Chapter 2: Super human disease, ha jin -woo (1)

Everyone called this war the Third World War.

There had always been wars before that.

But none of them were enough to be called a ‘world’ war.

Either too few nations participated, or there were only localized battles, or the casualties were low.

People died, as it was war, but none of them were enough to be considered a ‘world’ war.

Only that war, which began with a single shell falling on Seoul, was different.

Everyone believed it would be the prelude to a world war.

I, too, felt the same.

That war was different in scale and level from any war that had come before it.

Humanity employed the pinnacle of its technology to kill one another.

Bioweapons created by modifying animals and humans.

Swarms of drones executing perfect strategies under AI control.

A drug that could regrow even severed arms, yet its addictiveness and psychological impact were so severe that even soldiers suffering from PTSD voluntarily returned to the battlefield.

Countless weapons designed simply to kill humans more easily.

As if that wasn’t enough, humanity challenged the dominion of God.

It was a complete biological improvement carried out on fellow humans.

Achieved only after countless humans perished during experiments.

Physical abilities that far surpassed humanity’s biological limits.

Infinite lifespan.

Regenerative abilities that could regrow even lost limbs—which would be permanent injuries for ordinary humans—if only there was proper nutrition and rest.

Crucially, even superhuman abilities that seemed to prove their existence as something different from humans.

Refracting light on their skin to become transparent.

Emitting lightning from their fingertips.

Enveloping their bodies in fire.

Special and unique abilities that could move legions at once, truly worthy of being called gods.

People called us by various names.

Super Soldiers, Heroes, Metahumans, Enhanced Humans, Modified Humans, and so on.

And I knew that even beings called by such names felt loneliness and were not perfect.

Though, what in the world *is* perfect.

After serving for 83 years, 37 years passed since my desertion, and I became 137 years old.

I, Ha Jin-woo, once a Metahuman, fiddled with my smartphone while watching the sunrise over the Russian tundra from inside a bunker.

It was an item that had been with me since I was 17.

Although it had broken down countless times, fortunately, it was something I had continued to use after repairing it.

Fragments of data containing the beautiful things I had seen, and the faces of precious people I once cherished but who were no longer by my side.

I put it into my pocket and watched my sigh, spreading with my breath, form a white mist.

Would something similar be surging somewhere in the world now?

I thought probably not.

Beyond the smartphone I had bitterly put away, I fiddled with the wooden stock of the shotgun at my side.

I felt its curved shape, the marks carved into the wood grain according to the shape of my hand, and its heavy yet incredibly familiar weight.

That, at least, soothed my heart.

Today, I buried my last family member.

Though they were a stranger with whom I shared not a drop of blood, we had lived together for so long that they were family.

It was a connection I had made while traversing China after my desertion, and a friend who had stayed with me for a long time even after my wife died.

Even though one might have found me unsettling, as I had lived for 120 years without a single wrinkle on my skin, they were a person who remained my friend until the very end.

An ordinary human who had remained by my side even as their entire family died from bioweapons, yet regretted their ordinariness at the moment of death.

They were a person for whom even living an ordinary life in this world was difficult.

Unlike me.

That fact hit me painfully, and I took a moment to mourn.

When I opened my eyes, the sun was rising.

Shadows stretched along the sky, which spread in shades of blue, and streaks of light extended to the horizon. It was beautiful, but at that moment, it only felt painful to my eyes.

Unable to bear it any longer, I returned inside the bunker.

There, urns containing the cremated remains of the people who had lived with me in this bunker were carefully placed, alongside their final photographs.

They were ordinary people.

They were people who had simply wanted to live, and who lived until the very end before disappearing.

Struggling to remember their faces, I opened the album on my smartphone from where I sat and looked through it.

Photographs, videos, and small anecdotes that were awkward to record as videos, so I had written them as memos and taken photos of them.

Now, if this data and I were gone, their faces, names, and memories would be forever forgotten and vanished.

I leaned my head against a giant cylinder and sighed.

I felt depressed.

I wasn’t in a good mood.

I had skipped meals, my posture was uncomfortable, and my head throbbed, demanding a means to reduce the nervous burden. For example, a cigarette.

Amidst all that, when I raised my head, I saw the cryo-pod.

An antique I had once salvaged from a Russian military base.

Something I had somehow repaired and intended to consider using once everyone else had died.

It was something no one else could use besides me, as it wasn’t designed for ordinary human use.

It was an item that offered me the option of waiting until humanity rebuilt society and excavated me.

I was skeptical whether such a thing would even be possible, though.

There was no response or anyone coming to the broadcast I had kept on every day, and no other signals were picked up.

While a pessimistic prediction that humanity might truly have perished came to mind, I had no choice but to hold onto hope.

That someday, humanity would rebuild and awaken me.

That the world had changed, the war was over, and the rebuilt society was striving to recover from the aftermath of the war.

That they would tell me they desperately needed a helping hand.

Wishing for just that, I ultimately decided on hibernation.

Once the decision was made, the tasks ahead were clear.

First, since I didn’t know when I would wake up, I securely stored the items I cherished.

By placing them in a dedicated storage container made of bio-synthetic resin, with multiple layers of vacuum sealing, and even radiation shielding.

Though I didn’t know if even this would be perfect, or if it would still be where I left it when I woke up.

When going into a sleep from which I might not even wake, it wasn’t wise to expect too much.

After that, it was the final check of the cryo-pod.

A generator that would semi-permanently maintain the cryo-pod, whose principles I didn’t understand, but which was still working.

An old-generation AI with performance incapable of generating self-awareness.

I replenished freezing gas and other such things to a level that wouldn’t damage the organ functions of a superhuman like me.

I suppose I could have prepared more, but… I didn’t want to travel alone by car through this vast, human-less land any further.

So, I decided to be content with this much.

I simply opened the cryo-pod and laid my body inside.

[Deep hibernation protocol initialized. Vital functions stabilizing.]

As I loosely stretched my body, a chill slowly spread through me.

[Capsule sealed. Transitioning to preservation mode.]

The cryo-pod closed, along with the procedure guided by an impersonal Russian voice.

[Life support systems in autonomous mode. See you in the future.]

When I woke up again, what kind of sight would I truly behold?

Even as I harbored doubts, I couldn’t let go of a ray of hope.

When I opened my eyes again, I hoped there would be people telling me that everything was over and welcoming me to the future.

[May time be kind to you until your new awakening.]

As the cryo-pod said, hoping that time would be merciful to me.

I simply closed my eyes.

[Recommended hibernation time exceeded. Defrosting protocol initiated.]

Until the moment my eyes suddenly snapped open.

Rattle!

Faint human figures were visible beyond the cryo-pod’s translucent window, blurred with frost.

Were these people who had come to welcome me?

I saw them moving busily. Though blurry.

The announcement about the recommended hibernation time being exceeded, which was in Korean, bothered me.

But if I considered that the cryo-pod had been modified while I slept, it wasn’t strange.

The important thing was not to panic or scare them too much.

Minor things could come later.

First, assess the situation.

I didn’t know what kind of aftermath the Third World War had left.

Nor did I know what my image had become.

Trying to remain calm, I waited for the hibernation to fully release and the pod to open.

[Opening the cryo-pod. Welcome to the future.]

And then, strangely, the announcement came out in Russian.

Yet I felt the meaning register clearly in my mind.

Before I could even harbor doubts, a shrill voice was heard.

“C-Captain…! The pod…?!

“What? No, why is it suddenly opening?!”

“I don’t know! What should we—”

Judging by the people blurting out words in a panic, it was not a welcoming atmosphere.

What was even more perplexing was the sight of the people filling my vision.

Primitive backpacks made of leather, guards, breastplates, and gauntlets that seemed to be made by hammering metal.

Metal helmets obstructing their vision, wooden shields, longswords, maces, spears, polearms, and bows.

Armament that didn’t seem to account for the use of firearms, or even enemies using firearms.

An extremely crude armament state, so much so that it could even be called medieval, and the shock and bewilderment in their gazes directed at me.

Even while I utterly failed to understand the situation, the threat was clear.

It wasn’t the threat they were directing at me.

It was the thumping, shaking door and the furniture haphazardly placed in front of it.

It was something beyond that.