Well since everyone is RPspamming I guess I might as well toss in another page.
Kwang Jae-geun, CEO of BJGNB, has been called the most powerful man in Korea, and for good reason. As head of the country's foremost hi-tech corporation, he has access to the resources that can make and break political empires... and the company has an exclusive government permit to reverse-engineer every alien artifact it can dig up. Despite the churning of the rumour mill, there is yet no substantive evidence that Kwang himself is Super, but he is a talented inventor in his own right. During the invasion he exhibited a particular knack for deciphering the Other's technology, working under the secretive Office of Extra-Terrestrial Engineering not merely as project supervisor, but also as a ground-floor technician in the army's desperate bid to hoist the aliens by their own petard.
For his service, Kwang is lauded as a national hero, a distinction he neither treats lightly, nor indeed likes to invoke at all. Everyone that knows him characterizes him as an introvert, a man that invented his own spotlight yet takes great pains to stay out of its arc. Whatever his capacity for influence over parliament, his dealings with Seoul have always been at arm's length; less-scrupulous neoliberal colleagues would even say he is criminally squandering his power. Indeed, he has even been known to deflect government contracts to smaller companies, either out of genuine civic altruism or a calculated PR gambit.
But he still holds the lion's share.
Out of recognition of its technical expertise, after the war BJGNB was granted a monopoly license on Other-derived research and development, an agreement that practically guarantees the corporation's future. Kwang is also granted perennial defence contracts, although when not involving alien-derived weapons these are usually subcontracts for electronics infrastructure and command-and-control systems. Rival corporations, particularly overseas firms from Europe and Japan, have long charged that the relationship reeks of patronage and protectionism, that Seoul is using BJGNB as a proxy state corporation to throttle access to the wealth of technology it has derived from the alien wreckage. The public story: Seoul is merely retaining the best in the field, and overseas multinationals are jealous that their cities weren't pulverized by bits of Other mothership. In truth, the government will virtually bend over for Kwang; Seoul needs him and his company for a much less palatable and permanent project: finding (and, so they hope, killing) Hwayeombangsagi.
To turn the popular adage, it takes a super to catch a super. And for the past three years Korea has been under the menacing shadow of an elusive supervillain some claim is Class-X. The country has no supers of its own—at least, none willing to take up the gauntlet of national security—and given its nasty reputation as the "Bermuda Triangle of supers", foreign recruitment drives have received few call-backs beyond the suicidal. BJGNB is Seoul's best recourse, its proverbial blank cheque to alien research intended to facilitate development of a means to beat the super at his own game. And so, contrary to the public perception that Kwang abhors hobnobbing with the MPs, he holds a special seat next to the President's ear as Special Advisor on Superhuman Strategy.
Presently, Kwang, Seon, and the usual presidential retinue are seated at a small conference table as the CEO outlines his current research progress. "Small-scale testing has proven encouraging. We're still calibrating the sensor systems, but full-scale distribution should be ready by month's end."
"Good," the President mutters, passing the dossier back across the table. "I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that we start showing we can push back. The latest victim was practically a child; it's downright contemptible."
"It's a start, but hardly foolproof," Kwang says slowly.
"You said the scanners could pick up the signal up to a kilometre underground. That's far better than anything we have on hand."
"It can detect the C-K reaction, yes, and Hwa-yeom's projects employ C-K energy as their primary power, but Hwa-yeom may not be C-K positive himself."
"I thought all supers were C-K positive?"
"They may derive their powers from the C-K reaction, but that does not mean that they carry the C-K strain, much less an internal reactor. These sensors should help in locating his base of operations, but he might still be off the radar."
"So if he isn't C-K, what is he?" Seon frowns. Even in a world that's been acquainted with supers for three-quarters of a century, the President finds that virtually every meeting with Kwang reveals hitherto-unknown nuances.
"No-one that has found out has lived to tell," he grins ruefully. "There are rumours that he is not even superhuman, per se..."
"Yes, I've heard the stories, and I don't believe them. Even that bird-man Horus calls himself an alien. That Nazi opted for chimera genetics and now everyone thinks dragons and ghosts and the such have actually existed since the beginning of time."
"To be fair, given what we have seen in the super community, dragons and ghosts and the such are no longer implausible."
Now the President grins. "Well, let us stick to technological conundrums for now. At least we know how those work."
"Indeed, Mr. President." Kwang collects his papers. "Do you need anything else?"
At that moment an aide enters the room, and with the token show of apology, swiftly makes his way to the President's side. The businessman can just overhear the man whisper "War", "Constantinople", and "break down". Seon nods and the aide retreats to the background. He turns apologetically to his guest. "No, Mr. Kwang, that will be all for now." Both men rise to their feet and exchange a bow.
After Kwang leaves the room, Seon beckons the aide forward as he addresses his staff. "Rome and Yugoslavia are going to war." A round of exasperated groans follow. "What are our contacts in Europe?"
"I believe that's Tae's department, Mr. President."
"Then get Tae on the line. Time is of the essence."