I start by looking at maps, marking down which chemists to visit for antibiotics when the final lockdowns start. Joon-ho comes in, puts down a cup of tea, and looks at my plans.
"Planning where to get supplies in the future, I see..." he says.
"Yes, the time to act will be short once the infection reaches here," I answer. "But if we're quick, we can still get what we need."
I show him the maps, pointing out the chemists nearby. "Once they stop people from travelling, we might have a few days before everything goes into complete chaos. That's our chance to get in and out quickly."
Joon-ho thinks about the dangers. "People might ignore the rules to go out looking for food or medicine..." he says out loud.
I suggest using drones to check the area during these trips to avoid any surprise encounters with people or the infected.
Joon-ho agrees. "Drones could help us see dangers ahead.
We talk about how to get into chemists depending on how strict the lockdowns are. I think we might find some places left alone but not yet looted between the start of evacuations and when scavengers come through. There might be a short time to take advantage of the confusion before everything breaks down.
"Timing will be key," Joon-ho says, thinking it over. "But we've managed well with your guidance up to now. We'll be ready to act fast as things develop."
I'm confident in our plans. I've faced tough times before without being ready. Now, I know what to expect and have prepared ourselves with the right supplies and skills. The future is uncertain, but I'm in a better position to face it this time.
Later, Joon-ho finds me watching the news as reports of the infection spreading and hospitals being overwhelmed become more frequent. Without a word, he sits next to me as another urgent update comes in.
We sit in silence, the gravity of the news anchor's words settling around us like a thick fog. "Hospitals are at capacity, turning away patients. Families are urged to step in where medical facilities cannot," the anchor reports, her voice laced with an urgency that's become all too familiar. The stark reality of the healthcare system's breaking point is laid bare, no longer masked by the usual attempts to downplay the crisis.
Joon-ho and I look at each other, noticing the change in how the news is talking about the situation, no longer trying to hide the seriousness of it.
The screen then cuts to an expert, who, despite the grim backdrop, urges calm. "We must not give in to panic. It's crucial to adhere to emergency guidelines," he advises, his demeanor calm but firm. Yet, his words seem almost hollow against the backdrop of escalating chaos. His co-host attempts to inject a note of optimism, but the effort falls flat, overshadowed by the daunting statistics scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The juxtaposition of their measured tones against the reality of the situation creates a dissonance that's hard to ignore.
This scene is hauntingly familiar. In my past experiences, reaching this point signaled a point of no return. The infection had become too widespread, the fabric of society too frayed. Hospitals overwhelmed, public panic surging - these were the harbingers of a complete societal breakdown. The government's attempts to clamp down, to reassert order in the midst of pandemonium, only seemed to exacerbate the sense of despair.
Now, as we watch the latest updates, the patterns of the past loom large. The struggle of hospitals to cope with the influx of patients, the palpable fear among the populace, the increasingly authoritarian stance of the government - all echo the early stages of a collapse I've seen before. It's a grim reminder that despite my best efforts, some cycles are dauntingly difficult to break.
Joon-ho watches intently as the government spokesperson makes another urgent announcement, urging the public to prepare for immediate relocation if deemed necessary. I can tell the urgency in their voice, a clear sign that the situation is deteriorating rapidly. He reaches for the remote and turns off the TV, the glow from the screen fading into the dimness of the room. The silence that follows feels heavy, charged with unspoken fears and uncertainties.
He turns to me, his expression somber, and asks, "What happens next in this cycle?" It's a question loaded with dread, seeking insight into the grim pattern we've come to know all too well.
I let out a heavy sigh, the weight of our reality settling on my shoulders. "First, hospitals get overwhelmed and people start panicking," I begin, the words tasting bitter. "Then the government tries to take back control, no matter what it takes." My voice is steady, recounting the sequence of events as if reading from a script we've both seen played out too many times.
I go on to detail the tightening grip of authority as the situation spirals. "Curfews, lockdowns, and then the military gets involved. But as things get more desperate, the situation only gets worse." My gaze meets Joon-ho's, finding a reflection of my own resignation there.
"Officials will soon declare it's a national health emergency and send in the army to help. But things will still fall apart," I continue, each word underscored with a sense of inevitability. Joon-ho nods, his understanding of our predicament deepening with each word. He knows as well as I do how quickly everything can change, and how even those who are supposed to help can exacerbate the chaos.
"The chain of command breaks down, and soldiers and police start to act on their own," I say, painting a picture of the disarray to come. "People are asked to stay home, but it's hard when there's so much chaos."
I pause for a moment before delivering the most chilling prediction. "The calls for lockdown will lead to criminals taking advantage, raiding homes for supplies." My eyes lock with Joon-ho's, a silent question hanging between us. "What matters when survival is all that's left?"
Joon-ho's face hardens, the implications of my words settling in. "So, it's not just about outlasting the virus," he muses aloud, the gears turning in his head. "It's about facing the breakdown of society itself, defending what we have against not just the infected, but against desperation and lawlessness."
I nod, acknowledging his insight. "Exactly. It's a test of our resilience, our morality, and ultimately, our humanity." The conversation takes a turn, not just outlining the challenges ahead but also reaffirming our commitment to face them together.
"Alright, it's up to us now," says Joon-ho, ready to do what needs to be done. We prepare for what's coming, knowing we have to rely on ourselves in these dark times.
We're ready to face whatever comes, knowing we've prepared as best we can.