"Jang Young, your father isn't here. He went up to the county office to see the leadership," called the security guard as Jang Young passed through the gate, box in hand.
"Uncle Kim, is the workshop running again? Thought I'd sign in," Jang Young said, already making for the guardhouse.
"Ah, what do you mean, working? Nothing's running. No need to sign in. Go ahead, but be careful—machines are dangerous when the power's on." Uncle Kim waved him through, a little more lenient than with other officials' kids. Jang Young was known for never taking so much as a bolt from the place, nor did he mess with equipment.
Today, though, his plan was different.
Jang Young entered the dim workshop and eyed the rows of aging equipment. Five years ago, this was top of the line. These days, the richer districts or export factories used newer models, but in provinces like this, they were still standard.
He set down his box and poked around. Much of the machinery was unfamiliar—his past game development days had been in bright, modern tech parks. Still, after a search, he found what he needed: a DUMP device. But the interface wasn't the one he remembered.
"Who's there? Jang Young?" Sun Kyung, a mid-level technician, wandered over, curiosity on his face. "What're you looking for?"
"I'm trying to adjust the interface on this DUMP unit—need it to copy some game cartridges," Jang Young responded. The older man was familiar, but he couldn't quite remember the name.
"Even if you pull the data, how will you get it out?" Sun Kyung asked, puzzled.
"Easy. Burn it into ROM chips. Isn't there a writer over there?" He pointed. "It's just loading the data onto a read-only memory chip, right?"
"But the game cartridges use ROM already," Sun Kyung pressed.
"No problem. I know how to bypass Nintendo's old security tricks. It's just eight-bit hardware—obsolete in America and Japan now anyway."
"You? Crack that? All right, I'll help adjust the interface. Let's see if you really can copy cartridges," Sun Kyung agreed, half amused, half intrigued. After all, the materials in the factory were just gathering dust these days. If the chief engineer's own son wanted to experiment, why not?
Two hours later, Jang Young stared at the bare green circuit board in his palm—a perfect copy. He grinned in triumph. Number one, complete.
Before long, a box was filling up. They worked faster and faster—the blank cards, once copied, were set aside, nearly ready for use.
"Enough, Jang Young!" Sun Kyung finally said. "Aren't you going overboard? How many do you need? Also, you know these burn materials aren't cheap."
Jang Young just smiled. "We're not doing this for fun. They're to be sold—all of them. In fact, let's switch. Don't bother with Contra for now; focus on Tank Force instead."
"Sold?" Sun Kyung looked at the growing pile, unsure. "To whom? Who'd buy these things?" But before he could object further, Jang Young was already absorbed in his work.
Noon brought a new scent to the workshop, and an elderly janitor came by, carrying two humble lunchboxes—one labeled "Jang Gwangsu" (his father), the other "Sun Kyung." Jang Young finally remembered the older man's name.
Inside: two steamed buns and a bit of seasoned mung bean noodles. Meatless, but enough to fill his belly. "Thanks, hyung."
"This was supposed to be your dad's lunch. But he'll barely make it back before the end of the day. You're his son—eat up."
"Best cooking in the industrial district," Jang Young joked as he wiped his mouth.
"Not hardly—these are from the convenience shop by the gate. The canteen's been closed for months, all the kitchen staff transferred to the mechanical plant. Even the shop is owed months of bills by the factory. If not for credit from half the local restaurants, how do you think workers have managed to make it to New Year's?"
"Don't worry," Jang Young replied quietly, "you'll see back pay soon." This wasn't an empty comfort. Before 1992, the government would always find emergency funds before Seollal. After '92, though… that was when his father left, and things at the factory changed forever.
Really? That brought a weary hope to Sun Kyung's eyes, as if any word from the chief engineer's family might really herald good news.
"Tell you what—take a break, hyung. Let me handle this run. I know the steps." Actually, for soldering and precise placement, Sun Kyung was far more skilled. They worked together at the benches, production line humming again for the first time in months.
"Hey, do we have a plastics factory in this county?" Jang Young asked as they worked.
"None here, but a few in the next county over, or the city. What're you after?"
"Just wondering. You have a phone book?"
"Yellow Pages are in the office. I'll dig it out."
"Great. Keep these running—materials and labor will all go on the factory's tab. I'll tell Dad so you'll get a bonus when this is all finished."
In his last life, Jang Young saw that the really profitable pirated cartridges were the ones that included plastic shells and stickers. The loose, bare boards looked cheaply made and sold for much less. The case and label—a simple plastic clamshell—cost little, but nearly doubled resale value.
Soon, Sun Kyung was working like a man on a mission.
Jang Young found the Yellow Pages in the admin office and called the listed number for the neighboring county's plastics workshop. Just placing an order for the small cartridge shells cost a 200,000-won deposit—and five thousand won per unit. Was plastic always this expensive back then?
Tonight, he decided, he needed to have a serious talk with his father.