Voyage (2)
"We'll be returning. Prepare the warehouse for quarantine."
[You touched a corpse!?]
"I only touched it through my gloves, but just in case."
As his focus slipped, the nose-stinging stench grew even more intense, making it hard to endure. Cheol-woo grimaced and exited the container. Only after stepping outside did he realize it.
'It's too quiet.'
The sea was unnaturally still. There were no traces of fish darting about, not even the faint presence he'd occasionally sensed passing the Han River. In the city, the default was a cacophony of car horns, footsteps, and chatter, but the ocean was different. Without man-made noise, it should have been far quieter—yet this level of silence didn't make sense. Without the noise, you should feel the subtle stirrings of life even more clearly, but there was nothing. It was as if all life had vanished from the sea.
This wasn't the Dead Sea. How could this be?
Woooong—
The rubber boat hummed quietly with the electric motor as it returned to the bulk carrier. They'd come quite far, nearly lost in the fog, but the GPS terminal guided them back. Heading to the stern, the boat accelerated with a woooong— and climbed the ramp, locking into the cradle with a click.
"Whoa, you're back?"
"Why the fuss?"
"Quarantine and all..."
Up on deck, Yuri waited in a full white hazmat suit. She handed over the rope, then gingerly—almost timidly—secured it to the winch and hauled the rubber boat into the warehouse.
Despite all the quarantine drama, the only measure taken was incinerating their clothes. Anything that might have escaped would have been bacteria or viruses inhaled through their respirators—and there was no fixing that.
"My sword. The sword? You didn't drop it, right?"
"Here."
"Uwaaah, thank goodness..."
The moment she got her sword back, Yuri's fidgeting vanished, replaced by a deep sigh of relief. Sword over little brother, huh? He couldn't help feeling a bit miffed.
Soon, everyone gathered in the bridge: Cheol-woo, Yuri, Captain Han, and even Mi-young. The meeting commenced.
"So, what was it?"
"Inside, there were piles of perforated human corpses, and deeper in, swarms of dead sardines."
"..."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Cheol-woo's curt briefing left them speechless, a heavy silence settling in. Wondering if this was commonplace for seafarers, Cheol-woo glanced at Captain Han, but his grim expression suggested even he had never heard of such a thing.
"...Could you explain in more detail?"
"I took photos. Easier to just show you."
Cheol-woo pulled out his smartphone and swiped through the images. Mi-young and Yuri glimpsed them once and recoiled with uwaaah—, nearly collapsing, while Captain Han zoomed in and scrutinized every detail.
'Human corpses densely packed, sardines dead inside them.' The curt, unhelpful description was spot-on, leaving Captain Han chuckling in disbelief.
Sardines attacking humans? Stories of flying fish slapping faces or swordfish slicing people were common enough, but sardines killing? Never. Yet the photos clearly showed bodies riddled by sardines.
"What was the cargo in the container?"
"Packed in cardboard boxes, so I couldn't check everything, but mostly electronics like TVs."
"Not food, then. No bait to lure sardines... so what the hell...?"
No easy answers emerged. If the sardines had gone mad and mauled people, that might make sense—but no. They'd pierced straight through bodies, as if humans were just obstacles in their path. But why plunge so fervently into a foodless container?
Just some unlucky bastards who tried looting free TVs and got trapped inside.
'Not chasing something in, but fleeing into the container?'
Cheol-woo suddenly recalled the utter emptiness beneath the waves. No fish at all—meaning they'd all fled somewhere. Maybe these sardines too, using the container like a trap, had poured inside in panic.
What could scare them enough to punch through human flesh in desperation?
Fucking mystery.
"Earthquake, maybe? Fled in panic from that?"
"Earthquake? That was days ago."
"Just now. About 30 minutes ago."
"Cheol-woo, no quake reports today."
"What?"
"This electronic chart updates global weather and disasters in real-time. No quakes in the Pacific today. You must've mistaken it for something else."
"My sister doesn't make mistakes like that."
Yuri's face hardened. No earthquake? Cheol-woo stared blankly at the sea chart.
Then what was that rumbllle— from before? And the chills that raised his hackles?
'Ah?'
Not a quake—some other sound? Now it felt like a beast's roar. Hard to pinpoint the animal, but his gut screamed "roar."
The direction? Dead ahead—the way the ship was heading.
"Captain. Change course."
"Huh? What's that out of nowhere?"
"Hard to explain, but something dangerous down there. Skirt wide around Taiwan, not between it and the mainland."
"Hey, the screen makes it look short, but that adds over 500 kilometers."
"Still, go around."
"Ugh, you're so frustrating. There's established sea lanes for a reason. Deviate, and it's not just distance—currents fight you, fuel doubles."
"If I'm wrong, I'll cover fuel. Go around."
"..."
Cheol-woo's firmness left Captain Han speechless. Annoyed at being lectured by a landlubber despite his decade-plus at sea? Or wondering if Cheol-woo really sensed something? Either way, invoking captain's authority might backfire—especially after Incheon. Better not erode goodwill further. Captain Han consoled himself: this was an investment.
"Sigh. Fine. We'll swing wide around Taiwan like you said. Looks like you'll forfeit every penny from Han Si-rin."
"Wait, I never said I'd pay—deduct from Cheol-woo's share only..."
"You two... surprisingly not that close, huh..."
Captain Han sighed deeply, set the new route, and turned the helm. Soon, headwinds battered the bulk carrier, speed dropping sharply. Arrival now delayed by 10 hours. Fuel he'd cover, but 10 hours lost in Hong Kong—who compensated that?
Sighing repeatedly, Captain Han shifted to optimism. Break that stubborn ass early, and it was a win. Better than being jerked around in Hong Kong.
GeumMyeong Security headquarters, president's office.
The door burst open, low-heeled shoes striding in boldly.
"Yu Sil-jang. Feeling better?"
"Does this look okay to you?"
"You look fine. One good hand's enough for shooting and swinging a blade."
"..."
Is this bastard picking a fight? Yu Sil-jang's brow furrowed as she glared daggers at President Kim.
Since losing her left hand, rehab consumed her days. One hand crippled was hellish enough; her balance was off, simple moves slower and sloppier. Would take time to adapt.
"No prosthetic?"
"All shit performance. Gave up."
Brainwave-controlled robot arms were common, but useless in combat. Laggy input delays in split-second fights, durability like wet paper. She'd abandoned custom billion-won jobs too.
"You'll manage team command one-handed."
"Where's the team? Team 1's wiped."
"Still kicking in my eyes. Teams 2 and 3 combined couldn't touch us."
Ha— President Kim laughed, gauging her expression—dead serious. Mentioning rivalries meant Chairman Myeong's ousting was still on the table? Or egging her on?
Yu Sil-jang leaned close, whispering with a tilted head.
"Perfect timing—most of 2 and 3 overseas. Time to reclaim GeumMyeong Group's true calling."
"..."
GeumMyeong's roots twisted President Kim's brow. Born to defend the nation: GeumMyeong Construction. A paper company from the war on crime, run by NIS black ops. Posing as builders, they smashed gangs—especially foreign ones. Back when Chinese triads and Japanese yakuza infested Korea.
NIS agents in construction guise "physically" crushed them. Success cleared sunny streets of gangs. Work dried up, but dissolution? No—insider influence preserved it. Perfect for money laundering: shadowy state-backed shell. Soon, a haven for rogue agents' dirty cash.
But the war on crime raged on. Street gangs gone, underworld foreigners peddled drugs stealthily. The company, now a laundry, lost its smash-and-grab purpose.
"True calling..."
Then-NIS agents Kim and Myeong allied to purge it. Slaughtered knowing insiders, torched records—erasing NIS ties. Reborn independent, renamed GeumMyeong from their surnames, it dove back into shadows, crushing hidden gangs. Hang traffickers high, flood their homeland with tenfold drugs. That was GeumMyeong's essence, no? Born to smash triads and yakuza. Independence via massacring colleagues.
Yet lately, regression. National Intelligence Service successor couldn't touch the behemoth. Politicians, prosecutors, ministers, party heads in pocket—power absolute. But GeumMyeong Security funding dwindled. Business tentacles spread, profit uber alles. As it grew, Kim sensed the rot, drift from roots.
"Take out Chairman Myeong. Winnable?"
"President, I back winners."
Yu Sil-jang's lips curved grotesquely. Back winners—or her side always wins? Ambiguous.
"Captain."
"..."
"President Han Si-yeon. Wake up."
"Mm. Yes. What is it?"
Shift time already? Captain Han rubbed sleepy eyes, rising. Still pitch-black—not shift time. Puzzled, then the electronic chart's red blips beep-beep— woke him fully.
Distress signals at sea. Cheol-woo at the helm glanced back indifferently.
"Listen to the radio?"
"Yeah. Tune it."
Distress calls poured in relentlessly. Chart showed twelve—no, thirteen vessels signaling SOS, steadily climbing. All stalled in the Taiwan Strait, screaming over radio before dropping offline one by one.
The point they'd be passing if they hadn't rerouted.
"Ignore and proceed."
"Y-yeah... do that..."
Massive container ships holed at the waterline and sinking? Lifeboats capsizing wholesale? Captain Han couldn't fathom it, chills racing as he licked his lips in eerie thrill.
How the hell did Min Cheol-woo predict this? The more he watched, the more he wanted him.