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“It’s likely they are going to target the transmission towers crossing over Mount Givat Hamore Reserve,” Young-Joon said.

He was sitting in Robert’s car, with Google Maps and a schematic of the city’s power grid open on his phone. He pinpointed the attack points with uncanny accuracy, almost like a fortune teller, yet the Palestine Liberation Army was always slightly ahead of the Israeli forces in Afula.

“We’re doomed.”

Lieutenant Colonel Kashin of the Israeli army sighed.

This was after they had managed to eliminate a few members of the Palestinian Liberation Army on Mount Reserve and capture Abrahim and Major Aziz.

The city’s entire power supply was completely destroyed.

Felus canceled all his scheduled engagements and headed to Afula at full speed.

“We can serve as the control tower from Jerusalem!”

“There could still be more terrorists! You cannot go!”

Everyone around him was shocked and tried to stop him, but Felus was no longer in a state to think clearly.

The power was completely cut off. Some major hospitals in developed countries had their own generators, but not in Afula. The hospitals there were hastily built during the mid-late twentieth century due to the surge of war casualties from constant warfare. Their emergency power systems were not very reliable.

Seven hours. After that time, the ventilators at Hamak Hospital were going to stop. And his son, Lagba, who was in a brain-dead state, was never going to be able to recover.

“I… I have to go…” Felus said.

He seemed a bit dazed. The way he staggered out of his office, tears streaming down his face, didn’t look prime ministerial at all.

The directors at Jerusalem’s disaster control tower were bewildered by his abnormal misery.

“You take over,” Felus asked Defense Minister Benetalli before heading outside.

Felus left with just his chief of staff and two bodyguards. They got in a car and headed straight for Afula.

*

“I pitied Lagba,” Felus said, on his way to Afula. “And I thought if that boy, who has endured so much pain, could be treated and smile again, then perhaps the conflict between our country and Palestine could also be healed.”

Felus wiped his face with both hands.

“But it’s not like that,” he said. “He wasn’t a symbol of hope or peace for this country. He was just a lovely boy, not a pitiful one. Just an ordinary teenage boy.”

Felus let out a long, damp sigh and repeatedly wiped his reddened eyes with his hands.

“He was just a kid. He resented me, worried me, tormented me for years, but also made me laugh, just like any normal child. He grew up bravely, even while in hiding,” Felus said in anguish.

“I even brought Ryu Young-Joon. All that was left was the treatment. It was almost done… That child doesn’t know anything about the Middle East conflict. He did nothing wrong and knows nothing. But why does he have to suffer so horribly…”

Felus began to sob.

“Your son hasn’t passed away yet,” said the chief of staff.

“...”

“When we get to Afula, let’s ask the medical staff from the Next Generation Hospital to administer the stem cell treatment. Who knows, he might recover and be able to breathe on his own…”

*

Even though he knew it was hopeless, Felus had no other option. He went to the doctors from the Next Generation Hospital who had evacuated to the emergency bunker.

“Please administer the stem cells to Lagba…” he pleaded, even bowing his head.

But what couldn’t be done, couldn’t be done.

The medical staff refused, horrified.

“The stem cells are not yet fully developed, and we haven’t even checked for contamination or quality! We can’t administer them in their current state. We also don’t have enough!”

Song Min-Hyuk, who was in charge of the procedure, adamantly shook his head.

“But if we do nothing, my son will die. The ventilator will run out of power in just a few hours.”

“... But… Even so…”

Song Min-Hyuk looked at Felus with pity but hesitated to proceed with the procedure.

“Right now, all the emergency power is being used to maintain ventilators, ECMO, and EKG machines. The lab’s power is only being used to keep essential items like stem cells preserved at the minimum required level,” Song Min-Hyuk explained. “Even if we were to attempt the procedure with the unfinished stem cells, there isn’t enough power to even light up the operating room.”

“...”

Felus bit his lower lip.

Song Min-Hyuk felt sorry for him, but there was no other way. Even the renowned Professor Miguel needed a radiation monitor when delivering stem cells to the subventricular zone through the nose. Although this procedure was much simpler than Miguel’s method due to improved delivery techniques, it still involved nasal administration. If successful, most neurosurgeons would be able to perform it, but a radiation monitor was still essential.

“Without power, it’s impossible…”

Felus momentarily had a horrifying thought and fell into self-loathing. The idea he had was to divert some of the remaining four hours of power from other critical patients to conduct the stem cell procedure.

“... What if we move him somewhere else? To Nazareth Hospital…?” asked Felus, grasping at straws.

“We’ve already considered that…”

Song Min-Hyuk began to reply, but a professor from Hamak Hospital interrupted.

“All available vehicles were used to transport the highest priority coma patients first. And because brain-dead patients are legally considered deceased under current Israeli law… They were not prioritized for emergency transport.”

“...”

“Nazareth is also affected by the transmission tower destruction and is not in a position to help. Only a few patients have been transported there…” said the professor from Hamak Hospital.

“... I see,” Felus replied in a heavy, sinking voice.

He left the bunker.

“Mr. Prime Minister.”

Felus stopped the chief of staff and the security team who were following him out.

“Please, let me be alone.”

He went to Hamak Hospital. He walked up to the fifth floor, where the critical patients who couldn’t be evacuated were.

Arriving at Labga’s bedside, Felus sank down next to him.

There was nothing he could do. His son was neither deceased nor terminally ill. It was a treatable condition, and the doctors who could treat him and the scientists who could create the treatment were all here. They had even made the treatment.

But there was nothing they could do. Even a country’s prime minister could feel so powerless.

The greatest cruelty of the power outage was that it set a fixed time of death. When a doctor gave a terminal prognosis to a cancer patient, they typically said something like “about three weeks” or “around four months,” leaving the timeframe somewhat ambiguous. Often, patients lived longer than expected.

But Lagba was different. His last moment was when the power to the ventilator and ECMO was cut off. It was a time of death scheduled down to the exact second. This fated death sentence dealt to his most beloved person who was treatable was too cruel and horrifying.

Click.

Suddenly, the door to the hospital room opened, and a young woman appeared.

“...”

She didn’t say anything, but Felus felt like he knew who she might be. The fact that she had come to this intensive care unit with tears streaming down her face meant that she was a family member of one of the critically ill patients lying here.

She moved to the bedside by the window and approached a young soldier who had been on a ventilator and in a coma for weeks.

It was probably her husband.

She knelt down and took a tallit out of her bag, covering her head with it.

“Praise the Lord, our great God, Creator of Heaven and Earth. You are our shield and the shield of our ancestors. Blessed be the shield of Abraham.”

Instead of crying, she prayed.

“You are mighty and strong. You are our protector who revives the dead and is eternal…”

‘...’

Felus watched her with a bitter smile.

‘She’s better than me,’ he thought.

It was better to pray than to be in despair.

After a while, more relatives of the patients began to arrive. Nearly a hundred people filled the intensive care unit and even the hallway. They cried, screamed, held hands and prayed, cursed and swore at the Palestinian terrorists, and occasionally fainted. The rapidly dwindling power was not just the lives of the patient but also the mental strength of their families.

After three hellish hours, Felus, as the prime minister, was about to announce that the power was gone. Just as they were preparing themselves for the worst…

Thud!

The door to the room swung open, and a doctor with swollen eyes stumbled in.

“T… The power is back,” he said, stuttering.

All the families in the intensive care unit stood up in unison, as if on cue.

“What?” asked the young woman who was praying.

“The power is back. We have a few more hours…”

The miracle had come through the efforts of Conson & Colson to A-GenBio and Karpu, following the path of the cold chain.

*

“Is this really what we’re supposed to do?”

Shin Wook-Jae, a first-year junior sales representative at A-GenBio, scratched his head at the absurd request while driving a truck from Karpu, the ghost company.

“Yes, it’s done now,” said the emergency power managers at Hamak Hospital with faces full of excitement.

“Ha, well, anyways, that’s a relief.”

Shin Wook-Jae laughed.

About thirty minutes earlier, on his way here, Shim Jae-Wook had received a call from an unknown number. It turned out to be the CEO at the top of the ladder of A-GenBio Group: the monster scientist who controlled seven A-GenBio labs, a cancer research lab in the United States, A-GenLife, and the Next Generation Hospital had called him directly.

—Where are you right now?

“I-I-I’m currently at C-Conson & Colson with the polyomavirus inhibitor…”

Shin Wook-Jae stammered several times, too shocked to speak properly.

—You brought the Antipolyma in the deep freezer, right? Where are you right now?

“I-I’m almost at Afula. No, I’m here now.”

—Great. Go straight to the management office on the basement floor of Hamak Hospital, and tell them you’re looking for the emergency power supply manager. If you mention that you’ve brought solar cells, they should take care of it. How many cells do you have with you right now?

“S-Since they are still prototypes, I brought a lot just in case there are any malfunctions or damages. I have eight modules in my truck right now…”

—And what about the ESS?

“I have two fully charged ones.”

—Okay. Please head directly to Hamak Hospital.

And it was exactly as Young-Joon said. The emergency power supply managers shed tears of joy as they quickly rearranged and reconnected the wires. And when they flipped the switch, the eight solar cell modules began supplying power with incredible efficiency.

The two ESS units brought in to run the deep freezers at night were also full, and the hospital suddenly had plenty of power.

“But we’ve only bought a little time. We distributed one ESS and six solar cells to other hospitals,” said the ICU[1] doctor at Hamak Hospital. “We had no other choice because other hospitals also have many patients on ventilators.”

“If we manage to buy more time here, can we sacrifice things like labs or drug storage freezers to power more ventilators?” Felus asked.

“Well… It’s possible, but…”

“Sir! Mr. Prime Minister!” shouted someone in a booming voice.

It was from the hallway. The chief of staff, who was extremely excited, ran to the intensive care unit.

He exclaimed, “Additional solar cells have arrived!”

“There’s more?” asked Felus, quickly running out into the hallway.

“Check outside!” said the chief of staff.

Those who responded to the chief of staff were the families of patients in the intensive care unit. Before Felus could do anything, they rushed outside and witnessed a shocking scene. About two hundred solar cell modules were coming in loaded on ten trucks.

“Send one truck to each hospital.”

And in front of them was Young-Joon. It felt like a dream.

“What is… Doctor Ryu?”

“I’m sorry, but I brought back all the solar cells I donated to Israel to use as a prototype from Jerusalem,” Young-Joon said. “And I’ve also requested emergency assistance from neighboring Middle Eastern governments, so please wait a bit.”

1. intensive care unit ☜