What Kim Daram told was more or less what I’d expected.
But the conclusion was far from what I’d imagined.
Here’s how it went:
Jeon Si-hoon staged a coup using Defender.
The suppression ended quickly.
Defender’s soldiers, wearing skull-mimicking masks, swept through the Assembly, the broadcast station, the power plant, the Joint Chiefs of Staff headquarters, and the National Assembly building.
Even the Jeju delegates who had stayed behind in Seoul and attempted mild resistance were all arrested.
Kim So-uk, who had sided with Jeon Si-hoon, was no exception.
They say a successful coup is called a revolution—and that was the case this ti.
It was a revolution.
The problem ca afterward.
The ones who had seized power suddenly vanished.
Jeon Si-hoon and his cohort disappeared without a trace.
What was left floating in the air was Defender and his faction.
Aside from the flimsy show of force that Jeon Si-hoon had handed him, Defender’s crew had no legitimacy, no popularity—and yet they were now the rulers of Seoul.
What followed was predictable.
Defender—no, by now more widely known as Hong Jung-ho—quickly assessed the situation and did what he could.
He released the Jeju delegates and withdrew his troops.
But the line had already been crossed.
The new Seoul was no longer a gathering of virtuous citizens. It had beco a mosaic of semi-warlord fiefdoms and interest groups clustered by refugee zone.
The seeds of mistrust that had already spread were irreversible.
Paramilitary groups sprouted like wildfire, and firefights erupted everywhere.
Groups or individual refugees that couldn’t withstand the chaos had to flee the city.
The city, which had barely held together, was now torn apart—racing toward destruction.
Naturally, Hong Jung-ho’s group beca the common enemy.
He tried to explain that his actions had been under Jeon Si-hoon’s orders, but no one wanted to hear it.
Amidst the fierce clashes, Hong Jung-ho and his subordinates fled east, and their whereabouts are now unknown.
“Okay but... what’s with calling a damn bachelor out of nowhere?”
I spoke up the mont the story ended, laced with mild irritation.
Kim Daram let out a wry laugh, the kind that made you picture her face in your head, and explained the slip of the tongue.
“Oh, soone’s pretending to be your senior. I wanted to check if it was legit.”
“How?”
“See? You’re getting riled up. Only the real one would react like that.”
“...”
I cald myself and asked again.
“Who’s pretending to be ?”
“There’s talk about soone impersonating Skelton and scamming people. They never contacted directly, but sounds like a lot of folks got duped.”
“How are they scamming people, exactly?”
“They go around calling themselves ‘Skelton from Room 803’ and demanding supplies. I an, sure, they might know your nickna, but not many people know your face or voice.”
“True enough.”
I had requested information security.
That included a Stage 3 protection protocol—creating a fake identity called Park Gyu to deliberately mislead others.
It was a planned deception.
I’d known what I was doing.
But in this ss, who’d have thought it would backfire.
I’d like to see the bastard’s face, but there are more pressing matters first.
“Anyway, where are you? Is it safe over there?”
First things first—I needed to grow our numbers.
“Not really? It’s not exactly safe.”
Kim Daram went silent for a mont.
Through the gap in silence, I heard gunfire from the speaker.
She’d probably put the walkie-talkie near the window so I could hear it.
From the frequency, it sounded like sothing more than a nervous standoff—it was a real firefight.
“Where are you now, senior? Are you safe?”
“Safe enough.”
“You in your bunker? That one with the toilet in the center?”
This woman.
She really hated my bunker.
I wanted to snap at her, but held it in and responded gently.
“No, it’s a governnt bunker. High ceilings, pretty luxurious. Still functional. Slls like hell because soone died in here, though.”
“A noble’s bunker?”
“What the hell is that supposed to an?”
“You know. One of those things. The kind of place where those who only pay lip service to ‘the people’ try to recreate the Joseon Dynasty in secret.”
She wasn’t wrong. You’d need a hell of a budget to build a bunker like this, and a big budget ans rumors inevitably leak.
“Well, can’t deny it. Feels like a noble’s estate. That’s my honest take.”
“I’ve only heard about those. Never seen one for myself. So how did you know about it? Did Woo Min-hee tell you?”
“No, Na Hye-in did.”
“Ah. Senior Na. Makes sense—she would know.”
“What about Min-hee? What happened to her?”
“I’ll tell you if you get my family in there.”
Kim Daram’s blunt way of speaking is often called shaless. And it is.
But for soone like , who prefers speed and clarity, it’s a perfect match.
Honestly, I was halfway hoping she’d say sothing like that.
Despite everything, having Kim Daram on your side is like gaining a whole army.
She might not co out of her bunker to help directly, but even for pure defense, she’s worth tenfold the effort of fighting alone.
Snipers are especially deadly in defense.
Her husband, the doctor, is also a top-tier asset—even if he’s non-combatant.
“Fine. Where are you now?”
She gave her location.
Thankfully, it was nearby.
North of the Han River.
“Why’d you cross the river?”
“There’s a rumor that soldiers from Sejong are marching north.”
“From Sejong?”
That’s bullshit.
IAmJesus wouldn’t make that call—and Sejong itself isn’t an expansionist power.
If anything, they’re like a boa constrictor that swallowed prey bigger than itself.
They’re already struggling to digest Chungcheong, Daejeon, Jeolla, and Gyeongsang regions. Now they want to swallow the Seoul area too?
Not even King at his peak could’ve pulled that off.
Kim Daram didn’t seem to believe the rumor either.
She gave a bitter laugh.
“What can we do? Folks like us, we just lie flat when the wind blows. Can’t ignore even a small breeze.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Sotis a single individual can accomplish great things—but in the vast flow of history, most people are just swept away.
War is the clearest example.
I’ve been in battlefields—I know.
A civilian’s life ans absolutely nothing in there.
“The location’s close,” Kim Daram said, her tone now different.
“But there’s one problem. The groups next to started fighting. And wouldn’t you know it—I’m smack in the middle, so I can’t move.”
Her voice was calm.
Not Kim Daram the mom—but Kim Daram the warrior, sharp as a black panther.
Just hearing that voice brought a deep sense of relief.
“Are you in imdiate danger?”
“For now, I’m well hidden. Fortified the place too, just in case. But if one of the groups decides to target us, then that’s it for my family.”
I didn’t ask how long she could hold out.
It’s not up to her—it depends on the will of whoever holds the blade.
Instead, I asked briefly about the size and makeup of the forces around her.
Kim Daram and her family were currently holed up in a residential area.
A single apartnt block—well-built and sturdy—served as their base.
Two unidentified survivor groups were battling nearby.
Each had between several dozen to over a hundred mbers.
She said they were fighting fiercely enough to use suicide drones and improvised Chinese-style mortars.
Not easy.
But Kim Daram is an ally worth that level of risk.
It wasn’t for nothing that I’d built my bunker away from Seoul.
When trust between people breaks down, humans beco the most terrifying enemies.
“I’ll try to get my hands on a radio. Hang in there.”
“...I’ll wait three days.”
She didn’t say that because she doubted .
She had seen the sa sights I had in China.
Gifted kids from elite schools gunned down by stray bullets—how aningless and fragile their lives were.
“Got it. Can you take a note?”
I gave her the address.
My legacy, in case I die—a gift to a junior I still cared about.
“Oh, the golf course. Yeah. I know the place. I rember thinking it was weird how many high-ups hung around there. Makes sense now.”
Just as I was about to give her the detailed address and end the call—
“Senior,” Kim Daram said.
“I really hope I get to see you alive.”
I let out a soft chuckle.
“Yeah.”
I ended the transmission and sat down in front of the computer.
Like any good computer of the apocalypse, this one wasn’t quite on par with Viva! Apocalypse! and other high-end satellite systems—but it could catch radio frequencies like cell signals and sync to a net browser.
I checked the signal.
Got a hit.
And the familiar ssage—written by and Ballantine—filled the screen:
[For F. Sawyer, M. O’Connor, Byeong-seon K., and the one we loved in crimson.]
[Welco to the noisy city of the dead.]
– If you are among the dead, press Enter –
I logged into Necropolis.
Sure, short-range radio contact would statistically be the fastest and simplest way to communicate, but a human life is just one.
Unless the situation is so desperate that I’ve got no choice, I’ll always pick the less risky route.
Dead10851: I’m in Uiwang—co live here. It’s a good place to live. ^^
Dead59231: What kind of balls did Hong Jung-ho have to try a coup?
Dead5413: The slave traders are out in the open now. If you’ve got a pretty daughter or wife, better scratch up their face now.
Dead43219: Don’t go to Uiwang. It’s controlled by warlord scum. They’ll harvest your organs.
Dead9281: I heard Hong Jung-ho’s dead. That true?
Dead991: Not going to Seoul was the best decision I ever made. lol
Dead8821: Getting tricked twice might be stupidity, but the third ti? That’s your fate. You’re just destined to be a sucker forever. Yup.
...
...
Fortunately, Necropolis was up and active.
This was exactly what Deadman_Working, its founder, had wanted.
It’s barely perceptible, but just using Necropolis gives a feeling of resonance with so unknown part inside .
How should I put it?
It gives a faint power boost—but nowhere near enough to satisfy the hunger.
Because that hunger... I can only satisfy it by killing monsters.
Still, Necropolis worked.
Ti to post a trade listing.
Dead23213: I’m in the Goyang area. Want to trade pre-war canned goods for a K-WalkieTalkie. If interested, please start your post with (John Nae-non).
I posted it and waited.
Pre-war canned food is premium bait.
The suckers started biting fast.
Dead3233: (John Nae-non) What kind of cans? Don’t tell it’s dog food.
Dead5481: (John Nae-non) Dog food ain’t bad, honestly. Is it okay if my radio’s busted?
Dead21111: (John Nae-non) I want to trade right now. Where are you? Can I co to you?
Dead9913: (John Nae-non) I’m a 20-year-old woman. Is that okay for trade?
...
...
Anyone who’s traded secondhand goods before knows—only a few people ssaging you actually intend to buy.
So are just poking around, so are trolling, so will throw ridiculous lowball offers.
Especially annoying are the ones who act all polite beforehand, only to haggle like lunatics at the eting point.
I’ve been burned by one of those before.
Wanted to curse them out, but I was broke and in debt, so I had to endure. Still rember that smug bastard’s face.
But in the apocalypse?
You get worse than that.
You get robbery and murder.
And that’s not even rare anymore—it’s common.
Even if soone showed up intending a fair trade, the mont they realize you’re weaker or easy to kill, they’ll beco a robber without hesitation.
Just like the real John Nae-non always said—trades only work when both sides have roughly equal power.
I chose Necropolis to help balance out that asymtry.
Dead32311: There’s an abandoned convenience store next to the golf course. I’ll wait inside. Co alone. You can bring one or two people, but only one may enter the building. It’s to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.
Out of all the scamrs and trolls, I arranged three etups.
One turned out to be a raider who ca to kill and take my goods.
Another was an opportunist ready to murder if the chance arose.
Both groups brought at least four n, all ard. One group had even set up an ambush, just in case.
The third group, at least, had so decency.
A young man and woman. Both ard.
Don’t underestimate the woman just because of her gender—she handled her weapon like a pro.
What mattered was the number.
Two? I can deal with that solo.
Kill one, one remains. Manageable.
Sure, best-case scenario is if they ca alone—but just because you want a smooth trade doesn’t an you’ll get one.
This ti, I showed myself first.
Rifle slung, but not aid.
Still, I kept one hand ready to draw my pistol at any mont.
Flashed through my mind—a user on the North Arican board who played cowboy, mowing down robbers at shady trade etups.
I could pull off sothing similar, maybe.
But that’s not the kind of experience I’m itching to repeat.
Living this close to danger has taught —keep danger as far away as possible.
“Are you alone?”
The man asked.
The woman, whose shooting skills were probably better, took a step back and scanned the opposite side and surroundings with sharp eyes—not .
That kind of wariness actually reassured .
I handed over the canned food.
The man inspected the can.
“Hmm. You’re lucky today.”
Seems he liked what he saw.
And why wouldn’t he?
Where could anyone find pre-war canned pineapple in this world?
He pulled out the K-WalkieTalkie and looked like he was about to toss it to .
I shook my head and gestured for him to set it down.
There are groups who provoke small movents like that just to attack.
The man followed directions, set the radio on the ground, and °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° stepped back quietly.
I kept both of them in my line of sight and picked up the radio.
Bzzzzt—
Good.
It works.
I figured it would.
Looks nearly new—barely used.
I nodded and lowered the rest of the canned goods in a plastic bag onto the floor.
But then the man suddenly spoke up.
“Hey.”
“?”
What now?
A jolt of combat tension sprayed through my heart like soone dumping a bucket of paint.
I thought about my pistol.
“Could you maybe pay a bit more?”
“...What?”
“It’s brand new, you know? Couldn’t you give us a little extra?”
A regular pain-in-the-ass, huh.
Before the war, I’d have cursed him out.
But hey, it’s the apocalypse.
These days, even this kind of idiot is kind of adorable.
I pulled out two pieces of candy I’d kept in my pocket just in case, and handed them over.
He grinned.
“You know how to deal.”
The man and woman both smiled and popped the candy into their mouths before walking off.
*
Bzzzt—
"It's ."
I tried radioing Kim Daram.
“Oh. Senior, right?”
“Yeah.”
Seriously—no matter how much ti passes, this woman always manages to rub the wrong way.
"This is really the place, huh? You're seriously telling this is it?"
I looked down over the city.
What did she say earlier?
At most, a firefight between small militia groups—maybe a few dozen people?
Bullshit.
From every apartnt number to every building window, people with bloodshot eyes and every kind of weapon imaginable were poised, ready to shoot at anything that moved.
Yeah.
The whole city’s beco a killing field.
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