Civil War (1)
"Did it go well?"
"Seems like it. Probably..."
Yuri and Mi-young, standing there arms crossed like folding screens, whispered quietly to each other. The white-bearded middle-aged man who had barged in out of nowhere had shaken hands with Cheol-woo, and their conversation looked like it was wrapping up already. Aside from the young agent who'd been chatting the whole time fuming in frustration, the atmosphere was generally cordial, so the deal must have gone smoothly.
Cheol-woo wasn't all bad, but his habit of suddenly flooring the accelerator was a huge problem. This time too, when his voice suddenly spiked, Cheol-woo thought the deal might fall through because of that damn impulsiveness again—only for another bidder to show up and save it.
"Hey, is the deal done?"
"The framework's in place for now. There are more details to negotiate separately, but it shouldn't fall apart."
"Are you the wife? Nice to meet you. I'm Jason, deputy director of the Secret Intelligence Agency."
"Hello."
"You two look a lot alike, by the way. More like siblings than a married couple."
"Deputy Director. That's a racist comment. Saying all East Asians look the same is a bit..."
"No! I mean you really do look alike!"
Cheol-woo and Yuri both failed to keep straight faces for a moment and scowled. Do we really look that much alike? Cheol-woo wondered. Sometimes I think all the good genes went to Sis—she got the full package. I'm built okay, sturdy enough, but nothing like a parasite brother-in-law. Flat-faced and plain compared to her striking looks. The siblings were thinking completely different things.
"What should we call this one?"
"She's our nutritionist, nurse, and general handywoman. Just call her Team Leader Kim Mi-young."
"I'm not a team leader anymore..."
"Just. It's easier."
"..."
Mi-young's face twisted like she'd just bitten into shit. Her name was Kim Mi-young, and she had been a team leader, but every time someone called her "Team Leader Kim Mi-young," it rubbed her the wrong way for some reason. This fucking asshole—doing it on purpose— Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.
"Why don't we discuss the details on the way?"
"Sounds good."
"You mentioned building a bunker. Until it's complete, we'll provide you with a safe house in Sydney."
"No. We have no plans to stay in a big city. Somewhere rural or a small town near the sea would be better."
"Ah... Then we'll give you a ride to a nearby hotel."
Jason nodded as if he finally understood David Min. Stockpiling explosives, guns, and ammo; avoiding big cities; planning a self-sustaining bunker. Classic doomsday prepper behavior. The kind obsessed with building bunkers in remote small towns because the apocalypse is coming.
The difference between David Min and typical doomsday preppers was that David Min had solid reasons for believing the end was near. Whatever he'd seen and experienced in Hong Kong had clearly shattered his faith in human civilization and government systems.
"We'll cover the hotel costs. Right up until the bunker is finished and you're moved in."
"For free?"
"Of course not. Let's knock a bit off the sample price. Say, 7.5 million dollars."
"You're serious?"
"Haha. Hear me out. In exchange, we'll scout bunker sites that match your conditions. We'll even line up contractors if needed. And anything else you require—just contact me anytime. As long as it's not too trivial, we'll make it happen."
So, 500,000 off in exchange for playing nice going forward. Leverage the connections of Australia's Secret Intelligence Agency deputy director for half a mil? Not a bad trade. Cheol-woo accepted immediately. A solid backer in a foreign land was worth more than gold.
They decided to leave the yacht docked at the marina for repairs. He'd considered selling it, but with all the cosmetic battle scars, the used price would be halved—no point dumping a perfectly functional vessel for scraps. Besides, who knew when they'd need to hit the sea again? Owning their own yacht provided massive peace of mind.
They bought a hefty truck from a nearby used car lot. Needed something to haul all the weapons and preserved food.
Nothing beats a Korean parcel truck for loading cargo, Cheol-woo grumbled, tongue clicking as they packed the truck. Still, the truck had enough interior space to stretch out and rest, and for driver and passenger comfort, these big-continent rigs were far superior. Guess that's what happens when you've got the land for it—trucks evolve like this.
The black escort vehicle led the way, and Cheol-woo followed with the deputy director in the passenger seat, tearing down the road.
"Can you give specifics on the bunker site conditions?"
"Hm..."
"No need to list everything now—just the basics. You can update the criteria later, and we'll narrow down candidates and send them back."
"Alright. First, the ground needs to allow digging at least 50 meters underground for a panic room. The underground area should have space for at least 10 people to live. Fresh water within a kilometer. Not prime farmland, but enough for growing staple crops like corn or potatoes would be ideal. And no cities with over a million people within a 500-kilometer radius."
"Very specific. Got it."
And... anything else? Cheol-woo stroked his chin, pondering. They said they'd handle filtering candidates as he thought of more, so no rush. 7.5 million dollars could build an underground city. Rural wasteland meant land costs near zero, so every penny went into construction.
"Also, mind if we consult with you separately at the agency? Compensation's on us, of course."
"What kind of consulting?"
"Various forms. For threats Australia faces now or in the future, we'd value input from someone with experience, in whatever form."
"I'll pass."
"Ah..."
"I don't have info that groundbreaking. I'll give a few simple tips. Handle the rest yourselves based on that."
Cheol-woo politely declined. Could he consult for the agency based on Hong Kong experience? Sure. Explaining mutant habits, attack patterns, weak points—it wouldn't stay "simple tips." But such advice proved itself in the field. Accept consulting, and soon he'd be out there fighting mutants again. He'd come this far to escape those damn things—did he really want to grab a gun and mow them down nonstop? Hell no.
Basic know-how like that? Agency agents and soldiers would pick it up after a week in the trenches. No need for him to strut around teaching.
"First, X-ray scans for key personnel—top priority."
"X-rays?"
"You have that parasite sample I handed over. It came from inside a human skull. Eats the brain and takes its place. Indistinguishable from a human without non-invasive scans. Especially suspicious if someone violently refuses."
"What? It parasitizes inside human skulls? And impersonates them?"
Jason's skeptical reaction was understandable. Cheol-woo hadn't believed it himself until seeing it. Once one got caught, crisis awareness would spread naturally—no big worry.
"Also, blue drug sweeps are dangerous, but watch for ability users too."
"Ability users? What's that?"
"Some who take the blue drug don't turn mutant—their physical abilities amplify massively instead."
Like me.
"Super strength, enhanced vision—abilities vary. Great if they're allies, but hostile? One ability user is trickier than a hundred mutants."
"Noted."
Jason tilted his head but nodded. Just enhanced physique equaling a hundred mutants? Overkill, right? Known mutant specs already included crumpling car hoods barehanded and shrugging off pistol rounds—walking tanks. A hundred? A city in ruins. And ability users more dangerous? Guns and bombs made everyone equal, didn't they? Didn't make sense.
"Australia's lucky, though. Far from rifts, so blue drug won't blow here on the wind."
"Good. Still, watch for deliberate spread. Dumping it in water supplies, say."
"Hahaha. No way someone would terrorize like th—"
Screech! Thud!
The truck slammed to a halt. Jason jolted, hand diving for his holster, scanning all directions—but nothing to stop for. Why the hell...?
"What is it?"
"..."
Cheol-woo's lips trembled. He'd noticed as they entered the city and people appeared—everyone's eyes were off. Thought it was his imagination, so he pulled over for a closer look. No mistake: the unnatural vibe he'd felt before. Human skinsuits with inhuman stares. And not just a few—they blanketed the streets.