Drowning in Memories
A peculiar sensation.
It felt like sinking into an endless abyss, with a flickering old projector perched above, casting faded glimpses of the past onto the rippling surface. The images reflected there, but the churning currents and depths warped and distorted them. These were scenes Jin-cheol remembered clearly—mere days ago at most, a few weeks at the longest—yet they appeared so hazy, so blurred.
—Kang Snake. What the hell are you really gonna do when the war ends?
Someone in that murky projection asked the question. Whether it was because he'd sunk too deep already, or because the light scattering across the surface was too dim, Jin-cheol couldn't make out who it was.
Who the fuck was that? It was definitely before he jumped into that goddamn lab. Before that mad bastard burst into the barracks and tore everyone apart.
—Young-soo says he's serious about starting a YouTube channel. Says he'll spill war stories from a former grunt who survived the Manchurian front and aim for a million subs. Honestly, watching that motormouth, it doesn't sound impossible.
Young-soo. One of his squadmates. The cocky bastard who always ran his mouth. In peacetime, he could've made it big as a storyteller.
The surface scene flushed blood-red, painting Young-soo's face with his chest cavity ripped wide open, spilling guts and gore. Then, as if that crimson lie had been exposed, the image faded back to a foggy silhouette.
—Jae-hyuk. Jae-hyuk says he's gonna go into business. Figures there'll be opportunities rebuilding the north after the war, but he still hasn't decided what kind. Watching him, sounds like all talk—no substance. One big flop incoming.
Jae-hyuk, Lee Jae-hyuk. Talked a big game about ambition. But he always lacked the follow-through, missing chances left and right. Heart was in it, though, and he was a damn good sniper.
Right after, the surface showed Jae-hyuk's left face blown to shreds, brains and bone fragments oozing out. It was like some cheap horror flick splicing in a jump scare midway through a normal scene.
If only he could turn away or close his eyes. But pinned like sleep paralysis in the depths, he couldn't budge.
The hazy projector above shifted slightly. The location seemed to change.
—Kang Snake... sorry... I was gonna introduce you to my little sister... Kang Snake stan... You never even got a blind date... I was gonna make it happen... Sorry, so sorry...
He remembered. This guy didn't even die in the barracks that day. He'd gone down earlier, holding the city center. In Jin-cheol's arms, blood gushing from the hole in his gut, he'd kept apologizing through sobs. Cried himself to death.
Back then, Jin-cheol had thought: You crazy fuck, if you're sorry, apologize to your sister and parents—not some worthless squad leader like me.
And the one who should really be sorry? Me. Sorry for ordering you in first. Sorry for not bringing you back to your parents alive. Sorry you never got that date with your sister. All of it—my fault. Sorry, Seung-wook. So goddamn sorry...
The surface image shifted. Midnight sky pitch-black overhead, but the city below burned crimson. Thick black smoke billowed up, smearing even darker soot into the night as if determined to eclipse it. In what should have been a sleeping hour, gunfire and grenade blasts echoed relentlessly through the inferno.
Jin-cheol watched from behind a shattered concrete window. Powerless before the world aflame. A lowly conscript could do nothing—absolutely nothing.
He wanted to drag every bastard who started this war, line them against a wall, and gun them down. Would that end it? If so, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
But where the hell was he now? He'd wished for the nightmare to end. Never asked to drop into some unknown hellhole crawling with near-human freaks. And dinosaurs in the woods, no less.
Start over from the beginning. His past. Who the fuck was he?
That's when Jin-cheol sensed something off. What the hell? This kind of nightmare?
The moment awareness hit, the projector above shuddered. Then it bombarded him with memories in chaotic frenzy—from childhood, school days, blanket-kicking embarrassments, to the draft notice.
Simultaneously, he realized why his limbs wouldn't move. A pitch-black shadow had extended tentacles, binding his body.
What the fuck is this? You little shit?
Spotting it unleashed his resistance. His bound arms rrrrumbled to life. Elephant-crushing force strained against them, but the soldier reborn across millennia overpowered the black chains, yanking them viciously.
The instant his hand gripped a chain, a whispering voice echoed.
—Speak your name. Your identity, memories, past. Reveal everything to me.
What kind of bullshit nightmare is this?
Bubbles erupted around Jin-cheol with a gurgle-glurp. He thrashed in the depths, seizing the black mass behind him. It retaliated, tentacles coiling to pin him again, forcing his gaze upward.
But Jin-cheol refused. He ripped the tentacles from his limbs. Ropey texture, but they snapped like overcooked noodles under strain.
How do you like that, you octopus fuck?
The black mass flinched as tentacles tore free. New ones sprouted immediately.
—Cease this pointless resistance! Your name, lineage! Your past—everything!
Tell you? How the fuck do I talk underwater, asshole?
Jin-cheol lunged, clamping massive handfuls of tentacles. He hauled, dragging the hidden black shadow from the depths.
As it rose, Jin-cheol ascended too. Distorted past scenes scattered like sunlight over him and the shadow.
In the refracted glare, the shadow's voice boomed.
—Stop resisting! Bare it all! Speak what you know!
Amid writhing tentacles and surging bubbles, Jin-cheol grinned. This prick's curious about the 21st-century world war, huh?
The moment he decided, the chaotic life-projection on the surface spewed flames. New scenes ignited within.
Jin-cheol clamped what felt like the shadow's collar, shoving it toward the surface. Nearly breaking through, the darkness parted slightly, revealing... a woman? Long ears. And her eyes pierced by war's inferno.
Gunfire, explosions, carpet-bombing flames. Emaciated skull-faced POWs, kids with rifles, defenseless civilians mowed down. Raped corpses, bodies strung boastfully from poles. Massacres by nationality, ethnicity, age, gender. Indiscriminate human experiments on POWs and civilians alike.
Moments of barbarity Jin-cheol had witnessed—unthinkable in the modern era.
At the end: a sun-like blast.
—Kiiiiiaaaak!
The shadow shrieked, fleeing his grasp. Surrounding darkness glitched like a broken TV. Fleeting glimpses: a massive temple, a child with blindingly pale, eye-white skin.
Jin-cheol ignored it. All that mattered: it hurt.
He savored the thrashing a moment, then casually released. The shadow fled like a startled fly into the deep.
How's that taste, bitch? That's my past. Wanna die?
With it gone, Jin-cheol reclined in the depths. No bindings now. Pure comfort.
But the flames and heat he'd summoned raged on. Water boiled. In moments, it all bubbled away to steam. Jin-cheol, lounging peacefully, crumbled to light and heat.
A cup and teapot crashed from the table, shattering on the floor.
"Ishanka!"
A clan warrior rushed to the silently standing guard. She propped up Ishanka, slumped trembling over the table.
"Ishanka! Pull yourself together!"
"Guhk... guhuk..."
Ishanka gasped for air forever. The warrior could only force her curled, fetal body straight.
The commotion drew the warrior captain and others bursting in.
"What happened?"
"Ishanka was practicing Yo-sul! Then suddenly..."
The captain seized Ishanka's face. Her eyes rolled back halfway; a coiled circlet bound her forehead, its central gem pulsing red.
He ripped it off instantly.
"Kwaaak!"
"Ishanka!"
She arched backward like a bowstring snapped by lightning, convulsing before slumping limp. The gem's flicker died with a faint snap.
Captain and warriors fell silent, staring.
"...Why'd she start Yo-sul practice out of nowhere?"
Warrior Peran flinched.
"Well, I reported seeing a strange Esai at the restaurant today..."
"Strange Esai?"
"Yes. Short ears, odd skin color."
"What color?"
"Um... different. Yellowish? Yes, bright yellow."
"Different skin? Ah, damn it..."
The captain sighed knowingly. The others looked baffled, awaiting explanation. But another voice cut in first.
"Amuta..."
"Yes! Ishanka! Are you okay?"
Captain Amuta supported her as she rose shakily. She looked drained.
"...Amuta. Go to Captain Romuto Quaibek. Get info on yesterday's new passenger. Who he is, why he's aboard, destination."
"..."
Amuta hesitated. Ishanka glared.
"No answer?"
"...Ishanka, just odd skin doesn't mean it's Snow—"
"Shut up, Amuta. Don't speak her name lightly."
"Yes. Sorry."
Ishanka started to continue, then clutched her eyes in sudden terror, trembling.
"After getting his info... do nothing. Just what I asked from Romuto. It's dangerous."
"Understood."
"Everyone out. I need to be alone."
Captain and warriors filed out. Peran moved to follow, but Ishanka grabbed her hand.
"You stay. Who's cleaning this?"
"Yes..."
Once alone, Peran cleared shards and stood quietly. Ishanka crawled into bed, burrowing under covers. Time passed; muffled sobs emerged.
"Please... that's my daughter... our child... please..."
Peran sighed softly, standing rigid.
His bleary vision blinked at the dim cabin ceiling.
"...Fuck, what a nightmare. Even dreams gotta be this shitty?"
Jin-cheol sat up in bed, scrubbing his dry face. The new surroundings? Or parting from the Kampoeni? Those fluffy folks had been kind; here, everyone eyed him warily.
Rubbing eyes, he spotted faint dawn outside. He barked a hollow laugh.
"Slept plenty, damn it."
Day two on the Baika merchant ship dawned.