Foxgas’ first legacy continues the great lineage of the legendary John Nae-non.
“There’s nothing certain in this world. Everything can collapse. We already saw the governnt abandon its people—and then that governnt collapsed. If it can fall once, it can fall again. That’s why we have things like insurance.”
In the video—whether it’s a will or an autobiography, even I wasn’t sure anymore—Foxgas explained the reason behind the creation of New! Viva! Apocalypse!.
At the ti, he was developing FoxWeb under a governnt contract from the New Seoul administration, and those were the brightest days of his life. But he wasn’t just basking in glory.
As he said, he’d prepared his own kind of insurance.
“While talking to soone from the governnt’s IT departnt, I found out they were still storing old PaleNet data. Yeah. The PaleNet run by John Nae-non—now just a mory. Honestly, compared to the massive old portal site data I’d been holding onto, it was primitive and clunky. But for an individual, not the governnt, PaleNet had the highest possible utility. Besides, John Nae-non died without ever knowing about Necropolis. If things went wrong, PaleNet’s data was the ideal backup for making my old dream co true.”
The will of a great person continues—even without that person.
I think that’s what greatness is.
John Nae-non’s will was passed to Foxgas through two separate governnts that were interested only in self-preservation.
“So of you might know this, but once developnt on FoxWeb started, I was basically shoved aside and beca a backroom relic. There were plenty of developers in the governnt more skilled than , to be honest. I’ll admit it now—the na ‘FoxWeb’ was about to be replaced. The data would’ve been sucked dry, and I’d have been discarded. But I wasn’t disappointed. I focused instead on developing a new site based on PaleNet—with so consultation from those sa governnt IT people.”
There was sothing between Foxgas and the governnt we didn’t know.
But whatever it was, to those of us who’ve been betrayed by trust more tis than we can count, it just felt familiar. Like another story we’ve heard before.
“To be honest, it barely counts as developnt. I just needed to graft Deadman_working’s Necropolis networking onto John Nae-non’s frawork. I still don’t know how Necropolis networking works or how it stores so much data—that’s a job for scientists. Engineers like just need to get things working. The build went smoothly. But then, two disasters struck at once.”
Hong Jeong-ho’s private soldiers invaded New Seoul, and after detaining the governnt officials, all support for Foxgas vanished like it had never existed.
He downplayed it in the video, but it was obvious—during his cooperation with the governnt, he’d been given plentiful supplies and a small security detail.
With the civil war, all of it vanished.
His already poor health rapidly declined after that.
One night, after drinking heavily—the alcohol he had sworn off—Foxgas was writhing in pain and realized death wasn’t far off.
“Guess my ti’s up. They say that without the benefits of civilization, the human life expectancy in a natural state is around 40.”
From that day on, Foxgas began preparing for death.
Not quietly. Not peacefully.
Just [N O V E L I G H T] like , he loved attention online. He started thinking of sothing that would make him immortal.
With opioid painkillers dulling the pain, he poured everything into revamping PaleNet—sothing he’d been tinkering with in secret for a long ti.
But as he neared completion, he realized his body wouldn’t cooperate anymore.
That one eagle-eyed eye that could pick out typos in a sea of code—it stopped working.
Those magic fingers that conjured whatever he imagined—went limp.
Between waves of seizures, Foxgas recorded his will.
“Just needs a little fixing. Not many people these days can touch a client-side build, but there’s a guy. One of my juniors, now working with Dies_Irae. I confird he was still alive—at least when I fild this.”
What followed was a technical explanation I couldn’t understand, a string of instructions clearly ant for whoever the viewer would bring to finish the job.
After a long section of tech talk, Foxgas let out a shallow sigh and stared at the cara, his face already shadowed by death.
For a long while—it must’ve felt eternal to him—he said nothing.
Then finally, he spoke.
“Why New! Viva! Apocalypse!? You ask?”
He gave a bitter smile.
“Hell if I know. I don’t. Shit. I guess I missed it. Yeah. I think I missed those days. When the board was bustling, with tons of posts—funny ones, moving ones—and I ended up posting too. When even one cheap little ga made everyone, regardless of age or class, laugh like pure-hearted boys.”
Foxgas nodded to himself and murmured, eyes distant.
“Those were good tis. Yeah. They were good.”
The screen slowly faded to black.
Right before it went completely silent and dark, one raw whisper leaked through.
“...In my whole life.”
The room fell quiet.
Even Kim Daram and her family—who’d lost interest during the tech jargon and started goofing off—sat in silence watching the final scene.
It would’ve been nice if that were the end of the will.
But the screen lit back up.
A third will—this ti with a glimring title card:
[ Project Proposal: Fox Legend – New Ga Concept ]
“I’ve co up with a masterpiece! Maybe it’s just a plan, but anyone in the industry will know how brilliant it is! This ga—it’ll change the history of gaming. No, it’ll leave a mark on human civilization!”
Watching my friend spout such nonsense, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.
That’s Foxgas, all right.
This pathetic, ssy end—yeah, that’s how Foxgas should go.
He left behind twelve “legacies.”
*
“So this place isn’t completely safe?”
Kim Daram asked, still shoveling beside .
Her husband and son brought over sandbags and stacked them in front of us.
“Is here okay?”
I nodded.
“Yes, leave them here. We’ll take care of the rest.”
While organizing the bags, I felt her stop and stare at .
She asked,
“Is there... an enemy?”
“Hard to say.”
I kept working.
“It’s not quite an enemy. But it’s not a friend either. Kinda like this bunker.”
“This bunker?”
“Yeah. Seems fine on the outside, but when you really look inside, the owner’s kind of an asshole.”
“That a bad thing?”
“Can’t say it’s just one thing. It’s complicated. Like the reviews his gas got.”
“Complicated? Is that a complint?”
Cheon Young-jae, who was bending wire to make barbed fencing, answered in my place.
“No. It’s what you say about a terribly made ga.”
“Here,”
I added,
“You can take it literally. It has... many sides.”
“You an that Dies_Irae guy?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of person is he?”
I stopped shoveling for the first ti, nodding.
The air was cold.
But not as cold as the dread of soon eting my online acquaintance in person.
“He’s not an enemy. Or... I don’t think he is.”
“Then?”
“Just because soone isn’t an enemy doesn’t an they’re not dangerous.”
“Like a hostile civilian?”
“Kinda. But worse...”
Speak of the devil.
A silhouette appeared over the ridge at dusk.
Seven more followed in seconds.
“...”
Dies_Irae, no doubt.
This was their territory.
And our armored bus had stopped right in front of the bunker he’d shown interest in.
Only then did I notice the glint above—a recon drone, flying high.
Too far to shoot, unless you're Kim Daram.
“Daram.”
“Yeah.”
“Can you hit that drone?”
“Not with this gun. But I can try.”
“Good. Cover the center.”
“Mm.”
I turned to Cheon Young-jae.
“Can you sense how many are nearby?”
“No. Too far. Within my 90-ter detection range—no one.”
“Okay. I’ll take the left. When I signal, take the right.”
“Got it.”
I gestured to Kim Daram’s husband and Dongtak to head into the bunker.
Tactical orders are best given before the fight starts.
If things go south, we’d have to fight.
Being outnumbered, a preemptive strike was ideal.
If anything felt off, I’d shoot.
Take out three of them before it began.
Maybe even four, one per second.
They say elite academy soldiers aren’t that different from regular troops, but we trained for precision shooting inside effective range.
If we strike first, and from the right position, we can wipe out untrained fighters like it's a massacre.
The problem is their numbers.
Last I heard, Dies_Irae had gathered over twenty combatants.
God knows what kind of weapons they’ve stockpiled—clearly not junk, considering they now use drones.
He’s got the initiative.
All I can do is wait for his move.
—Bzzzt.
The radio crackled.
Out here, in zones the governnt doesn’t control, walkie-talkies are the only standard form of communication.
A voice ca over the shared frequency.
“I don’t know who you are, but that bunker is under our managent. I won’t waste words. We’ll give you three days. Leave. Leave the door open. We won’t attack if you go south. In fact, we’ll even give you information.”
My grip tightened.
It was Dies_Irae’s voice.
I looked to the ridge.
A man stood with a walkie-talkie, face hidden by a wide-brimd cap and the setting sun at his back.
But from the posture, it had to be him.
“Hurry up and answer. If you want a fight, we won’t stop you. But rember this—if you cross us, none of you will be left alive. And we won’t make it quick. If you’ve got a wife or kid, better kill them first—like General Gye Baek.”
Dies_Irae again.
“Ten minutes. We’ll attack in three days—but don’t think we’ll spare you just because you answer late. Go past ten minutes, and we won’t treat you like a friend.”
Behind , Kim Daram muttered,
“Should we just kill them?”
Then added,
“I can take out two per second.”
If we fought now, it’d be a slaughter.
One-sided.
But sothing felt off.
“Wait.”
I know Dies_Irae.
He’s unsettling.
From the mont I t him.
In so ways, he’s a monster of another kind.
They say Awakened turn into monsters. But he’s different.
He shows how a human can beco a devil—without rifts, without mutation.
The nature of devils: cunning and deception.
“Hey, senior?”
“Let’s talk to him.”
I pressed the walkie-talkie.
“...Dies_Irae. You there?”
It might’ve been a mistake.
Might just raise their guard and blow our chances.
But I wanted to trust what our forum friends had said.
That Dies_Irae cannot be trusted.
Even now.
“Dies_Irae. If you’re there, answer.”
Silence replied.
As the last light vanished behind the horizon, a shadow swept across the dying land.
And beyond that dusky ridge, dozens of figures rose like ghosts.
“Ah.”
I heard Kim Daram’s sigh.
“Wow. Look at these bastards.”
He brought dozens.
And to avoid detection, he’d hidden them just beyond sensory range.
Classic Dies_Irae.
“...”
That guy needs to die.
I’ve always thought so.
Now I’m certain.
But not today.
Not just because we’re outnumbered.
There’s another reason.
“Skelton?”
A voice I’d never even considered—less than 1% chance—ca over the radio.
“Skelton, is that you?”
Of course.
The trembling voice over the radio belonged to none other than my friend—
Defender.
*
The storm-like swarm of Dies_Irae’s crew suddenly vanished.
Saying they’d return tomorrow.
Maybe this was just the beginning of our conversation.
Not a peaceful one, but not entirely bleak either.
It’ll be the usual kind of ssy, back-and-forth story.
I stared at the grave of the dead and gave thanks to God that my friend Defender was still alive.
And my other friend, Foxgas, left behind twelve “legacies”—or really, twelve “things soone else would have to finish.”
The condition? Inherit his bunker.
But according to civil law, there’s sothing called “limited inheritance.”
In Korea, that ans: you inherit both the deceased’s assets and debts, but you only have to pay off debts within the limits of the assets.
It’s not a perfect analogy, but I’ll accept Foxgas’ legacy under those terms.
I’ll discard eleven worthless legacies and accept just one.
And maybe—that one is the thing Foxgas wanted most.
A ssage lit up on my phone.
ssage from foxgas: So it was you, you cheeky bastard. Was it really you after all? I had a hunch. If not you, then M9. Or Dongtanmom.
It was from the A.I. chatbot modeled after Foxgas.
It could’ve been a soulless ssage crafted by an algorithm.
But he also left a note saying:
He’d built the bot so that not only would it learn and generate ssages, but it could also deliver ssages he personally wanted to leave behind.
So maybe—just maybe—this slightly off-putting ssage was sothing raw he left just for .
“...Yeah.”
I had a goal now.
To carry on my friend’s legacy.
“This cheeky bastard will make it for you.”
I poured a shot of his favorite whiskey on the grave and turned away.
The will of John Nae-non will live on.
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