Chapter 10: The Mute’s Plea

“W-where are we going? M-mom…”

Yeosu, pulled outside the shelter by Cheche’s hand, nervously looked around.
Cheche remained stubbornly silent.
No answer came in the end.

The place they headed was the back of the incinerator.

This area, devoid of human presence due to the polluted air, was mainly inhabited by addicts poisoned by gases from the incinerator, or merchants who hovered near the incinerator collecting scrap.

Cheche covered Yeosu’s nose and mouth with a piece of cloth torn from her skirt.
It became hard to breathe.
But this was better if she wanted to avoid coughing.

Fortunately, the stuffy time didn’t last long.
At a dead end, Cheche abruptly pulled aside the shelter tent in front of them.

Yeosu’s eyes widened at her mother’s act of brazenly entering a stranger’s shelter, but Cheche paid no mind and entered the tent.

“Mom. H-here…”

Inside the shelter was an old man, bandaging his own wounds.
It was the same black-skinned old man who had been beaten and collapsed during the fight over the nutritional powder recently.

The shelter was his.
He looked at Cheche, who was tightly closing the tent as if it were her own shelter, with disbelief.

“Huh, you must be out of your mind.”

“…”

“Did you come to check if I was dead?”

The old man pointed out that Cheche had just passed him by when he collapsed.
His words were barbed, but surprisingly, his tone was calm.

Cheche glanced behind her as if someone was following them.
The old man then noticed the satchel Cheche was holding.

It was a bulky size, too heavy to contain just firewood or cookies.
As if overtly demonstrating a desire to be plundered.

And the small girl who came with her.
Occasionally, foolish individuals would come to plunder his shelter, but it was the first time a mother and daughter pair had come.

“Surely you haven’t come to ask me to look after your child.”

The old man slowly stood up, leaning on his cane.
And when he looked at Cheche again, she was writing something on a piece of paper.

Being able to write meant she wasn’t born in the incinerator.
At least from a lower residential area.
Layers of wrinkles formed on the old man’s previously smooth forehead.

Finally, the paper was thrust into the old man’s face.
She clearly assumed he could read the common language.
The old man’s eyebrows drew together.

[Please help this child pass the Human Run screening.]

“I can’t make out what you’ve written at all. Did you draw something?”

The old man swatted the paper away and snorted.
But Cheche stood there without even blinking.

She was persistent.
Unable to understand what she wanted, the old man now felt anger beyond mere displeasure.

It was when he strode towards her, intending to kick her out himself.
Cheche flipped the paper over and began to write again.

[I’ll say it again. Please help this child pass the obedience test.]

The old man, who had been staring blankly as if speechless for a moment, then gasped and furrowed his brows even harder.

“Do you think I can interpret this? An old man like me?”

The old man yanked open the tent flap with the tip of his cane.
Then he looked directly into Cheche’s eyes and said.

“Please leave my home.”

The sunlight shone on Cheche’s face.
Her face was thin and unattractive, but her particularly distinct eyes made people flinch for a woman so thin.

The old man felt an unknown tension from her, who continued to stare at him.
It was when he reluctantly pushed Cheche’s arm.
Her lips opened.

‘Researcher 38.’

A forgotten name.
No, had it even been a name in the first place?
The tension in the old man’s firm jaw began to release.

Cheche’s next written response was quicker than the previous two.
As the firmly written words appeared in the old man’s sight, he finally had no choice but to give up pretending not to know.

[I know you were the researcher who designed the obedience test.]

Cheche, who had kept her lips tightly sealed, suddenly untied the scarf around her neck, as if she had made a decision.

The old man’s wavering gaze fell to below Cheche’s ear.
The wound, clearly visible in the sunlight, was mottled with horrific burn marks.

However, on closer inspection, the fine line was distinct.
It was where the ‘chip’ had been.
The old man recognized it precisely.

“…You.”

The old man, who had closed his eyes for a moment, asked in a trembling voice.

“Were you a human soldier?”

Cheche nodded.

43 years ago.

“Oh dear. Did you pull another all-nighter?”

Researcher 38 opened his eyes at someone’s hand touching his shoulder.
He roughly brushed back his messy bangs, revealing a man with a hearty smile.

It was Transport Soldier 1199, wearing a gray jumpsuit that looked like casual clothes and a peaked cap with a unit insignia, who visited his research facility once a month.

“Haa… Is it already two o’clock?”

The military transport vehicle always arrived at the base at 2 PM.

Researcher 38, who wiped his still sleepy face with both hands, checked the case.
The newly arrived recordings were tightly packed in each compartment.

“Eighty-eight again today?”

“The race is always held the same way.”

Transport Soldier 1199 presented a paper to Researcher 38, labeled ‘Human Run Recordings, April.’
It was a receipt confirming proper reception of the materials.

Scratch, scratch.

The procedure concluded with a simple signature in the last empty space.
Now, the recordings would be transferred to the research facility and serve as Researcher 38’s audio-visual materials for a while.

“By the way, you sleep really well. I’m envious.”

Transport Soldier 1199 sat on the desk and lit a cigarette.
Smoking was prohibited in the research facility, but he always smoked here before leaving.

Similarly, Researcher 38, who received a cigarette from him, also lit it and fell into thought for a moment.

“Today, I couldn’t sleep a wink because of the women’s screams. I wonder if that’s what ‘a pig’s squeal’ sounds like.”

Transport Soldier 1199 shivered, even citing an archaic idiom whose meaning was unclear.
Researcher 38, who didn’t know what a pig looked like, merely raised his eyebrows.

“Did you transport ‘test subjects’ again today?”

“Yes. I safely put them in Room 9.”

“Room 9…”

Cigarette smoke flowed from Researcher 38’s lips.
Room 9, at the end of the hallway, was the only area he couldn’t enter.
Therefore, he didn’t know exactly what experiments were taking place there.

Transport Soldier 1199 was the same.
He only ever transported young women in the military transport vehicle according to his superior’s orders.

“They said there was even a human soldier today.”

“A human soldier? You mean a girl soldier?”

“Yes. A girl soldier.”

Transport Soldier 1199 pursed his lips as if tasting something bitter.
But it wasn’t always like this. Today was just special.

This was because the test subjects transported to the research facility were often incinerator refugees.

“It seems there was some kind of problem. For example, an attempt at desertion.”

Researcher 38 shrugged.
Transport Soldier 1199, who had sighed as if regrettable, slowly regained his composure, like cigarette ash extinguishing under a water glass.

“Perhaps so.”

Transport Soldier 1199 adjusted his cap and stood up.
His gaze suddenly fell on the glass box on the desk.

He recognized that what lay inside, like an inkwell, was the ‘jockey’ that Researcher 38 had explained last time.

“Have you completed it already?”

“What… Oh, you mean that.”

Researcher 38 scratched the back of his head and replied.

“There’s still a lot left. The framework is done, but it needs functional additions.”

“I see. From the military’s perspective, they’d want the research to proceed quickly, but.”

When Transport Soldier 1199 spoke jokingly, Researcher 38 cleared his throat.
He felt caught off guard, being reminded that the development was getting delayed.

“It will be completed by winter, at the latest. By then, all racehorses will have that tattooed and be running.”

Both their gazes simultaneously returned to the ‘jockey’ carefully enshrined in the glass box.
Inside the glass bottle, the size of three fingers, was black ink.
That was the research material the military was most looking forward to.

“Can this tiny bit of ink really filter out impure breeds?”

“Yes, once it’s implanted into the subject’s body, the jockey can detect abnormal behavior through physiological reactions. All procedures for the obedience test will be improved from now on.”

“That’s good news.”

Although driving the transport vehicle was most of his daily routine, Transport Soldier 1199, highly loyal to the military, genuinely welcomed the news as if he himself were an examiner for the obedience test.

How many times had he transported corpses because of impure breeds?
One impure breed created unnecessary casualties numbering in the tens.

He couldn’t say that none of his comrades were among them.
Humans killing humans—how cruel and regrettable that was.

Impure breeds claimed to want to reclaim Earth from Juseong, but Transport Soldier 1199 knew they were opportunists only looking out for their own benefit.
Ultimately, all they wanted was to go to the upper residential areas and live a life of leisure.
Without even knowing their place.