Orange Hell's First Horde
2070. Back then, space was still a distant dream for humanity.
The man who brought that distant world right to our doorstep was none other than Dr. Space, Dr. Jo Woo-jung.
A genius who swept the Nobel Prizes in Physics, Chemistry, Physiology or Medicine, and Peace—a total of fourteen times—he discovered gate technology that made the very concept of distance obsolete. And with that, humanity ushered in the space age.
"Space is infinite!"
Indeed, the universe they encountered brimmed with far more boundless resources than anyone had imagined.
But there was one glaring drawback.
"The Mogs—those monstrous bastards—are infinite too!"
Mogs. Those terrifying creatures existed in numbers that were downright obscene. That meant space resource development inevitably came hand-in-hand with battles against Mogs.
As a result, every planet was assigned a danger grade, from the lowest Red grade to the highest Purple grade.
Red-grade planets were places even fresh Space Marine recruits could handle.
"Put ten Space Marine rookies in a Red-grade zone, and about nine come back alive."
Red grade wasn't all that tough.
"What about Orange grade? Do seven out of ten survive?"
"Huh? What kind of bullshit is that? Why the hell would you send rookies to an Orange-grade planet? Who'd be crazy enough to do that?"
"Sir?"
"'Sir' my ass. Send ten rookies into Orange grade, and all ten come back dead!"
But Orange grade marked the start of lethal survival odds.
In other words, if you wanted decent pay, you had to deploy to an Orange-grade planet. That's where the real bonuses kicked in.
Amotia Planet was a prime example. Located 3.14 light-years from Earth, it was currently an Orange-grade world under active development. "Active development" meant plenty of Mogs still needed clearing out.
It also meant multiple nations racing to secure resources and territory—leading to scenarios where you'd be fighting Mogs one minute, only to find an enemy nation's soldiers "greeting" you at an outpost the next because comms went dark. In this space race era, resource and territorial control was everything. Fail to secure them, and your nation was as good as obsolete.
Korea was no exception. They'd been dispatching Space Marines across the cosmos, pouring everything into resource ops.
And in this space age, "working hard" meant a lot of people dying.
The Korean branch on Amotia was no different. Four years, six months, and eleven days into development, bad news always seemed to hit just when they caught their breath.
And right now was no exception.
"Contact from E1323 Base!"
The moment the report came in, Major Lee Soon-hyuk, head of the Amotia Korean branch, went ice-cold.
"What's the situation?"
He asked, though he already knew it wouldn't be good.
"333 Mogdogs have appeared!"
As expected, it was grim.
E1323 Base was a frontline watchtower, monitoring Mog activity. It housed just one squad—ten Space Marines.
No chance of victory there. At best, they could hold out.
So the inevitable question followed.
"They're requesting reinforcements!"
"Time of request?"
"Three minutes, forty-four seconds ago. Sandstorm interference is causing delays."
Major Lee Soon-hyuk didn't respond.
Not out of hesitation. The answer was obvious.
Ten Space Marines couldn't hold off 333 Mogdogs. Sending reinforcements would be a waste of time, resources—and lives.
No calculator needed. He'd seen this play out hundreds of times.
Still, saying it aloud was never easy.
"······No support."
The order hung heavy, faces hardening among his men. They all felt the same.
All he could offer was one consolation.
"Unless it's a Psyker agent, saving them is impossible."
An unavoidable choice.
"Who's the commander there?"
"Sergeant Kim Seo-jun."
"The new transfer?"
"Yes, sir."
With that, Major Lee Soon-hyuk sighed at the irony of it being the rookie's debut—and grave.
"Tough luck."
Combat has ended. Beginning settlement.
Mogdog x245 defeated. +245 points acquired.
Mogdogs killed in one shot: 193. One-shot one-kill bonus: +386 points.
300+ kills achieved this battle. Consecutive kill bonus: +300 points.
Congratulations on your first battle victory. Silver Ticket rewarded.
Bang!
With that final gunshot, silence blanketed the battlefield, where sandstorms had raged without end.
No one spoke.
Huff, huff, huff...
The only sounds were their ragged breaths echoing inside their Battle Suits.
Except for one man.
Sergeant Kim Seo-jun. In his ears rang a sound no one else could hear.
He snapped to attention.
'Damn.'
As clarity returned, the battle info he'd deliberately ignored flooded his mind, chaotic and insistent.
'Something's happened to me. Superpowers or insanity—either way.'
That's when it hit.
"I-Incredible, sir!"
Corporal Lee Ji-hoon, one of his squad, shouted in awe at Kim Seo-jun.
"H-How did you do it?"
That broke the dam. The rest of the squad stared, stunned.
It was only natural.
When 333 Mogdogs swarmed, everyone's minds had nearly shattered. The Steam Pack had numbed their terror just enough to fight instead of fleeing—or pissing themselves.
An utterly insane scenario.
Yet in that hell, Sergeant Kim Seo-jun had unleashed impossible marksmanship, mowing them down.
"A-Are you a Psyker, sir?"
The question made perfect sense. A superhuman beyond normal limits.
That's why.
"Corporal Lee Ji-hoon."
"Y-Yes?"
"Yes?"
"Ah! C-Corporal Lee Ji-hoon reporting."
Kim Seo-jun eyed the stammering man.
"You're all babbling in shock, so looks like you're back to your senses."
"Sir?"
"Steam high's worn off."
Exactly. Their rational reactions meant the Steam Pack effects had ended.
And that meant side effects incoming: crushing fatigue, sometimes total paralysis.
"Pack up. We're moving."
No hesitation. He issued the retreat order.
"Pack up, sir?"
"Yeah. Falling back to main base."
Corporal Lee Ji-hoon freaked.
"N-No retreat order from command yet, right?"
Obvious, but unauthorized retreat was desertion—a grave offense.
Kim Seo-jun knew. He had more experience than these trained Space Marines, knew more too.
Retreating without orders was against regs.
"Three times."
"Sir?"
"Hundred next, then three hundred. Mogs multiplying by threes means they're set on wiping this outpost. We held off three hundred. Guess how many next?"
A thousand Mogdogs inbound soon.
And that was the best case.
"If Thorn Snakes show up too, we're done."
Mogdogs mixed with those thorn-spewing nightmares? Even he couldn't handle that.
"No retreat order yet, sir."
Soldier's instinct rebelled against unsanctioned pullout.
"We'll get the order en route. Comms jammed anyway—no reply on support request. Retreat approval'll take five-plus minutes. Every second counts—move while we can drive."
"But if retreat's denied mid-pullout?"
Kim Seo-jun replied flatly.
"Court-martial for disobeying orders."
"Sir?"
"Mitigating factors. Six months, tops."
His calm tone stunned them, especially Lee Ji-hoon. Prison like a grocery run?
Kim Seo-jun hadn't always been this way. But after hellish active duty...
"Six months in a comfy space prison: three squares, cold showers, reading. Free."
Compared to this inferno, jail was paradise.
"Pick your poison: Meet a thousand Mogdogs here, or play word games with me in the brig for six months."
The squad's minds reeled. Their CO ignoring military law?
But one thing was clear.
'...To survive, follow the sergeant.'
They recognized the veteran gulf. Eyes hardening with resolve, Kim Seo-jun nodded.
"Retreating. Mount up."
No hesitation—they piled into the military truck, hulking suits and all.
Kim Seo-jun took the wheel.
"Sergeant Kim, I'll drive."
Private Park Bo-seop from shotgun.
"Scared?"
No reply. Fair—he was, and rightly so.
This wasn't some backroad in Gangwon. Amotia driving was worlds beyond gravel trucks.
Earning driver creds demanded elite skills.
Kim Seo-jun got it.
"Don't worry. Drove plenty in active duty. Even hauled civvies sometimes."
Park Bo-seop gaped.
"Civvies?!"
Vroom!
No time to answer—Kim Seo-jun slammed the gearshift and floored it.
Everyone heard it then.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
Earthquake tremors.
Mogdogs x1,032 detected ahead.
The base sensors blared the warning.
Ignoring it, Kim Seo-jun gunned the engine. A minute later...
E1323 Base has been destroyed.
Since the space age dawned, human tech had advanced by leaps and bounds.
But not everything was solved. Communications remained a nightmare.
On Earth, even street beggars could chat globally. Space? Not so much.
In alien extremes, radio and satcom were unreliable. Amotia was no different—endless sandstorms crippled signals.
Physical lines worked fine, but Mogs shredded them constantly. Enemy troops snipped them for fun too.
And Mogs weren't dumb brutes. Smart ones targeted comms lines first.
Powerhouse nations just relaid cables. But Amotia's Korean branch? Barely hanging on.
Harsh truth: They'd half-abandoned resource ops here long ago.
Why stay? Abandonment meant accountability for sunk costs. No full pullout.
But no big investments in dead-end ops either. Conditions were dire.
Sandstorms turned five-minute calls into ten-minute ordeals. By the time HQ got word, fieldwork was often over.
Like now. When E1323 requested aid, HQ assumed wipeout. No support sent.
"Request from E1323."
Thirty minutes later, another ping surprised Major Lee Soon-hyuk.
"Requesting retreat clearance."
His face hardened. Retreat pleas never came from good spots.
And jammed comms meant this was likely minutes old. What now? Obvious: Wiped or close.
"And they're already retreating."
"What?"
Major Lee Soon-hyuk blinked.
"Explain."
Asking clearance while already bugging out?
Made sense literally, but soldiers didn't freelance retreats.
Then it clicked.
'The rookie sergeant.'
A greenhorn fresh to sergeant stripes commanding E1323.
He'd paid the newbie no mind. Sensible folks avoided Orange-grade postings.
Volunteers only. So either punished, or greedy for cash/bonuses.
Nine in ten chased money; one in ten built resume. But Amotia? A black mark, no career boost.
Nations were desperate for troops, loosening psych evals. Murderous urges? "Perfect! Blast Mogs!"
Weirdos ended up here. No one tracked the rookie's file—expected DOA or deserter in a month.
Unauthorized retreat? Predictable panic.
But gut said otherwise.
"Name?"
"Sergeant Kim Seo-jun."
"Pull his profile."
"Sir?"
Cold stare. Profile popped up.
Major Lee Soon-hyuk's eyes widened.
"······Four months on Ikrus Planet? Active duty?"
Ikrus. Unforgettable.
"Yellow grade?"
Yellow made Orange look like a cat cafe.
"Next posting: Palabo Planet?"
Now Orange, infamous for Behemoth. Timing matched its appearance.
Other postings? Pure hellholes.
Most shocking:
"Re-enlisted after all that?"
Back to this grind voluntarily.
"Major, sir—reply on retreat request?"
No hesitation.
"Can't save 'em, won't jail a survivor. Approve."
Space Marines like this were too rare to waste.
"Retreat approved. Return to base safely!"
That was the last order from Amotia Korean HQ.
Boom!
An explosion rocked the Amotia Korean branch headquarters.