As days blend into nights, the shelter gradually becomes more than just walls and a roof for Sue; it begins to feel like a haven, a place of tentative belonging. Her interaction with the group, initially reserved, starts to open up, particularly with Hye-jin, whose empathetic nature and medical expertise provide a much-needed sense of security.
One evening, as we all gather in the common area, Sue decides to share her story. Her voice, steady but tinged with the shadows of past events, narrates her journey from Seoul to our shelter.
"We stayed indoors back in Seoul, hoping it will be enough," she starts, her eyes reflecting the memory of a city in chaos. "My family and I, we rationed our supplies, listened to the broadcasts, waited for a sign that it was safe to venture out."
Her family, like many others, made the difficult decision to leave, aiming for Busan, where rumours of a safe haven persist. Along the way, they joined a group of survivors, each bringing their own strengths to the table, Sue's military background and physical prowess among them.
"We made progress, support each other. My training helped, kept us disciplined, focused," she continues, a hint of pride in her voice for the resilience they have shown. "But then... Jae-sun's group..."
The room falls silent, the gravity of her experience hanging heavy in the air. Her subsequent capture and loss, details of which she spares us, are evident in the weight of her gaze, the subtle steel in her tone.
"I heard something about Jae-sun while I was in his camp," she begins, her eyes scanning ours, gauging our reactions. "They said he's not like us."
"What do you mean 'not like us'?" Joon-ho asks.
"I heard… He is living his second life," Sue answers.
The room falls into a stunned silence. Joon-ho and I exchange a look of shared astonishment and scepticism.
"What did they mean, 'living his second life'?" Joon-ho asks,
Sue shakes her head. "I don't know all the details. But it was clear they believed it—his followers. They said it was why he always seemed a step ahead, why he survived things he shouldn't. Like he knows what's coming."
The possibility that Jae-sun, like me, is experiencing this surreal cycle of life and death, of past and future, sends ripples through my understanding of our reality.
If he truly possesses knowledge from a past life, it would afford him an almost invincible edge. And yet, this acknowledgment stirs a deep-seated confusion within me. The solitude of my experience, the singular burden of my foreknowledge, suddenly appears less unique. Am I not the only one caught in this cycle?
Doubts cloud my mind, mingling with an undercurrent of fear. If Jae-sun and I are both echoes of the past and the future, what does that mean for our conflict? Is it destined, a clash written across time, or merely a coincidence of our mutual conditions? The implications are dizzying, unsettling.
But amidst this storm of uncertainty, a slender thread of hope weaves its way through my thoughts. If there are others like us, then perhaps there is a way to understand, to unravel the mystery of our condition. Maybe Jae-sun, despite being our adversary, holds a piece of that puzzle.
This sliver of hope doesn't erase the myriad questions or the looming threat of Jae-sun's group. Still, it provides a new perspective, a potential avenue for answers I'd never considered. If we're both navigating the streams of time, there might be a way to anticipate his moves, to counter his apparent prescience with our own.
In the weeks that follow, Sue begins to acclimatise to the rhythms and routines of shelter life. Each day brings new learning opportunities, and she approaches them with the same discipline and rigour that defined her military career. Hye-jin becomes not just a friend but a mentor, teaching her the specifics of first aid and medical care, skills that enhance her value to our collective survival.
Meanwhile, Joon-ho and I maintain our vigilance on Jae-sun's group. We take turns monitoring the drone feeds, gathering intelligence, noting any changes in their numbers or behaviour that could signal a threat. Our shelter's safety depends on this continuous watch, and we treat it with the utmost seriousness.
***
One evening, just as the dimming light casts long shadows across our shelter, Joon-ho calls me over with a sense of urgency in his voice that instantly heightens my alertness. "There's something happening at Jae-sun's camp," he says, his eyes fixed on the drone's live feed, which displays on the monitor before us.
I lean in, watching as the screen shows a sudden flurry of activity within the camp. Figures move chaotically, illuminated by the sporadic flashes of gunfire. It's clear a battle has broken out, but the aggressors are not just a random band of survivors; they're organised, methodical, and their assault on Jae-sun's camp is relentless.
As we observe, the battle intensifies. Jae-sun's group, caught off guard, scrambles to mount a defence, but the attackers are overpowering them, their tactics and firepower too much for the unprepared camp. In the chaos, we can see structures ablaze, the night sky alight with the fire of conflict.
"Joon-ho," I say, pausing the footage on a frame that clearly shows the group in action, "these are the same people we saw before. Remember, the ones who were systematically clearing the infected and inspecting their eyes?"
He leans closer, scrutinising the screen, and recognition dawns in his eyes. "You're right. Their methods, their gear... it's unmistakable. But why attack Jae-sun's group?"
The connection between these two encounters, separated by time and context, seems more than coincidental. This group's organised approach and their peculiar behaviour suggest they possess knowledge or objectives beyond mere survival.
What if this mysterious group, with their methodical precision and obscure rituals, holds the key to understanding the phenomena of reincarnation that both Jae-sun and I seem to be experiencing? Their targeted attack on Jae-sun's camp, their meticulous inspection of the infected's eyes—it all suggests a purpose, a search for knowledge or signs that might be linked to the cycle of rebirth and foreknowledge.
If they are indeed aware of the reincarnation cycle, it could explain their strategic advantage, their seemingly prophetic actions. Perhaps they're not merely surviving but actively investigating, trying to manipulate or understand the very fabric of this reality. Jae-sun, with his rumoured foreknowledge, would naturally be of interest to them—a subject for study or a threat to be neutralised.
The weight of this possibility sits heavily on my shoulders. If this group understands the secrets of reincarnation, they could hold answers to the questions that have haunted me since I first realised the truth of my own existence. They could provide insights into why this is happening, how to navigate the cycles, or even how to break free from them.
But with these potential revelations comes a new wave of concern. Knowledge, especially of this magnitude, is power. If this group seeks to control or exploit the cycle of reincarnation, what might they be capable of? And where does that leave me, another anomaly in the pattern of time?
In the seclusion of our observation post, Joon-ho and I watch intently as the drone feeds us live images of the battle's conclusion. The mysterious group's tactical superiority is undeniable, and as the conflict unfolds, it becomes clear they have the upper hand. Their movements are precise, their intentions clear—they aim to decimate Jae-sun's forces, leaving no one to retaliate or seek vengeance.
The climax of this violent confrontation is both grim and telling. As the dust settles and the victors survey the aftermath, it's evident they have spared a single life: Jae-sun. Surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his followers, he stands alone. And soon the victorious group leads Jae-sun away.