For the first ti in a while, I picked up a TV signal.
The President was making a formal statent.
I didn’t bother listening carefully. The sewage pipe was clogged, and I had to keep going back and forth between the inside and outside of the bunker to clear it.
There wasn’t much point in paying attention anyway.
“The rumors about the governnt relocating to Jeju Island are completely untrue.”
It was nonsense right from the start.
Leaving the TV on, I went back to working on the pipe.
The blockage turned out to be caused by leaves and debris piled up around the sewage outlet. Trash I could understand, but where the hell did all those leaves co from?
“The reason military aircraft have been taking off so frequently recently isn’t to transfer governnt assets to Jeju but in response to threats from Japan. Three days ago, the Japanese Mariti Self-Defense Force sank a humanitarian vessel carrying over 150 South Korean refugees from Busan without issuing any warning shots…”
I kept catching snippets of the broadcast as I moved back and forth between the bunker and the outside.
There’s a bit of distance between the sewage pipe and the main bunker.
The main bunker is nestled into a low hill, with a small stream flowing nearby. Although the stream’s flow is light, there are too many prying eyes around, so I installed the sewage outlet a good distance away.
It was a smart choice overall, but at tis like this, it’s a hassle.
“So governnt assets were indeed transferred to Jeju, but this was a unilateral decision made by Director Lee Sang-hoon of the National Crisis Managent Committee’s Intelligence Strategy Departnt…”
I thought about turning the TV off at that point, but given how rare broadcasts like this are, I decided to leave it on while I resud my work.
I reinforced the outlet with a sh cover and ran so water through it to check.
Clean as a whistle.
While I was at it, I decided to clean the septic tank as well.
This involved using a pump and a hose to suck out the sludge that had settled at the bottom and transfer it to another location.
Even as the pump was dutifully sucking away at my waste, I kept catching snippets of the broadcast.
“The governnt will release its reserves within three days to start unrestricted rations. Additionally, ergency free dical checkups for children and adolescents will be implented. Contrary to rumors spread by so dia outlets, our governnt possesses reserves of food, dical supplies, and other essential goods sufficient to last three years…”
At one point, I’d considered forgoing a septic tank entirely and just letting the waste flow directly into the stream. But the stench of human feces can be overwhelming, and if sedint accumulates around the outlet, it would only advertise that soone lives nearby.
That’s why I took advice from my ntor, John Nae-non, and set up a proper system.
Of course, I curse myself for it every ti I have to clean the damn thing, but it’s worth the effort.
This bunker isn’t just a temporary refuge—it's where I’ll live until the day I die.
“Ah, shit!”
So foul water splashed onto my mouth.
Spewing profanity, I headed back into the bunker, only to be greeted by the warm voice of the President.
“Our governnt will stand by its people forever.”
That’s when I turned the broadcast off.
Not only was it a waste of electricity, but there was no point in listening any further.
Still, I did manage to glean one useful bit of information:
Three days.
At least for the next three days, things should stay quiet.
Though, I can’t shake the bad feeling I have about this.
*
Day One.
I made rounds around the bunker to inspect its condition. My main focus was the detonation lines linking the decoy bunkers to the main one, ensuring they were in working order.
While there were no malfunctions, I found two exposed areas where the camouflage had worn off. It might seem like a minor issue, but in a crisis, such a small oversight could an the difference between life and death.
After carefully re-camouflaging the lines, I installed new explosives at the secret entrance leading from the decoy bunker to the main one.
These weren’t powerful enough to blow the door off its hinges but were sufficient to eliminate any intruders snooping around the main bunker’s interior with the push of a button.
Behind the secret door, I also set up deadly traps and cover positions accessible only to , preparing for the worst-case scenario.
In the afternoon, I worked on turning the at I’d pre-dried into long-lasting rations.
I was making pemmican—a mixture of finely ground dried at combined with dried cranberries, then bound together with fat. It has a decent shelf life and is nutritionally rich.
I didn’t plan to rely on it imdiately. While it’s a practical survival food, it can’t compete with canned goods in efficiency, and my palate is a bit picky.
The pemmican was more like an insurance policy, in case the freezer or generator failed.
The incident with Colonel Choi had shown that things rarely go as planned. Who knows when a second or third Colonel Choi might invade my territory?
Winter was approaching, and while the colder season might provide so relief, it’s always better to be prepared.
Since I had three days of relative peace ahead, I hastily watched so tutorials and gave it a shot. Surprisingly, thanks to my skillful hands, the result was edible—quite good, actually.
That said, unless you specifically need survival food, it’s not sothing I’d recomnd. It’s incredibly labor-intensive.
SKELTON: (Skelton Cooking) Tried making pemmican!
I posted my efforts to the community, carving out ti from my busy schedule.
While it didn’t get any likes, the unique topic sparked quite a few comnts.
Even Defender chid in, apparently finding ti to relax.
Defender: I like n who can cook.
The mont I read that, I frowned.
“...?”
What’s up with this guy?
Could it be… that?
You know… n who like other n?
Should I unfriend him? But then again, if I do, I might be fast-tracking a future encounter with him. Better hold off for now.
Feeling slightly unsettled, I stored 36 portions of pemmican in a cool spot, thoroughly coated with preservatives.
Day Two.
I inspected the decoy bunkers and fine-tuned the shooting lanes.
Using an actual rifle, I aid through each firing slit and from every cover position, identifying anything that could serve as potential cover for intruders and removing it in advance.
I’d done this once before, but that was prior to the war, and the environnt has changed significantly since then.
The worst offenders were the overgrown weeds, which had beco a constant nuisance.
I spent the entire day hacking them down with a scythe, reshaping my territory into a reflection of my will.
Despite all this labor, my stance remained unchanged: combat is a last resort.
I’m alone, and the enemies I’d have to face are endless.
The rising sophistication of my foes is another risk factor.
When a country collapses, its military often becos the most dangerous group—a lesson learned from the examples of India and China.
I doubted the planes heading to Jeju Island were packed with soldiers.
Even Kim Daram had said there wouldn’t be many spots for them on Jeju.
Just then, a transport plane roared overhead.
A thought struck .
Could Kim Daram be on that plane?
It might be ti for him to leave, too.
That night, I soaked in a hot tub, letting the warm water wash away the day’s fatigue.
Afterward, I gulped down a glass of long-life milk and logged into the community.
The user enjoying a teoric rise in popularity these days was Gijayangban.
Living in Seoul, he delivered real-ti updates on the city’s decline, which naturally made him a favorite.
Gijayangban: Live from Gangnam.jpg
Gijayangban: (Pailnet repost) Live Han River temperature.jpg
Gijayangban: Latest Seoul fashion.jpg
Gijayangban: Tanks spotted inside the Four Gates.gif
Sure enough, the trending posts section had practically turned into Gijayangban’s personal bulletin board.
He reminded of the glory days of John Nae-non.
One of his posts left a particularly strong impression on .
Gijayangban: Current airport scene.jpg
The photo showed a swarm of people crowding the airport.
They were desperate to board planes.
Military and police were blocking their way, but so had broken through onto the runway, surrounding transport planes and pleading to be taken aboard.
The enraged soldiers responded by beating them back with batons.
Though there were no reported deaths, the sight of blood seeping from cracked skulls onto the gray concrete vividly reminded of my comrades, torn apart by monsters, drenched in blood.
*
Day Three.
Under the warm sunlight, I spread out a blanket and set up a small folding table. With care, I inspected my weapons, checked my ammunition, and sharpened my axe blades.
It was a peaceful, quiet day.
Even the community shared a similarly languid atmosphere, as if we were all basking in the calm before a storm.
Though everyone talked about mundane daily matters, it was clear that all eyes were on Seoul.
That said, there was a small commotion in the middle of it all.
Defender: I keep getting called a girl, so here’s proof.
The post contained a picture of Defender’s hand.
It was long, pale, and sowhat elegant. But the muscular structure and the pronounced veins made it unmistakably clear: Defender was a man.
I had been right all along.
The guy was a man, not so mysterious woman.
Those who had been spouting nonsense about silhouettes and claiming otherwise quickly fell silent.
Only one user stubbornly clung to their increasingly flimsy argunts.
unicorn18: (Info) Won’s hands can sotis look like n’s depending on the lighting and angle!
No one else supported Unicorn18’s comnt.
It seed even Defender was finally encountering difficulties.
Usually, he would silently post cold, factual updates or proof of his kills, but for once, he openly expressed trouble in the forums.
Defender: Anyone have spare bullets?
Curious, I clicked the post.
Defender: Looking for 5.56mm rounds. The more, the better. I can trade canned goods, batteries, clothes, fuel—basically anything but dical supplies. DM if interested.
P.S. For anyone worried about killing too many people: I don’t ss with other forum users.
Well, it was no wonder he was running low on bullets with all the killing he’d been doing.
Still, it was amusing how soone as ruthless as Defender would choose now of all tis to trade for ammo. It just went to show how differently he thought compared to most people.
Then again, this guy was technically my internet friend.
ssage from Defender: Skelton. Got any spare bullets?
SKELTON: Not really.
ssage from Defender: If you’ve got any, let know. Na your price.
ssage from Defender: Answer .
SKELTON: (Leaves chat.)
ssage from Defender: Don’t ss with . I’ll co find you.
I sighed.
Defender wasn’t really a threat to .
Sure, his combat skills were impressive, but that was all.
In an unpredictable outdoor environnt, it would co down to preparation and luck. Still, in a controlled setting, my chances of losing to him were close to zero.
It wasn’t about fear or danger. It was simply that he felt incompatible—like a genre of film you can’t stand.
For , it’s horror movies.
When life itself is a horror story, why would I go out of my way to watch one?
Defender was like a walking horror movie.
And this horror movie wanted to hang out.
ssage from Defender: Okay, joking aside, I’m serious this ti. Things are bad. I ssed with so guys connected to the military, and they’ve been searching the area for the past two weeks. I think there’s going to be a big fight soon. You’re the only one I can trust, Skelton. Help out.
I could tell from his tone and past behavior that he wasn’t lying.
What should I do?
Maybe I already knew the answer.
SKELTON: (Man of Loyalty Skelton) Where are you?
In the end, Defender and I weren’t so different.
ssage from Defender: (Moved to tears) Skelton, you’re aweso!
Defender’s chosen rendezvous point was… unexpected.
An abandoned amusent park near Yongin.
It was a desolate area, hit directly by chemical weapons during the war and long since abandoned.
I didn’t particularly like the idea of eting there.
The surrounding region was a gray zone, outside governnt control.
Nearby was an area dominated by infiltration-type monsters. While they weren’t roaming predators, they had settled there, creating a no-man’s-land that attracted all sorts of criminals.
No mutations had been reported, but the most dangerous thing while traveling wasn’t monsters—it was a sudden bullet.
eting Defender there ant significantly raising that risk.
I hesitated.
After a while, another ssage ca through.
ssage from Defender: If it’s too much trouble, I can co to you. I’m the one asking for help, after all. But I’ll have to walk since I don’t have a car.
SKELTON: No, I’ll co. Just send the safest route.
It was risky, but it was better this way.
I wasn’t about to reveal the location of my bunker to him.
Though Defender was confident in his abilities, my bunker wasn’t so easily found.
We spent so ti discussing the route in detail, planning in 100-ter incrents using a map.
This was the last task of my third day before the storm hit.
*
The Next Day.
Everyone was waiting for the next update from Gijayangban, the forum’s de facto journalist.
Like them, I found myself repeatedly refreshing the page, feeling a mix of tension and curiosity I couldn’t quite define.
The usual posts filled the feed:
Keystone: (Breaking news) The jerks camping next door still haven’t left.
Anonymous118: Does the server feel slower to anyone else?
Iamjesus: He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.
Unicorn18: My little guy’s stiff again...
Anonymous552: Current situation in Seoul.jpg
Kyle_Dos: That last post is bait.
SKELTON: What should I have for lunch?
.
.
Finally, in the afternoon, Gijayangban posted.
Gijayangban: Current situation in Seoul.jpg
The result exceeded everyone’s expectations.
The governnt had actually kept its promise.
Food distribution and dical aid were underway as promised.
With a mix of relief and disillusionnt, I stretched my arms.
Sohow, they had managed to weather the storm.
As a transport plane roared overhead, passing directly above my bunker, I thought about sun-drying my bedding.
While I was arranging the linens, my K-walkie-talkie emitted a sharp tone, signaling a private ssage.
Private ID: DARAM.
It was Kim Daram.
“…”
They say bad premonitions always co true because people rarely count their good ones.
But how many good premonitions do people even have?
If you live a life where you can count good premonitions…
Kim Daram: “Hey, senior. How’s your bunker? Got room for three, including ?”
...maybe that’s a happy life.
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