I thought about the man known as Anonymous848.
He had always been a cheerful presence on the forum. Alongside Kyle Dos and Anonymous458, he was one of those lively personalities who livened up discussions.
But I was not blind to the possibility that behind the cheerful online persona might lurk a murderer, a rapist, or a looter.
Now, this uncomfortable reality was staring in the face.
diation and counseling were not my strong suits.
However, since I was already entangled in this unexpected ss, it seed I would have to wear the ill-fitting role of a diator.
“It was right after the war. Nukes were falling on Seoul, and missiles intercepted in orbit lit up the sky like lightning during the day. That’s when I found her.”
Anonymous848 had his talents.
Growing and rolling tobacco was one of them.
The leaf-rolled cigarettes he offered were surprisingly decent.
Exhaling a puff of smoke, he spoke bitterly.
“She was soone I knew. Not closely, just a girl from a nearby college—not a great one. She lived alone. I think she was a freshman. There was only one convenience store in the area, so I ran into her often. But back then, a young college girl like her wouldn’t give a middle-aged guy like a second glance. She was pretty, polite, and had a good figure, so I’d steal glances, that’s all. Then, on the day Seoul was nuked, she was just standing at the bus stop in front of my bunker, lost and doing nothing. I thought, ‘This is my chance.’”
To Anonymous848, their eting was an extension of their tenuous connection.
The war twisted their fates together like tangled thread.
“She told her house was gone, probably destroyed completely. No place to go. Who would she even turn to? Her friends weren’t responding, and she wasn’t even from Seoul. If she stayed, all she’d have to sell was her body. So, I took her in. That’s how we started living together.”
For several years, it seed they got along well.
Despite minor discomfort and awkwardness, mutual understanding and compromise brought them closer, forming a bond reminiscent of an uncle and niece.
They fard together, worked together.
Yet perhaps their downfall was inevitable from the mont Anonymous848 first saw her at the convenience store.
“One night, I got drunk, and… I touched her. We slept together. She didn’t resist much, so I thought she’d finally accepted . But… fuck, that’s when everything between us fell apart.”
Anonymous848 lit another cigarette.
Leaving him for a mont, I stepped into the bunker.
The woman’s na was Kim Yejin.
Unlike Anonymous848, she stated her na clearly and deliberately.
His bunker was impressive—not a mass-produced prefab structure, but a concrete and steel shelter built by a construction company. It was spacious, though it felt smaller because it was divided in two by a partition.
One half was Anonymous848’s domain, and the other was Kim Yejin’s.
Seeing how two spaces in the sa shelter could feel so distinctly different based on the person inhabiting them was a fresh revelation for soone like , who had always lived alone.
Kim Yejin sat curled up on a mattress adorned with dolls, her expression hollow.
In a low, raspy voice, she asked, “Are you on his side too?”
“What’s with the ‘mister’? I’m 31.”
“Definitely a mister.”
“...Fine.”
Looking around the bunker, I confird sothing.
Despite her claims, Kim Yejin had been treated well here.
Anonymous848 had given up half of his shelter for her—a significant concession.
For , the idea of sharing my bunker was unthinkable. Like a king unwilling to share his throne, I wouldn’t divide my domain with anyone.
“Just tell the truth. I can’t promise I’ll fix anything, but I can at least listen.”
“That’s a gun, isn’t it?”
She pointed at my rifle.
“What, you planning to shoot him?”
“I wish I could.”
“Could you survive on your own?”
“I think I could manage.”
“No raiders around here, then?”
“They’ve co before. Ah…”
Suddenly, she sighed, tears welling up.
“We weren’t always like this.”
She glanced at a shelf holding a fra turned backward.
Curious about the story behind it, I listened as she began to speak.
“It was after the war started that I t him.”
Unlike Anonymous848, Kim Yejin’s story began post-war.
At the ti, she had been a college freshman, her heart full of hope and excitent for a new chapter in life. People like Anonymous848 hadn’t even registered in her mory as she walked the streets.
The rest of the story was similar: she lost her family and had nowhere to go, eventually arriving here out of fear and necessity.
Anonymous848 had treated her well.
Despite initial awkwardness, their mutual support and cooperation helped them navigate hardships together.
“This photo was taken a year ago.”
She turned the fra around, revealing a printed picture of her and Anonymous848 standing in a tobacco field, smiling.
Though unrelated by blood, they looked strikingly similar in the photo—like family.
But those good tis were long gone.
“Half a year ago, he got drunk and… raped . I saw it coming. There were signs. But what could I do? Outside, there’s nothing but gunfire. No police to call. Even if I left, where would I go?”
Curled up, she buried her face in her knees and sobbed.
“It’s always hardest the first ti.”
Nodding silently, I stood up.
She raised her head, looking up at .
“Can’t you take with you?”
“I’m a man. I could end up doing the sa thing he did.”
“Anyone but him.”
Hatred burned in her tear-streaked eyes.
“Anyone but him.”
Leaving her behind, I walked out of the bunker.
Anonymous848 was leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed, his face tense with worry.
He was afraid.
Afraid I might take her away.
The answer was already clear.
I gestured for him to follow.
“Where’s the capsule?”
“The… the capsule? Uh, over here.”
Together, we entered the overgrown forest, stopping near a ruined public kindergarten.
The capsule lay neatly beside a broken swing.
“Stay back.”
Setting my hunter’s weapon on the ground, I drew two axes.
“What are you doing?”
“Watch.”
I swung at the capsule, its reflective shield activating. The axe rebounded, slicing toward my carotid artery.
Clang!
I blocked my own axe with the other.
The capsule was safe.
Exhaling slowly, I relaxed.
“What the hell?”
“It was just a test.”
“So it’s real? Kyle Dos wasn’t lying—Skelton’s the real deal.”
“Don’t tell anyone on the forum. I don’t want the hassle.”
Lifting the capsule, I asked for his help.
He complied, carrying it back to the motorcycle’s storage rack.
Looking up at the clear autumn sky, I watched a single brown leaf drift lazily to the ground.
“One of you has to leave this place.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You or Kim Yejin. One of you has to go.”
“This is my bunker! I built it! Why should I leave?”
“You’re done. Both of you.”
Turning toward the bunker, I raised my voice for Kim Yejin to hear.
“It’s over. One of you has to leave.”
She erged, calm and composed, and asked, “You’re not taking with you?”
“No.”
“Why? Don’t you like ?”
“No food, no resources to share. I live alone.”
Her gaze turned cold as she turned back into the bunker.
Anonymous848 tried to plead with her, but she only raised a fist without looking back—a gesture that seed to pacify him.
He returned monts later, offering tobacco and corn.
Taking it, I gave him one last warning.
“Can you be cruel to her?”
“What?”
“If you can’t, she’ll kill you.”
“She wouldn’t hurt a fly!”
“She knows you called . Figure it out.”
As I left, his broken voice trailed behind .
“I just… wanted her to like as much as I liked her…”
I don’t think they’ll ever “go back to how it was.”
So wounds don’t heal. They only scar.
For them, there’s no return.
Perhaps their fate had been sealed the mont they first crossed paths.
This was my experience in Anonymous848’s territory.
I posted about it on the forum much later, when there were barely any users left to upvote.
*
From that day onward, every ti I posted sothing, I consistently received a recomndation.
For example:
SKELTON: (Skelton Rising) Got up.
SKELTON: (Skelton Beauty) Trimd my nails!
SKELTON: (Skelton Groove) Reggae party.
SKELTON: (Skelton morial) Rembering the hearty broth and plentiful at of Sammi Gukbap restaurant.
SKELTON: (Skelton Yawn) Haaaah-aaahhh~
Even posts like these, which were completely devoid of aningful content, would receive one recomndation.
While so might consider it trivial, I didn’t dislike the thought that soone was acknowledging my posts, even in such a small way.
However, not everyone felt the sa.
A twisted individual on the forum decided to make an issue out of the recomndations I was receiving.
keystone: Ha, this bastard Skelton. He’s really lost it lately, now resorting to self-recomnding his own posts.
"Self-recomnding?"
Sure, I occasionally recomnded my own posts, but I wasn’t so lunatic who compulsively upvoted every single one.
But as the saying goes, to a warped mind, everything appears warped. To such eyes, Anonymous848’s blind support must have looked like I was inflating my own numbers.
In South Korea, living under false accusations only leads to losses, so I decided to break my own rule and start genuinely self-recomnding.
As a result, every post I made began to show exactly two recomndations.
One day, as the rcury hovered around freezing, I noticed sothing peculiar: one of my posts had reached exactly 10,000 recomndations.
I searched for Anonymous848.
Not a single post from him over the past four days.
This was a man who hadn’t missed a single day of posting or at least leaving a comnt since the war began. Yet now, all activity had ceased.
I leaned back in my chair, tilted my head upward, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
A friend who once recomnded my posts was now gone.
Strangely, I didn’t feel sadness or regret.
Like leaves falling in autumn, it was an inevitable conclusion, one long foreshadowed.
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