Chapter 19
A Strange Place
Sung Geon-woo kept his finger poised on the trigger, eyes fixed on the world beyond the windshield, when he suddenly spoke.
“Team leader, that guy’s voice is so loud it’s hurting our ears. Shouldn’t we just shoot him?”
“…No need for that.”
Jang Mok-hwa glanced back at him and then raised her own voice.
“We’ve got military rations, energy bars, and compressed biscuits. Make us an offer!”
The man across from them rolled his eyes slightly.
“Six cans of military rations!”
“Forget it!”
Mok-hwa sounded like she’d never intended to bargain in the first place.
By then the jeep had already passed the black SUV, and the distance between the two groups was widening again.
Rather than insist, the man in the black coat called out loudly,
“Let’s hope we can trade another time!”
He kept a watchful eye on the jeep as it rolled out of range.
“Boss, why didn’t we shoot?”
A skinny young man in a worn cotton jacket, cigarette pinched between his fingers, asked hurriedly.
“Yeah, boss. They look like they’ve got some firepower, but we’ve got that thing!”
Another man, bearded and sprawled over a big motorcycle, straightened and pointed at the SUV’s trunk.
“They must be carrying plenty of supplies!”
The man in the black coat shook his head.
“Either way, we’d take heavy losses. Not worth the cost.”
The young man with the Union-202 pistol frowned.
“Boss, they say people die for wealth and birds for food! Out here in the wilds, only the toughest survive. We might be dead tomorrow—we should gamble everything today!”
The “boss” gave him a cold look.
“Anyone who acts rough for the sake of it doesn’t last long. There’s no such thing as pure prey out here; most are both hunter and hunted. If we stop fearing losses, we’ll soon be weak enough to become someone else’s meal.
“Look at predators. When they’re full or face an equal opponent, they don’t attack. They know that the moment they’re wounded, they’ll end up prey. They avoid unnecessary hunts.
“Are you all worse than those beasts?”
A man with a battered old rifle and a crude cigarette nodded in agreement.
“He’s right. Didn’t you notice? Those folks only had military rations, energy bars, and compressed biscuits. Do you know what that means?
“Ordinary ruin scavengers only carry that kind of food when they set out from a major city or frontier town. And there’s no big settlement we know of anywhere near here.”
Another rider muttered,
“Did they find an Old-World military depot?”
The black-coated leader sighed.
“Enough. Quit arguing.”
Then he smiled faintly.
“Think about where they’re heading. There aren’t many drivable roads in this zone, and even fewer people know of any anomalies here.
“Mount up. We’ll shadow them quietly until they hit trouble—then we strike all at once.”
The men’s faces lit up.
“Yes, boss!”
Engines from SUVs and motorcycles roared to life in unison.
Inside the jeep, Jang Mok-hwa watched the rear-view mirror with a grin.
“Spot anything?”
“Those desert bandits were surprisingly calm—and, well, even a little cultured,” Yong Yeohong said, borrowing every phrase he’d ever read to explain.
Sung Geon-woo set down the Berserk assault rifle that had rested on the window ledge.
“But aside from the leader and one other, the rest were itching for a fight. They were ready to fire any second.”
“Excellent!” Mok-hwa exclaimed in genuine surprise.
“You’ve never been in a fight or faced real danger, yet you sensed hostility and aggression so sharply.”
“It’s natural talent,” Sung replied seriously.
Mok-hwa gave a small nod.
“Genetic modifications often trigger qualitative changes like that.”
Then she smiled.
“So what do their actions tell us?”
Sung turned to Yeohong with a teasing grin.
“She’s testing you.”
“Meaning… hmm… They…”
Yeohong faltered, nervous under the pressure of having to answer.
“They’re desperate to die!” Sung quipped.
“Are you making fun of me?” Yeohong grumbled, but the comment sparked a realization.
“I get it!
“Even after we showed our heavy firepower and friendliness, they still showed strong aggression. That means they’re confident they can take us down.
“But based on their numbers, weapons, and gear, we couldn’t see where that confidence came from. Maybe there’s a hidden weapon in their vehicle, or one of them has undergone some secret genetic enhancement, or maybe allies are hiding nearby.”
Mok-hwa let out a thoughtful hum.
“Next time we meet them, we won’t give them time to prepare.”
“Yes, team leader!” Sung and Yeohong replied in unison.
The jeep rolled on, weaving past black muck, twisted trees, and thick weeds.
From the right rear seat, Sung Geon-woo suddenly straightened and drew the silver-white “Icemos” pistol from his belt.
Its grip had a non-slip pattern, the metal gleaming like a finely crafted piece of art.
With practiced hands he disassembled the weapon, inspecting each part, then slid the last pale-yellow bullet into the magazine and snapped it back together with a metallic click.
After holstering it, he drew the Union-202 pistol—also silver-white, but bulkier, with a black, grippy handle—and repeated the process.
Finally he turned to the jet-black Berserk assault rifle, a beautifully engineered piece of Fangko-Bio design with a sleek, futuristic feel.
After checking it, he rested the weapon on the window and sighted imaginary targets outside.
Watching uneasily, Yeohong finally asked,
“What are you doing?”
“Preparation. Practice,” Sung said without turning.
Yeohong exhaled in relief.
“I thought you’d spotted something. Don’t scare people like that.”
“If I’d really seen something, I’d have said so,” Sung replied, sitting upright again.
“Team leader, look at this guy…” Yeohong appealed to Mok-hwa.
She toyed with the metal device in her left ear and chuckled.
“What? Can’t hear you!”
Then, after repeating Yeohong’s complaint, she added with a small “hmm,”
“I forgot to mention—
“In the wilds, stay alert, but don’t overdo it. Staying on edge too long just wears you out.
“Alright, lunch time. We’ll eat compressed biscuits, energy bars, and drink water—no need to stop the jeep.”
Without another word, Yeohong and Sung pulled out their rations and water skins to eat.
Baek Saebyeok, who’d taken over driving, ate later than the others.
About an hour later, Baek Saebyeok, sitting in the left rear seat and gazing out the window, suddenly said,
“Something’s off here.”
Yeohong nearly slammed the brakes.
He looked around quickly but saw nothing unusual—except that the marshland to the left seemed deeper and darker, the twisted trees rising straight out of the black swamp.
“I don’t see anything…” he murmured.
Mok-hwa thought for a moment.
“It’s too quiet.”
Sung Geon-woo scanned the scenery, thoughtful.
“Haven’t seen an animal in a while.”
Only then did Yeohong realize it.
“You’re right. That is strange.”
In the Black-Mire Wasteland, it was normal not to meet another human for hours or even a day or two—but animals were different.
This was a haven for wildlife: squirrels gathering winter stores, birds flitting through sparse woods, wolves secretly watching the jeep. Encounters with creatures, ordinary or otherwise, were constant.
Baek Saebyeok turned to Mok-hwa.
“Team leader, I should drive. I know this area best, and if something happens I can make the right call first.”
“Good idea. You know this place better than we do,” Mok-hwa agreed, instructing Yeohong to stop.
Back behind the wheel, Saebyeok accelerated, clearly eager to leave the area quickly.
Trees still stood thinly on both sides of the road; the black swamp gave off a faint reflection of sunlight, weeds sprawled across open patches.
Everything looked normal—yet nothing moved.
It was as if the landscape had been painted into a giant, motionless oil painting.
Yeohong felt his heart drop when he realized even the wind had stopped.
“Why is it getting worse?
“Maybe we should turn back and find another route.”
Instead of scoffing, Saebyeok nodded seriously.
“Let’s drive two more minutes. If nothing changes, we turn around.”
She glanced at Mok-hwa for confirmation.
“Agreed,” Mok-hwa said.
