Immigration (1)
United States White House. Black vehicles pulled into the parking lot, and the president, clutching an oxygen mask to his face, hurried out of the car. After passing through the decontamination facility at the entrance and stepping inside, an attendant said, "You can remove your mask now, sir." The president ripped off the oxygen mask and hurled it to the floor.
"What the fuck is this stupid bullshit?!"
"Your Excellency, it's airborne transmission—there's no choice. You'll have to endure the inconvenience for a while longer."
"How long do I have to put up with this crap? It's fucking pathetic."
"…"
Until the rift in the sky closes? The aides couldn't easily provide an answer. Reality was, they didn't even know what that thing was, let alone how to close it. Physicists predicted it was a wormhole connected to another spacetime, but no one knew what lay on the other side. The fighter pilot who had flown into the rift yesterday and still hadn't emerged—now listed as missing—probably knew the answer. Though he was likely dead with high probability.
"Your Excellency, the wind direction has shifted again. More blue drug material is drifting down from the north."
"Are the mutants under control?"
"The North Dakota state border has been breached. Reports of mutants are flooding in from South Dakota and Minnesota. There's also word from Montana that mutants are pushing south across the Canadian border. We've identified about 400 mutants so far, but we expect that number to swell into the tens of thousands next week among civilians who haven't evacuated from North Dakota."
The wind had changed. It meant the blue drug that had ravaged Canada over the past week was now riding the winds south into the United States. That Canada had shattered first was a stroke of luck for the United States. They had watched closely how mutants emerged, how cities spiraled into chaos beyond control, and how the military collapsed. Thanks to swift action, the White House and key facilities were already equipped with air purification systems, civilian evacuations were well underway, and factories nationwide were churning out gas masks nonstop.
But no one, not even the president, believed it would be enough. No matter how many gas masks they produced, they couldn't cover daily use for 300 million people. When the black dust storm truly hit, the United States would suffer massively too. They'd rehearsed via Canada, but they still lacked answers. Those answers lay with the operators who had lived through the Hong Kong incident—the prelude to this crisis. Securing their analysis was the only way to get hints about what was coming.
Gnawing his lip, the president reached the end of his patience.
"Goddamn it. When are those guys who went to Hong Kong coming back?"
"They departed yesterday. They're returning now under escort from the 7th Fleet via nuclear submarine—"
"Your Excellency! The 7th Fleet is under attack!"
"Agh!"
As the urgent report came in, the president clutched his neck and nearly collapsed; aides barely managed to prop him up. It wasn't time to fall yet.
"China!? Is this those bastards' doing?!"
"No. They were attacked from underwater, and the assailant's identity is still unknown. It's estimated that a massive entity over 500 meters long dragged the USS Ronald Reagan below the surface and snapped its keel."
"Fuck! This is that thing! The one that sank all those ships in the Taiwan Strait!"
A powerful sense of déjà vu hit him. The bizarre incident where over a dozen ships passing through the Taiwan Strait had been sunk outright. The culprit was clearly the same one striking the 7th Fleet now. A beast strong enough to drag massive container ships to the ocean depths in one go—why wouldn't it sink an aircraft carrier?
"The fleet counterattacked with torpedoes, and the entity fled. Rescue operations are underway."
"The nuke sub? What about the nuclear sub?"
"One moment. Additional report incoming… Ah."
"What? Why the pause? The nuke sub's fine, right? Tell me it is."
"…It suffered an underwater explosion."
The president squeezed his eyes shut. It was the last news he wanted to hear. In one day, the U.S. Navy had lost an aircraft carrier and a nuclear submarine—not to mention every overseas operative. Had there ever been a more devastating defeat in United States history? His breath came in gasps.
"This is the final transmission from the sub to submarine command. Would you like to hear it?"
"Play it."
"Please don't say it cut off right there."
"That's the end. The sub exploded right after this transmission."
"Goddamn it!"
It was billed as key matters, but it cut off right at the crucial part. Bizarre lifeforms? They'd seen those already—what else could have attacked the 7th Fleet? But the parasitic type was new to White House intel. They didn't even know if the parasite's hosts were fish, reptiles, insects—or how dangerous it was. And who knew what other bizarre lifeforms might emerge? One thing was certain: everyone who knew the truth was now sunk in the cold sea.
"Recall all U.S. forces stationed worldwide to the homeland. We need to prepare for the worst. Prioritize air force units for rapid return!"
"Our allies will protest, Your Excellency."
"What do you want me to do about it? The United States is on the brink of collapse—alliances mean shit now. You think they're sending troops to help us in our hour of need?"
"…Understood. Connecting you to the Secretary of Defense."
What came after ocean monsters that could smash aircraft carriers? And what the hell was this parasite thing? It was all so thrilling his vision was going white.
"We're almost there."
"For real!?"
"Really?"
He thought he'd whispered, but two heads popped up from the cabin. Land was faintly visible beyond the horizon. Setting out from Hong Kong, passing the Philippines and Indonesia, they had finally reached Australia. Darwin Port in northern Australia was now within sight.
"Finally gonna set foot on land…"
Cheol-woo had touched dirt when he went ashore for fuel, but Yuri and Mi-young had been stuck on the boat for nearly two weeks. It was a big yacht by yacht standards, but still just a yacht. When the waves hit, puking was inevitable, and seasickness had them sleeping almost around the clock. That meant Cheol-woo had to man the helm for about 70% of the voyage. If he tried handing it off, they'd puke; if he headed to bed, it was already full. Barely getting five hours of sleep a day while steering had left dark circles under his eyes.
"See that port city? We can make it there, right? Then I'm crashing for an hour or two. Take the wheel."
"Got it. Hand it over."
Finding direction in open ocean was tough, but with the port right there, getting lost was impossible. They'd radio first anyway, asking who it was. Cheol-woo placed the radio by the bed and shut his eyes in relief.
We've come a long way.
He hadn't planned on going this far when leaving Korea, but here they were. Still, Australia seemed ideal for surviving this disaster—vast land, population half of Korea's. Even if mutants rampaged, their numbers would be limited. Plus, as a Five Eyes nation and top U.S. ally, Australia wouldn't crumble like Hong Kong's cities even if mutants spread. He could finally relax a bit—
The blaring radio snapped him awake. Irritated but relieved, Cheol-woo sighed deeply. He'd worried that with no radio contact on approach, the port might be crawling with nothing but mutants and no workers. This was good—if the port was operational, Australia as a whole was likely still intact.
"Sis, passports."
"Here."
Cheol-woo and Yuri quickly pulled out the passports from Han Sa-jang. His new identity: David Min. Hers: Yuri Min.
"Why am I the only one with an English name?"
"How do you think Aussies would pronounce Cheol-woo? Yuri's a name in English too."
"In English, Yuri's a guy's name."
"…That bastard Han Sa-jang."
They radioed the manifest and stated their purpose as returning home from travel. Would they get entry? Had Han really given solid IDs? His heart pounded as the radio stayed silent.
"Roger."
"…?"
Marriage? What the hell? Cheol-woo and Yuri exchanged glances. Then they looked back and forth at the matching "Min" surnames on their passports and sighed.
Ah. No way?
"That bastard Han Sa-jang… for real…!"