The Alliance
After hearing Kang Po-gyeong's sharp analysis, I wasted no more time. I headed straight for Sim Geum-a's territory.
When we arrived at the massive walls I'd seen so many times before, Dima was there to greet us as always. But his expression was different this time — grim and exhausted.
"Ah, fuck… finally you're here! Our boss is about to lose her goddamn mind, so get in there already!"
With that frantic welcome of his, we hurried inside.
Together with Kang Po-gyeong, I entered the conference room where Sim Geum-a was waiting. I powered down my suit and cut straight to the point, looking at Sim Geum-a and Choi Eun-ji, both sitting with rigid faces.
"What happened? What do we know so far?"
Sim Geum-a let out a long breath before she spoke. Her voice was raw, scraped thin by exhaustion and rage.
"…An alliance. Those bastards formed an alliance."
"An alliance?"
"Yeah. Almost every small and mid-sized survivor group we know of in this area banded together and started hitting us. At first we thought they were just petty thieves. Before our drones could get there, they'd quietly take out one or two of our outer sentries without a sound, or ambush a supply run and make off with the goods — clever, scattered attacks."
She ground her cigarette out in the ashtray and went on.
"At first I figured it was just a bunch of starving dogs thrashing around. But last night they hit us on the safe route, right where your drones were, and two of our scouts died. This morning the supply team headed your way got jumped too. Luckily the drones opened fire the moment the convoy was attacked, so we only took wounded… but this isn't petty theft anymore. This is a meticulously planned, organized assault. Those bastards intend to take our safe zone for themselves."
Her words brought back the corpses we'd found on the way here. Different clothes, different gear. Just as Kang Po-gyeong had said — they were an alliance of multiple groups stitched together.
"…The reason's obvious," Yeong-ju said coldly. "We grew too big, too fast. And once we partnered with you and had some breathing room, people started coming under my wing one and two at a time. To them, that looked like the biggest threat of all."
What she meant was clear: without us even realizing it, we had become the shared enemy of every survivor group in the region.
When Sim Geum-a finished, a heavy silence settled over the conference room.
Then Choi Eun-ji added something even more damning, her voice worn thin.
"And there's a bigger problem…"
She looked at us — at me in particular.
"Those 'drones' you gave us, Mr. Seo Yeong-chan. They tear through zombies brilliantly. But…"
She paused, biting her lip.
"…they don't attack people very well."
"What? What do you mean?"
She began to explain.
"We didn't realize it at first either. We just assumed that with the drones, we'd be safe. But our sentries kept reporting things that didn't add up. The drones would just hover overhead and watch while the enemy closed in — right up until the moment a knife was about to go into one of our people. As if they couldn't even recognize them as hostiles."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Most likely… the drones' AI is programmed to clearly distinguish between 'zombies' and 'humans,' and won't flag a human as an enemy unless a clear act of aggression is detected first."
Sim Geum-a listened, eyes narrowing, then lit another cigarette.
"So the damage just keeps piling up. They're exploiting that weakness with surgical precision."
In a dark, damp basement, under the dim glow of a lantern, the leaders of several survivor groups had gathered once more.
But the greed and frenzy that had filled the room only days before were gone without a trace. In their place, the bitter taste of defeat, the rage of lost comrades, and a deep, crawling fear of an unknown enemy pressed down on them all.
"Fuck… what the hell was that thing? A drone? Don't give me that toy-talk bullshit! That was a flying slaughter machine!"
One leader clutched a bandaged arm and ground the words out through his teeth.
"Yeah. That 'weird drone' just sat there staring at us until we opened fire. The second we started shooting, hell itself opened up."
Another leader added, voice trembling.
Through the raw experience of the past few days, they had learned the Shelter drones' fatal weakness — and, at the same time, their overwhelming firepower — down to the bone. They shared everything they could with each other: how to avoid the drones' attacks, the exact moments the machines hesitated. And still, the light of despair never left their faces.
"So what the hell are we supposed to do, then?!"
One man rounded on the figure sitting farthest in the corner — the one who had first proposed this entire plan.
"Just like you said, the second we attack first, those drone bastards lock onto us as enemies and hit back! Someone on our side dies every single time! Keep up a war of attrition like this and we'll all end up dead together! Forget seizing that 'safe route' — we'll just get ourselves butchered for nothing!"
Another man surged to his feet in agreement.
"If all we do is nibble at their supplies without ever landing a real blow, those bitches barely even feel it! At this point we should just pool every last man we've got and hit Sim Geum-a's base head-on!"
He slammed the table, unable to hold it in.
"At this rate we'll get nowhere! We're the only ones bleeding out!"
His aggressive proposal split the basement in an instant — two factions, for and against, locked in a furious argument.
"Are you insane? A frontal assault? How the hell do you plan to breach those walls?"
"Yeah! And what about those flying drone bastards? The second we hit the wall, we'll be turned into Swiss cheese!"
The opposition was just as loud.
"Fuck! Then what do you want us to do? Sit here sucking our thumbs while that bitch keeps getting stronger? You think she's just going to leave us alone?"
"Even so, a frontal assault is suicide!"
The argument grew hotter by the second, spilling into curses and the first grabs at collars.
And through it all, a pair of cold eyes watched quietly from the dark.
When the insults and accusations inside the basement reached their peak, the man who had started this entire debate — the one sitting farthest in the corner — rose without a sound. He slipped out of the basement as the shouting escalated, passed the survivors standing guard outside, and made his way to the darkest, most secluded corner he could find.
From inside his coat he drew a small, rectangular device that looked like a military radio, connected the wire, and fitted the earpiece. After checking once more that no one was near, he began to whisper into the machine.
His voice was nothing like the rough, inflammatory tone he'd used among the scavengers. It was cold, precise — the voice of a trained soldier.
He paused, steadying his breath, then finished the report. In the faint moonlight, his face came into view. Far gaunter than before, buried under a thick beard, he looked almost like a different man — but those sharp eyes had not changed at all.
He was the former commander of the 50th Division whose supply depot had been raided by Sim Geum-a and the other scavengers. Lieutenant Colonel Seo Guk.
He slipped the radio back into his coat, exhaled a long breath, and lit a cigarette.
"Fuck… stupid bastards…"
Listening to the chaos still raging from the basement, he muttered a low curse.
"Too stupid is its own problem. They won't move the way I need them to at all."
The plan had been simple enough: use these mongrels to slowly grind down Sim Geum-a's power, and in the process dig up information on the unknown force supplying her. But his puppets were incompetent and gutless.
He blew a long stream of smoke toward the night sky.
"…And what the hell are those drones? I've never seen anything like them, not even in the military…"
He could feel the whole situation slipping beyond his control, drifting further into the unpredictable.
"Ha… this shit is really wearing me down."
Pretending to be a survivor, rotting in this filthy basement with those pieces of trash — he was reaching his limit.
"The brass is holding me accountable, so I don't have a choice…"
He thought of the headquarters commanders who had given him this mission.
"The bastards sitting up high are always the same. They have no idea how hard the people underneath them are getting fucked."
His words carried a deep distrust and disgust — for this ruined world, and for the invisible powers that still moved it.
With another heavy sigh, Lieutenant Colonel Seo Guk flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his heel.
…Even so.
He called up the faces of his men — the ones who had died right in front of him when the supply depot fell, cut down by scavengers' blades and torn apart by zombie teeth.
This is… revenge for them. Just a little longer. Hold on a little longer.
He made the vow to himself once more.
And then he put the mask back on — the weary, irritated face of just another survivor. He walked slowly out of the dark and started back toward that hellish basement, still loud with shouting, as if nothing at all had happened.