Jin-ju asked in a worried voice.
Yeong-ju thought for a long time before finally speaking into the radio with clear decision.
“Yang Jin-ju. You’re wearing the suit, so most survivors shouldn’t be a major threat… but variables are better avoided. Take only what you’ve already packed and return immediately. As fast as you can.”
“Yes! Understood, Unni!”
Yang Jin-ju answered without hesitation, clearly grasping the seriousness of the situation. She slung the duffel over her back and left the commercial building without a single glance of regret.