The Super Soldier, Ha Jinwoo

Everyone called this conflict the Third World War. Wars had raged endlessly before it, of course. But none of them had been enough to truly bind the world together. Too few nations ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠involved, or only localized skirmishes, or too few casualties. People died in every war, naturally, yet something was always lacking when it came to speaking of the entire world. This one, however, was different from the very first shell that fell on Seoul. Everyone believed it marked the opening act of a true world war. I believed it too.

That war was on an entirely different scale and level from anything that had come before. Humanity unleashed the absolute pinnacle of its technology to slaughter one another. Biological weapons created by modifying beasts and humans. Swarms of drones executing flawless strategies under AI control. Drugs that could regrow even severed limbs, yet carried such severe addiction and mental side effects that soldiers suffering from PTSD would voluntarily return to the battlefield. Countless weapons designed for no other purpose than to kill humans more efficiently. And as if that weren’t enough, humanity challenged the very throne of the gods.

It was the complete biological enhancement of their own kind. After countless test subjects died in the process, they finally reached it. Physical abilities that far surpassed the biological limits of ordinary humans. Near-infinite lifespans. A regenerative capacity so powerful that even the permanent maiming of lost limbs could be reversed with nothing more than adequate nutrition and rest. And, most decisively, superhuman powers that proved these beings were no longer truly human.

Some could bend light around their skin to become invisible. Others could unleash lightning from their fingertips. Some wreathed their bodies in flame. There were abilities so unique and godlike they could command entire armies at once. People called us by many names. Super soldiers. Heroes. Superhumans. Enhanced humans. Modified humans. And yet I, one of those very beings, knew that even we could feel loneliness, that we were far from perfect. After all, what in this world truly is?

I had served for eighty-three years before deserting. Thirty-seven years had passed since then, making me one hundred and thirty-seven years old. Once a super soldier, now simply Ha Jinwoo, I stood inside a bunker on the Russian tundra, watching the sun rise as I fiddled with my smartphone. It was the same device I had carried since I was seventeen. It had broken countless times, but I had always managed to repair it. The device held fragments of data—pictures of beautiful things I had seen, and of precious people I had once cherished but who were no longer by my side.

I slipped it into my coat, watching my sigh bloom white in the cold air as it followed my breath. I wondered if something similar was rising somewhere else in the world right now. Probably not, I thought. With a bitter expression, I moved past the smartphone in my pocket and touched the wooden grip of the shotgun slung at my side. Its curved shape, the grain worn smooth in the exact pattern of my hand, the familiar and reassuring weight of it. That, at least, eased my heart a little.

Today I had buried my last remaining family. He wasn’t related to me by blood, but after living together so long, he had become family. A connection I had made while crossing through China after my desertion. A friend who had stayed with me for years even after my wife died. He could have found my unaging skin, untouched by wrinkles despite a hundred and twenty years of life, unsettling. Yet he had remained my friend until the very end. Even after his entire family had been slaughtered by biological weapons, he had stayed by my side. In his final moments, though, he had regretted it—this ordinary man who had chosen to remain with someone like me.

Living an ordinary life in this world had been difficult enough for him. Unlike me. That truth struck me to the bone, so I allowed myself a brief time to mourn.

When I opened my eyes again, the sun was rising. Shadows stretched across the blue-tinged sky, pierced by rays of light that reached all the way to the horizon. It was beautiful, yet right now it only hurt my eyes. Unable to bear it any longer, I retreated back inside the bunker.

There, alongside the last photographs of the people who had lived here with me, rested their cremated remains in neatly arranged urns. They had been ordinary people. People who had simply wanted to live. People who had lived until the end and then vanished. I sat down, trying my best to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠memorize their faces, and opened the photo album on my smartphone. Pictures I had taken. Videos. Little anecdotes that were too awkward to record as video, so I had written them down and photographed the notes instead. These faces, names, and memories would be forgotten forever once this data and I were gone.

I leaned my head against the massive cylinder and let out a long sigh. I felt depressed. I felt terrible. I had skipped meals, my posture was uncomfortable, and my head throbbed, demanding some way to reduce the neural strain. A cigarette, for example. When I lifted my head, my eyes fell on the hibernation pod.

It was an antique I had salvaged long ago from a Russian military base. I had repaired it as best I could, intending to use it once everyone else was dead. It hadn’t been designed with ordinary humans in mind, so no one but me could operate it. The pod offered me the option of waiting until humanity rebuilt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠society and eventually unearthed me. I was skeptical that such a thing was even possible. The broadcasts I kept running every day received no responses, and I picked up no other signals. Even as pessimistic predictions that humanity had truly gone extinct rose in my mind, I had no choice but to cling to hope.

That someday humanity would rebuild. That they would wake me. That the world had changed, the war was over, and a rebuilt society was struggling to recover from the aftermath. That they would tell me they desperately needed an extra pair of helping hands. With nothing but that faint wish, I finally decided to enter hibernation.

Once the decision was made, the steps were clear. First, since I had no idea when I might wake, I carefully stored the things I cherished. I sealed them inside a specialized container made of bio-synthetic resin, wrapped in multiple layers of vacuum packing and radiation shielding. Even then, I couldn’t be sure it would be perfect, or that the container would still be where I left it when I eventually woke. But when you’re about to sleep a sleep from which you might never awaken, you can’t ask for too much.

Next came the final inspection of the hibernation pod. I replenished the semi-permanent power generator that would keep it running—I didn’t understand the principle, but it still worked. I checked the outdated AI that couldn’t generate a true ego. I topped up the cryogenic gas that wouldn’t damage my enhanced organs. I probably could have prepared more, but… I didn’t want to spend any more time alone, driving across this vast, empty land where no other humans remained. So I decided this was enough.

I simply opened the pod and climbed inside.

As I relaxed my body, a chill slowly spread through me.

The mechanical Russian voice guided the process as the pod closed.

I wondered what sight would greet me when I woke again. Even as doubt lingered, I couldn’t let go of that single thread of hope. I hoped that when I opened my eyes once more, there would be people welcoming me to a future where everything had ended and been rebuilt.

Just as the pod said, I hoped time would be merciful to me. With that final thought, I closed my eyes.

Until the moment my eyes suddenly snapped open.

Clang!

Through the translucent window of the hibernation pod, fogged over with frost, I could make out blurry silhouettes. Had people come out to welcome me? I saw them moving busily. It was hazy, but the announcement in Korean about the hibernation duration being exceeded caught my attention. Still, I figured the pod must have been modified while I slept, so it wasn’t that strange. The important thing was not to panic or frighten anyone. Minor details could wait. First, I needed to assess the situation.

I had no idea how the aftermath of World War III had played out. I didn’t know what kind of image of me might remain. Forcing myself to stay calm, I waited for the hibernation process to fully disengage and the pod to open.

Oddly, the voice now spoke in Russian, yet the meaning still sank clearly into my mind. Before I could even feel suspicious, a shrill voice rang out.

“C-Commander…! The pod…?!”

“What? Wait, why did that suddenly open?!”

“I don’t know! What do we do about—”

Seeing them blurting out words in utter panic, it clearly wasn’t a welcoming atmosphere. What confused me even more was the appearance of the people filling my vision. Primitive leather backpacks, armor that looked hammered from metal—cuirasses, vambraces. Metal helmets that obstructed their sight, wooden shields, longswords, maces, spears, polearms, bows. Their equipment seemed to assume neither the use of firearms nor enemies who used them. It was so crude it could only be described as medieval. And in their eyes, directed straight at me, I saw pure shock and bewilderment.

Even though I couldn’t understand the situation at all, one thing was crystal clear: the threat. It wasn’t directed at me. It came from the door that shuddered violently with every heavy impact, from the furniture haphazardly piled in front of it. From whatever lay beyond it.