The Hip Bastard

When they kicked me down from Hunter to soldier, the rank they stuck me with was staff sergeant. A thorough, humiliating trampling. Even a trainee, some brand-new Hunter still in school, gets treated like an army captain, and as a Hunter instructor I'd been living at a colonel's level. Disgraced and drummed into the ranks or not, I should have come out with at least a company-grade commission.

Instead, staff sergeant. In the unit that drew the ugliest missions, no less.

They wanted me dead in the field.

The days were exhausting enough already, and under me there was one peculiar bastard.

"Sergeant Woo, sir! So what hip-hop is, sir, is this! It's a culture from the previous age, and the songs, you do them in this thing called rap... and then you move your body like this..."

"I know the gist."

"Oh, you do, sir! Damn! Isn't hip-hop the coolest?"

"Hip-hop isn't cool."

Truth was, I barely knew a thing about it. I just wanted him to shut his mouth. He talked in that fossilized barracks cadence—the stiff, over-formal soldier's speak that had already died out by the end of the old era, the kind nobody used anymore—and somewhere along the way somebody had pumped him full of hip-hop, or whatever you wanted to call that strange culture. Or doctrine. Might as well have been a religion.

Anyway, the kid made a spectacle of himself at all hours. One day he'd turn up in a uniform three sizes too big; the next he'd be doing some loose, uncanny little dance with his whole body. Exactly the way the sentry was shaking his head right now.

There was exactly one thing I'd grant him. That odd way of singing he called rap. The way you recite the scripture of the religion known as hip-hop, if you wanted to put it like that. Strange as it was, it wasn't bad to listen to. Except that his personality was filthy, so the lyrics he stuck on it were always out for blood. Not that I'd ever once told him his rap was good to hear. He was tiring enough as it was. Let him get cocky and... yeah, no.

Anyway.

When I said I'd deliver the letter myself, the man who'd been loose in his body a second ago went rigid and shut it down.

"You're going to hand the letter to that woman yourself? That's a problem. The woman you mean doesn't accept mail."

"I'm not asking you to persuade her. Just bring her out. I'll do the persuading."

"Bring her out? Hey, that's not the issue. She begged us, over and over, to refuse every piece of mail that comes for her. Bringing her out is off the table too."

What was that about. Was there something in the mail she didn't want?

"So give up on delivering the letter. I'll pay you like I promised. You want cigarettes? Or ammunition?"

On an ordinary day I would have swallowed the loss and taken the pay. This wasn't an ordinary day. The letter had to get there.

I had to show that exposition freak, beyond any doubt, what my ability could do. The caliber of the most exalted postman in the Republic of Korea.

My boots struck the dirt, one step after another.

"Halt! The hell are you—don't come any closer!"

When the man flinched, one of the sentries up on the wall vanished off somewhere. Gone to report, by the look of it.

Let him. This is already settled.

The hip-hop nut who'd served under me. Now that I thought about it, he'd transferred out to another unit later ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on.

"I said don't come closer! You crazy postman bastard, I'll shoot!"

The transfer had been on account of a badly wrecked leg. The kind of injury a full recovery couldn't touch. I'd never seen him after they treated it, but he would have ended up limping. Just like the man in front of me.

Live long enough and a coincidence comes along so neat it gives you pause. Those usually aren't coincidences.

"You're too far off. I can barely see your face. If we're doing business, we ought to know each other's faces, don't you think?"

"Cut the crap! I'll shoot your legs!"

A bolt snicked home.

There he was. He'd put on a little weight, but that face was unmistakable.

"What am I supposed to call you? You're not still Private Jeong, I imagine."

"...What did you just say?"

"Given up on wearing the uniform three sizes too big? You never listened to a word I said, but your current commander looks meaner than I was."

The rifle sank, slow.

He craned his neck forward, brow knotting.

"Uh... Sergeant Woo, sir?"

Dragging him outside the wall had done its work. Face to face, you see what you missed from a distance. Right about now the old me would be rising up in his head. That was enough. I'd already broken him in once.

The gate in the wall burst open, rough and sudden. A pack of them came through with rifles, eyes glaring, but the hip-hop nut turned their charge aside with a light hand.

"It's fine. I know him."

"So. Still a private?"

"No, sir. It's, uh..."

He raked at his scalp. I got the shape of it.

"You've made staff sergeant yourself, then."

"Yes, sir... haha... I've come a long way, haven't I?"

"Didn't figure you for NCO material."

"Survive a battlefield and this is what you get. A soldier's supposed to get promoted in the field!"

He tossed off sergeant and promotion like they were nothing, but he wasn't a soldier anymore. Not part of the Republic of Korea's regular forces, strictly speaking. Deserters who still wore the uniform. Promotions they handed each other inside their own little circle. They'd built a new army inside this country. Rebels, if you wanted the accurate word.

"So what am I supposed to call you?"

"Sergeant Jeong is fine, sir."

"Not you. All of you."

"Ah."

Sergeant Jeong swept a look over the men standing behind him like a folding screen, then met my eyes again.

"We are the Free Liberation Fro—, fighting for the freedom of this land—"

"Cut the bullshit."

Sergeant Jeong had gone inside the wall for about ten minutes. He came back out beaming. Looked like he'd gotten me permission to enter.

"You can go in now, sir!"

The letter's recipient was refusing every piece of mail. If I couldn't bring her out, the only option was to go in myself, so I'd asked him to get me clearance to enter in person. And I'd handed him the method along with the ask.

"That antiaircraft gun that isn't moving. Broken, I assume?"

"Does it show that badly, sir? We ought to do something about—"

"Engineers too busy to fix it?"

"No, sir. Truth is, everyone gave up on repairing it. We can't even tell what's broken... Oh! Weren't you a master repairman, sir?"

I'd fixed plenty of things since my army days. That didn't make me mechanically brilliant, or any kind of master repairman. It was all thanks to the ability to see probability. Watch how the odds of a broken machine actually working start to climb, and you can find the cause in no time. It had been the same when I was a survival instructor, back in my Hunter days. I kept checking what raised the survival rate, and that's how I ended up in the job.

But nobody knew that what I could do was see probability. When I registered as a Hunter, I lied and said I'd gained a survival skill. Unless a Hunter volunteers it, there's no way for anyone else to learn what their ability is. Asking a Hunter whether they even possess a Core ability is illegal from the start. The state doesn't care, and neither do other Hunters. Anyone else asking is a serious crime. There were probably more Hunters like me out there, the ones who never said what they could actually do. Show your ability and you get that much easier to take apart.

"I can't promise I'll fix that gun, though. I'll try."

"That's fine, sir! You'll be better than all of us put together! I'll go and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tell them! I've got a feeling they'll let you in, sir!"

And so, for the moment, entry was possible.

"It's been a long time since we let an outsider in, sir. Nobody inside is going to welcome you, so please don't take it personally."

Sergeant Jeong wore the kindest smile in the world. Hard to square him with the man who'd been playing at menace a minute ago. Then again, soldiers are mostly like that. He was, anyway—the sort who ordinarily grinned like the kid next door. Put him in a squared-away uniform and hand him a rifle, and he looked like someone else.

As I came up to the door, a soldier stepped in front of me and mimed spreading his arms. Sergeant Jeong met my eye and nodded. Familiar work. Nothing to be offended by. I opened my arms, and the soldier started a practiced search. While he went through the bag down to the stitching, I took in what showed through the wall's door, cracked a little open.

Inside was a corridor that bent right after only a few steps, built so you couldn't see into the settlement through the gap. All I got was a long look at the skulls covering the walls.

Some taste in interior design.

That was when the soldier searching the bag drew out the 99.99 percent one-way ticket to the afterlife ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and looked at me.

"...And? First time seeing a Core?"

He kept his mouth shut and just stared.

"Ah. He's asking what kind of Core that is, sir."

"Friend of yours who can't talk?"

"Not at all, sir. Once he opens his mouth, you spend the rest of your life wishing he'd shut it."

"Then what's with the performance? You two switch to telepathy?"

"Not associating with the outside is our rule, sir. Only a few designated people, like me, may speak with outsiders."

So that was why only Sergeant Jeong had opened his mouth from the start.

"You people and your rules. Like you've got some grand secret worth stealing. I don't care what any of you talk about."

"Anyway, that's how it is, so please speak only to me, sir!"

There was a convenient side to it. No need to ignore them one by one if they were going to keep quiet on their own.

"So what is that Core, sir?"

"I have to explain that, too?"

"Rules are rules..."

It was very likely an Ability Core. Say so, though, and they'd turn me away. A Core with a failure rate that high is a dangerous object, and they don't let those in if they can help it.

"It's a fuel Core."

I passed it off as the cheapest kind there was.

"Aha, understood. Ordinarily we'd have to appraise it properly, but... well! This is how trust gets built, sir!"

Slipped through, somehow. The soldier finished the search and went back to his post without a word, and Sergeant Jeong stepped in close.

"Inside headquarters I'll have to accompany you at all times. Please understand, sir."

So they called this settlement a headquarters.

"That much is fine."

"But you're not Sergeant Woo anymore, sir... so what should I call you?"

"Obviously. Postman, sir."

"Th-that's a little awkward..."

Of course it was awkward. Soldiers don't put sir on a postman.

"That's why you're going to."

"P-Postman... sir, you mean?"

"Yeah. Like that. Hearing it out of a uniform is awkward. I like it."

What you call someone has an enormous effect on the relationship. In here, I needed to go by Postman, sir. A special delivery isn't something an ordinary postman gets to make.

"Then, Postman, sir..."

"You whispering?"

"No, sir! Postman, sir, this way!"

Once we were in the corridor, I could see the skulls hung all over the walls were real human bone. They wouldn't have mounted their own dead families up there. Enemy heads, surely. But most of the skulls were clean, not a crack in them—something you almost never get in a fight. Which meant the way they'd been collected was probably—

Execution.

I was curious who, and why, but I didn't ask. Some things you're better off not knowing.

Past the winding corridor, the settlement finally opened up. It looked like a forward outpost planted on a front line: military tents scattered between buildings that had actually been raised properly, flags from every kind of unit snapping in the air, and the walls crowded with lines set down in careful strokes.

And it was far too quiet. More than thirty people in sight right then, and not a sound. They were even working in little clusters, and not one of them opened their mouth.

"Don't tell me nobody's so much as parting their lips because I showed up."

"Yes, sir. You'll get used to it fast!"

"You people have a fun way of playing."

We arrived in front of a building of well-laid red brick.

"Whoever's getting this letter must sit pretty high."

"Ah, first you have to meet the captain, sir. After that you can go straight to delivering the mail."

"What captain."

"The one who authorized your entry, sir. It goes without saying the captain is permitted to speak with you!"

"So I've arrived, and now I have to report in. That it?"

"You know how it is, sir. Military procedure."

I knew. I hated the stuff down to the bone.

While the postman was inside the building, Sergeant Jeong kept watch out front. One of his comrades had been watching from a distance, and the man came over like this was his chance.

"Mail for the captain?"

"Shh! You know you're not supposed to talk."

"Hey, hey, just for a second. I'm dying to know what the hell is going on."

Sergeant Jeong glanced around, then answered.

"I reported on the Postman... sir, earlier, and he said he wanted to see that postman's face."

"Did I hear that wrong just now? Sir? What sir?"

"...There's a thing."

"What, was the postman born with a gold spoon in his mouth? And why are we even taking mail? Thanks a lot for the group vow of silence. Really."

Sergeant Jeong let out a short laugh.

"Remember why we never made it into Seoul? Why we got stopped?"

"Where's this coming from."

"Just answer."

"Man, it was impossible from the start. With just our numbers..."

"That's not what I asked. Which unit stopped us?"

"The Heart Unit. Our objective was their headquarters, so of course they showed— ...oh?"

He stalled, then went on.

"Don't tell me that postman's from the Heart Unit..."

Sergeant Jeong answered with his signature hip little shake of the head.

"Not that."

"Then why the hell bring up those miserable bastards?"

"You confident you could take a Heart Unit man one on one?"

Sergeant Jeong asked it with one corner of his mouth lifted, and the other man's voice rose.

"Ha. I'm not who I used to be."

"Oh?"

"Those bastards are a problem because they come in a pack. One on one, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd win now. All this time, I've—"

Sergeant Jeong's eyes flashed.

"And if it isn't one on one?"

"Huh? Two, I could maybe... Look, winning a one-on-one is already fucking insane, all right?"

"So two's where it gets hard."

"Unless you're a Hunter, how does that even make sense?"

"Then what if it scales up. A whole platoon?"

"Even a Hunter would have a hell of a time with that. What kind of nonsense is this?"

Sergeant Jeong watched the man boil and let out a soft snort through his nose. Then he turned his eyes to the door the postman had gone through.

"If there was a soldier who'd taken down a whole Heart Unit platoon by himself, wouldn't you want to see his face?"

The other man stalled. His pupils widened, and for a second it looked like he was holding something down that wanted to boil over. Then he produced a long, luxurious yawn.

"Didn't sleep last night, I guess. God, I'm tired... You done with the bullshit? I'm going."

He turned away without believing a word of it. It was a story nobody could credit, and he grumbled all the way off.

"If you don't want to talk, just say so, instead of bullshitting me, you little—"