It was the beginning of 2016 when it happened. I remembered exactly where I was when the emergency breaking news interrupted every television and radio station in the country. I was sitting on the couch in my parents’ living room watching a late night marathon of the original Jurassic Park movies while shamelessly eating chocolate ice cream straight out of the carton when the obnoxious tone began to sound. I thought it was the usual test that often interrupted the usual programming, but the scrolling text caught my eye this time- it was different. I caught the word Korea, and my attention was suddenly fixated on the words. Scrambling, I reached my hand into the wedge between the leather cushions to retrieve the remote control. Once in hand, I used it to switch to the national news. The images that flashed on the screen were way scarier than the fake dinosaurs I had just been watching.

North Korea, the laughing stock of the international community, had finally made its move. Brigades of tanks, an impenetrable network of missile systems, and reverse-engineered aircraft pushed into the south like a ballsy game of Risk. All of those underground facilities the military had been monitoring apparently contained way more advanced technology than previously assessed. As the ice cream began to slowly melt in the container on my lap, I couldn’t move- my mind totally consumed by this news. It was around two in the morning. I wanted to run upstairs and wake up my parents, but I still couldn’t bring myself to look away.

I tried to absorb as much of the information as I could, but it was like trying to get a drink from a fire hose. It was just too much. I skipped school the next day- my parents understood. You see, I was born in South Korea. My name was Yoo Seoyeon, and I had lived outside of Seoul until I was five years old. Both of my birth parents were killed in a car accident, and I was adopted by a wealthy American couple. They had decided to keep my Korean citizenship so that I could make that decision myself as an adult. However, I was given the name Zoey, and grew up learning English as my second language. I had been grateful for my new parent’s logic, as I had planned to return to Seoul for college that following fall, thankful that I had kept fluent in Korean language. Of course, that plan went right out the window as soon as the news came.

Time passed, and the news continued to pour in. ‘The Great Reclamation’ as it was called continued unabated. The United States was powerless to stop it. The North Korean government was smart enough to peacefully let all foreign nationals leave the country on the condition that no foreign government attempted to intervene. And thus, the news began to fade out, as there was nothing we could do about it. For me, the disappointment of my thwarted college plans seemed to be the culmination of this tragedy. Every now and then I would check the news to see if there were any new developments, but all I really read about were stories from those who escaped. The new Korean government did not allow any Korean citizens to leave the country without paying an extremely high cost. I read one story of an American pop star hosting a fundraising concert in order to save her five Korean friends from the new regime. It apparently cost her several million American dollars. The six of them then had to go into hiding to avoid the constant international press.

A whole year passed since The Reclamation. “Zoey,” my mother’s voice called to me one day as I returned home from my petty retail job that I had taken while I figured my new life plan out. There was something in her voice that caused the pit of my stomach to sink. I dropped my bag by the door and made my way to the family room, where both of my parents were sitting rather stiffly on the couch. “Honey,” my mother called again, her forced smile continuing to worry me. My mother was the epitome of a beautiful California woman. Her long, wavy blonde hair was perfectly groomed as it cascaded over her shoulders. Her bright blue eyes were surrounded by the redness that was the sure sign of recent tears. Panic began to rise in my chest as I looked to my father.

My dad removed his glasses as he looked at me with serious, gray eyes, “Zoey, come sit down,” he spoke gently, his low rumbling voice managing to calm me very slightly, despite the obvious concern on his face. I obliged him, silently sinking into one of the adjacent chairs. As soon as I was seated, my father handed me a newspaper and an envelope.

“What is this?” I finally managed to ask, not really wanting to inspect the articles myself.

With a deep sigh, my father reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose where his glasses normally sat, “You’re a smart girl,” he spoke more to himself than to me.

“We tried to get you out of it,” my mother suddenly blurted, “I tried everything I could,” I heard the familiar signs of sobs start to creep up in my mother’s voice. I decided to ignore her, instead reading the newspaper that my father had handed me.

“Extradition Treaty,” I read aloud in wonder. As my eyes scanned the page, my heart nearly stopped. The summary of the article was pretty much that Korea had coerced the United States into signing an Extradition Treaty declaring all Korean citizens living in the US as fugitives, excluding those that had been ‘bought out’ over the past year or so. Apparently Korea had raised enough money with that program and had declared it invalid for any future applicants. That meant there was no hope for me, no matter how rich my parents might have been. I suddenly remembered the envelope, picking it up off of my lap. Immediately I noticed the seal of the United States. It was an official government document.

When I looked up at my parents, my mother was sobbing into my father’s shoulder as he watched me sadly. “You understand?” he asked me quietly.

I nodded as I opened the envelope, careful not to damage the paper inside. I finally got the document free, and hesitantly unfolded it. I scanned it carefully. It was a simple notice of extradition- and gave a date and time for my flight out of the United States and to the new Unified Korean State. “Two weeks,” I stated simply as I stared at the date. I flipped the page over, reading simple instructions: I was to bring nothing save for any official documents such as birth certificate, passport, diplomas, and the like. I stopped to consider my own feelings on the matter, but I simply felt heavy. Every beat of my heart was like a rock ricocheting around my ribcage. I finally took a deep breath, realizing I hadn’t properly breathed in several seconds.

And thus, the countdown begun. I spent my final two weeks of freedom with my parents and my friends, who I had come to accept that I would never see again. I steeled myself, slowly coming to terms that I was headed to a strange country where my fate would no longer be my own. I combed the news during every spare moment I could find. The country had mostly been closed off, the press rebuffed at every attempt at infiltrating the country. Most reports came from those who had been bought out, though it had been several months since then, and they had been the lucky few. In the end, I would have to just wait and see for myself.

The drive to the Air Force base was long and silent. I simply held the folder of documents close to my chest as I gazed out the back window as the backdrop scenery slowly drifted by. The only sounds that aded the car was the occasional sniffle from my mother in the passenger seat. I suppose that I was still in some state of disbelief, as if this was still some strange impossible dream. But at that moment, I felt nothing but dread. When we reached the armed guards at the gate of the base, my father presented the paperwork we had received, and I saw the Security Forces guard peek his head into the car to get a look at me. In his eyes I saw a sad sort of pity. Clearly I wasn’t the first one he had seen. Quietly he murmured directions to the flight line, and we were on our way. As we approached, I saw several large propeller cargo planes lined up in a row. Several civilian cars were parked in a nearby lot, and my father pulled in alongside them. Once the car was in park, there was a suffocating quiet. I decided to take the first step, opening my door and stepping out into the heavy California summer. Looking out onto the flight line and the rest of the parking, I saw several Korean families walking together. I hadn’t really thought much about it, but I was in the minority being extradited all by myself. I suppose it didn’t matter.

When I turned around, I was met with my weeping mother pulling me into a hug as she showered my head with sloppy kisses. She tried to speak, but no real words were formed. I looked up at my dad, who cried silently next to us, “You’ll be alright, kid,” he was clearly trying to sound comforting, and he almost succeeded.

“I’ll be fine,” I agreed quietly. I gave my mom a little squeeze, “But you should let me go before we get in trouble, okay?”

And just as I had said, a uniformed man approached us, whisking me away from the couple that had raised me as their own daughter. The US armed forces personnel were actually quite kind, but in the end they had to load me onto the large plane along with the rest of ‘my kind’. I was surrounded by frightened families, but I sat quietly by myself as the aircraft roared to life. I did my best to hold my head between my knees as we took off, determined to sle