WHEN WE WERE MADE,

IT WAS NO ACCIDENT.

cw // death, war, sexual assault, misogyny, violence

mothers.what were they to do in a world lit by desire? when the fabric of society crumbled and those they've nursed from their own breast grew weak, were they meant to watch?devastation comes in waves, not all at once.the korean war was enough as it is. the north reached their quaint coastal towns at the very bottom edge of jeollado: the jeju uprising, the yeosu-suncheon rebellion, scavengers, refugees. the war made rice scarce and people resourceful. while men were sent to fight, women were left to keep humanity tethered. they found ways to clothe their kin, to feed mouths begging for more, and do what they could to help loved ones flourish. at times, it felt like it wasn't enough. waves crashed and receded — tides came and went — but the heart could only nourish so much until it, too, began to fade. it was naive to believe hardships would ease just because the north was pushed back.in 1952, the drought hit. they survived the war without much, but water? the ribs of their children were showing and malnutrition weakened their bones. the war had ravaged the land, supply chains, food, and poisoned fresh drinking sources. the drought damaged the systems they thought would save them. when their lips started cracking and their chests ached with something unhuman, that's when it happened."we deal with this ourselves", a woman with big, stern eyes and a young heart spoke softly in that textile factory. she was twenty-six and had a two-year-old daughter. eom soonhui heard the neighbor's kids cry from dehydration and it made scars in her flesh when her own daughter began to do the same. how fucking shameful was it for a country surrounded by water to have none?her childhood home was nothing more than a shack but that's where it began. it's where her mother called soonhui her little sparrow, too. her mother preferred to live seaside (a displaced haenyeo from jeju would always need rocky shores to sleep), but knew her daughter belonged in the sky. soonhui's mother dove to give her daughter wings, and when she flew through the creaky door asking of the sea, she knew she had done right.desalinating ocean water was no easy task. after their shifts at the factory, eom soonhui and two others took turns boiling saltwater and collecting condensation in her mother's home. from their small operation, they had enough to give each family on their block one bottle's worth.word spread. hands did, too.mothers.leaning over hot stoves: one shack turned into two, turned into four. it multiplied and, by the end of the year, there was enough for the entire village to drink. the women of that textile factory met with the haenyeo who ruled the sea, and eom soonhui? she kept a dagger in the band of her secondhand military trousers. families received what they needed and nothing more. greedy hands didn't touch what wasn't theirs, or she'd make sure they wouldn't touch at all. one cry wasn't more important than any other. it's how her own palms became red.this faction kept growing — bigger, better, precise. jeollado's coast had desalination operations scattered throughout family homes, then soon enough, warehouses. the red sparrows kept their people's thirst at bay. unpolluted, fresh water made crops grow clean and laughter returned. it made them a target, too.mothers.they're a weapon. the depth of one's love is equal to the depth of one's capability for destruction. the red sparrows dominated the black market — distributing clean drinking water all over the country — and began earning money to grow, to conquer, and to defend. it only took once for a band of raiders to steal a supply before they made sure that'd never happen again. blood is fertilizer: for every drop misused, they'd spill an equal amount of their enemies'.growing in size meant dealing with men: there was no greater enemy than time, and time proved to force women at the bottom. misogynistic ideals were passed down generation to generation, and the red sparrows' direct threats weren't taken seriously, not with men who had been to war and back. that's where true power came in: getting under their skin. a man was weak in the soft presence of a woman, and they knew it, too. secrets spilled as drinks poured and a collection of blackmail grew. the red sparrows' guns were enough but information had a blade's edge.once the drought ended, their distribution routes turned into waves of knives and guns and ammunition (verbal, bullets). jujak defeated the smaller factions in the area through mind games and guns to heads, never knives in backs. they kept their borders secure with covert threats and reminding their opponents how sharp talons can be.mother!it's what all cry out while in the eye of despair. those in pain search for the woman who soothed their cuts and scrapes, who mended their bloody hearts. just the word alone evokes solace and comfort.it's how soonhui greeted her own on her deathbed.her mother's hand was on soonhui's cheek, "look at what you've done, my little sparrow." although breath was barely able to enter her lungs, a wrinkled thumb still swept over her aging daughter's tear streaks. a mother's love would never fade. pride, legacy, and blood wouldn't, either. soonhui would keep her alive — she'd keep everyone alive — and do so no matter the cost. she gave herself this obligation. eom soonhui was the sparrow and lit by fire.the 1980s came, and jujak flourished. their people were loved and sheltered, protected and fed. soonhui taught her daughter, misook, how to lead, and she did. they traveled to villages tucked in the valleys of the mountains, those lost on smaller islands, and patchwork homes scattered in fields. the leaders of jujak didn't just speak for their people, they spoke with them to make sure their needs were met. what use was power if it wasn't used for good?

with influence and money, jujak made demands to the government to improve the quality of life in the southwest. blood money was still money, and it subsidized education, housing, infrastructure, restorations. this once quaint band of mothers used their quick words and sharp talons to do things right. they made jobs, found childcare, made sure all received the healthcare they needed. jujak didn't sit on all their wealth, they funneled it back to where it mattered: the people.it helped them grow more.power.what a strange concept. it can be washed out all at once.baekho officials entered their territory for what was meant to be a redrawing of trade agreements. it was soonhui's last official order before giving the title of the sparrow to misook. jujak had weapons, baekho had strength — the two could coexist and thrive with a union. jujak would give as long as baekho would allow them to take.baekho only wanted to take.

guns and blades were meant to be left outside, and they were. the meeting began with pleasantries and tea. pens and papers clicked and shuffled on top of an oak desk, and then the door's lock was clicked. a gunshot was heard from outside. there was a scream and shuffling and —mother!it's how misook called out to soonhui in that meeting room, their eyes both seeking each other through tears. men would take. men would take a lot. men took soonhui's daughter and misook's mother, and nails and fists and threats wouldn't push them off.power.they weren't alone. it happened throughout jujak's territory. units of baekho's men flooded their warehouses and centers of operations. there were bullets in heads, but brute strength and surprise overwhelmed most. baekho took their guns, their knives, their ammunition, and ripped off carefully sewn clothing because they could.

power.baekho must have thought they took that, too. instead, this raid solidified what they knew from the start: greedy hands shouldn't touch what isn't theirs, and if time placed women at the bottom, time could drift them to the top: drops of dripping water wearing down stone.others seemed to misremember the origins of their people. it wasn't on the rocky southern shore, in some textile factory, nor eom soonhui herself. empathy was their creator — empathy of mothers — and the death of it would bring violent waves from mudflats to seoraksan. jujak took in the sick, the hungry, the poor. they did so without question.they were formed by mothers: loving, warm hearts.by mothers — unforgiving to those who harm their kin.if others betrayed the innocent and took advantage of the weak, they'd remind them how a slow and steady fire can purify even the sea. mothers sweating over boiling copper pots, clipped nails feeding bullets into chambers, red lips retelling lies or truths in needy ears: jujak was built from empathy and made moves for what was right by their people. the blood on their hands was from seeking justice, not desire.other parts of the country knew so, too. it was obvious once their headquarters were settled in the sinclave. silk street consisted of rows and rows of hanbok shops run by loving mothers. delicately dyed jackets, skirts, and sashes hung street-side while jujak officials enjoyed cups of tea in the back: discussing strategy and sharing stories, finding community while continuing to build one.in the mid-1990s, when the internet spread, jujak's information trade turned digital and lewd. brothels home to male sex workers were hubs for intel, and jujak's women were able to further infiltrate local government offices and media outlets. it didn't take long until they had people at the top, seeing corruption and speaking truth. they made allies with chungryong — neighbors to the east — and kept peace with hyunmu.with their influence, it was simple to stop the governmental coup of the 2000s. even if jujak didn't have red sparrows on the inside, their people had voices and jujak always encouraged their use. why fight for a system that disrespected the poor and forgot about the famished?mothers.they've always hovered over flames; it causes their pots to crack and pop and smolder. they sweat for the needs of their kin: they'd cut, they'd kill, they'd burn. they are why jujak's systems work. they solve problems and make hard choices; in a world where the desires of men lead, these women fly silent and spread quick.

like wildfire.

like wildfire.

i come as a blade —

a sacred guardian.

PHILOSOPHY

JUJAK IS A MACHINE: EVERY PART IS INTEGRAL, BUT REPLACEABLE.

those who work against the faction's goals and morals find a bullet in their heads. there is no grace. there are rarely second chances. members of the faction know the expectations placed upon them, and if they break their code, that's it.they view themselves as a crime group who is improving lives, not taking away from the quality of those who live under their care.

SKILLS

COMBAT MASTERY xPHYSICAL RESISTANCE xWEAPON MASTERY xINFLUENCE xFINANCIAL RESOURCES xESPIONAGE TACTICS xDEFENSE CAPABILITY xGOVERNMENT INFLUENCE xTECHNOLOGY PROFICIENCY xCOERCION TACTICS xCHARISMA xREPUTATION ( + ) xRESILIENCE xMEDIA INFLUENCE xBLACK MARKET SUCCESS x