To be brutally honest, the chances of taking these kids in are slim to none.
This isn’t a matter of morality—it’s about survival.
Even when it ca to the sniper and her daughter, with whom I share a long-standing bond, I hesitated to bring them into my circle. Taking in these pitiful children would be a betrayal of the principles that have kept alive until now.
“Freeze.”
Just because they’re kids doesn’t an I’m about to let my guard down.
I’ve seen raiders use children as bait, and even these kids might not be as innocent as they seem.
Click.
I raised my rifle, and the children froze in their tracks.
“Turn around. Hands in the air.”
Even a child can kill soone if they have a weapon.
The ages of the children in front of ranged from lower to upper elentary school.
If they know how, taking down a careless adult is no big feat.
The kids in my sight didn’t appear to be ard.
“There.”
I aid a warning at the railing leading to the second floor.
“I know you’re hiding. You’ve got ten seconds.”
I watched the children’s reactions closely as I aid my rifle.
The youngest looked utterly lost, unsure of what to do.
The two older ones exchanged glances, silently communicating.
Bang!
I fired a warning shot at the children’s feet.
They scread and either crouched down or dropped flat on the floor.
“Eight.”
I shifted my gaze to the railing and began counting aloud.
“Seven.”
A white handkerchief fluttered out from behind the railing.
“Alright, alright! I’m coming out.”
An adult’s voice—a raspy, phlegmy tone, more middle-aged than youthful—called out.
The owner of the voice soon erged from the railing.
A man with long, disheveled hair and a dark complexion limped into view.
“Co down. Hands in the air.”
The man slowly descended the spiral staircase to the first floor.
But he wasn’t alone.
Trailing behind him, like ducklings following their mother, were several small children.
It was imdiately clear that these kids weren’t his.
“Whose kids are these?”
The man smirked bitterly, shaking his head.
“Picked them up. They’re beggar kids.”
“Beggar kids?”
“I took them out of there.”
The man spread his arms wide, his voice growing more fervent.
“I brought them out of that hell!”
*
The man didn’t reveal his na, but the children called him Sergeant Jang.
I hadn’t intended to exchange words with him, but he insisted on a conversation, so we spoke briefly outside the house while the children looked on.
He got straight to the point.
“Do you need kids?”
“No.”
“If you do, take your pick. A little food will do.”
“I said I don’t need them.”
When he pressed too hard, I had no choice but to aim my pistol at his stubbled chin.
Between the wiry hairs of his beard, I noticed small, white worms wriggling.
Lice.
I imdiately took a step back, putting distance between us, and spoke coldly.
“Is that all you wanted to say?”
“You need a boiler, don’t you?”
Sergeant Jang smirked.
“I saw you checking out the wood-burning boiler next door. You planning to take it?”
I had been.
At least until I encountered these people.
“No. I was considering it, but I didn’t know you were here. I’ll leave it.”
Wood-burning boilers are everywhere. I could find another one elsewhere. Or I could ask Defender for help.
“We’ll help you take it. You just need to load it onto that motorcycle, right?”
“...”
“Co on, just give us a little food. You can see the kids’ condition, right? They’ll starve to death like this.”
I didn’t look at the children.
It was intentional.
I didn’t want to develop any unnecessary pity.
I wasn’t going to take them in or care for them anyway.
Sergeant Jang fixed his gaze on and continued speaking.
“You don’t have to do anything. Just give us so food. Not much. We’ll load the boiler for you. The kids aren’t useless. They’re not just sitting around—they can work. You’d be surprised how sharp they are.”
Before I could respond, Sergeant Jang turned and barked orders at the hollow-eyed children clustered behind him.
“What are you standing around for? Get ready to dismantle that boiler! Grab tools! Bring the cart!”
While he groveled before , he roared at the children like a tyrant.
“What about the ones inside?”
I gestured toward the house with the muzzle of my rifle.
At my question, Sergeant Jang’s lips twisted into an awkward smile.
“What are you talking about?”
“There are two more inside.”
“...You’ve got good instincts, huh?”
Click.
I raised my rifle.
I usually prefer to resolve things through conversation, but sothing about this situation—the strange vibe of the abandoned neighborhood, the unsettling presence of so many unfamiliar children, and Sergeant Jang’s crass, filthy deanor—put on edge.
“Who are they?” I asked irritably.
Sergeant Jang’s eyes darted around nervously.
“Well, uh...”
“This conversation is over. Go back inside. Take the kids with you.”
“No, wait! Listen to ! Look, they’re kids—well, not exactly kids anymore. They’ve grown. They’re... what do you call it? Teenagers! They’re in their rebellious phase or whatever. They don’t listen to anymore!”
Sergeant Jang’s rambling revealed two things to .
First, he was soone at his breaking point, both physically and ntally.
Second, he was afraid of those “other kids” watching us from the shadows.
“They only listen to you,” he whispered, just loud enough for to hear. It was probably his last attempt to salvage so pride in front of the younger children.
I sighed and addressed the figures hiding in the shadows of the house.
“Co out.”
At my words, the hidden figures erged.
A boy and a girl.
They were teenagers, likely in their mid-teens.
The girl, in particular, was tall—almost as tall as Sergeant Jang.
“We don’t have any weapons. We just didn’t want to co out and were watching, that’s all,” the girl said, staring at directly.
She didn’t seem scared of .
The boy, on the other hand, had hollow eyes tinged with subtle hostility. But his glare wasn’t aid at —it was directed at Sergeant Jang.
“Send the kids back inside,” I told Sergeant Jang.
He motioned to the children.
“You heard the nice man. Go inside. Now! Move!”
The younger children obeyed without complaint, but the older ones—particularly the reluctant teenagers—muttered sothing under their breath as they shuffled back into the house.
The boy kicked a stone at his feet in frustration, making no effort to hide his annoyance.
Sergeant Jang muttered under his breath, glaring at the boy.
“Damn brat...”
“What happened here?”
I handed him a packet of instant ran noodles and asked casually, my curiosity piqued.
This odd man and his strange mix of children were becoming more intriguing.
*
"I used to be a soldier. Stationed at the front lines."
Crunch.
Sergeant Jang began his story as he bit into the brick of instant ran.
He claid to have been one of the soldiers guarding the border. He had experienced the final North Korean offensive and was later reassigned to a defense unit near Ganghwa Island during the early days of the war with China, tasked with holding critical positions.
Eventually, he was redeployed to the front lines to fight against monsters and mutations. When the front collapsed, his unit turned into a warlord's militia, and he beca a raider under the command of a disillusioned captain.
"Before I knew it, I wasn’t killing enemies anymore—I was killing our own people. It happened so fast. And when I ca to my senses, I realized I was in hell itself. I couldn’t stomach it, especially the beggar kids they were using as bait."
As everything around him fell apart, Sergeant Jang discovered the children used as bait, called beggar kids.
"…It was the wrong choice. I should’ve left on my own, but my weak-willed self decided to take them with . My stupid compassion got the better of ."
Sergeant Jang looked up at .
"I should’ve acted like you."
"Like ?"
"You didn’t even glance at the kids, just like our captain."
"..."
It seems we’re all the sa in the end.
No matter how shabby, suspicious, or flawed this man appeared, he still looked at , observed my actions, and tried to understand my intentions.
He wasn’t wrong about what I was thinking, and while it embarrassed to be so easily read, I didn’t let it show.
"So, you took the beggar kids with you?"
"That’s right."
"And your captain and forr comrades?"
"They’re dead. Burned the barracks down myself."
His hands and eyelids twitched as he spoke.
"…The boiler."
It seed like he was on the verge of a seizure. His already dark complexion turned even darker, almost pitch black, as if he were about to collapse.
Thankfully, the episode didn’t last long. After taking a deep breath, he composed himself and asked, as if nothing had happened:
"Shall we move the boiler now?"
"Alright, let’s do it. But will it fit on my motorcycle?"
"There’s a cart. We’ll hitch it up. Easy enough."
"I don’t have much food to spare."
"A little will do. You saw the kids—they won’t last long. The youngest one looks like he’s about to die."
I didn’t completely trust him, but doubting him at this point felt unnecessarily disrespectful.
Besides, the boiler was sothing I genuinely needed. If he was willing to transport it for free, it was a great deal on my end.
"Fine. Let’s do it."
Sergeant Jang’s health wasn’t great.
He limped, coughed constantly, and occasionally stood frozen, unmoving, as if he were dead.
But despite his poor condition, he was impressively efficient when it ca to the task at hand.
Even I, with my carpentry experience, couldn’t figure out how to dismantle the boiler, but Sergeant Jang expertly disassembled, packed, and loaded the bulky equipnt onto the cart in no ti.
Occasionally, though, he would lose his temper at the children, scolding them harshly enough to bring them to tears. Once, he even pretended to unbuckle his belt as if he were about to hit them.
The children didn’t seem to follow him out of affection—they were clearly driven by fear.
The boy and girl I’d seen earlier didn’t help with the work.
They lingered behind the building, their gazes cold and sharp as they glared at Sergeant Jang’s back.
Before long, the work was finished.
The makeshift cart, though crude, was securely hitched to my motorcycle, and the heavy wood-burning boiler was loaded on top.
"There you go, sir! The boiler’s all loaded!"
To be honest, I was surprised.
What I thought would be a major ordeal had been wrapped up far more quickly and easily than I expected.
The paynt? A few packets of dried rations and instant noodles.
It felt like an absurdly cheap deal for what I’d gained.
"…"
Even so, I still didn’t feel comfortable in this place.
The strange atmosphere of the abandoned neighborhood, Sergeant Jang’s rough deanor, and the skeletal children with their hollow eyes—I didn’t want to stay here a second longer than necessary.
But I believe in fair trade. If soone completes a job, they deserve their paynt.
"It feels like I haven’t given enough. I’ll bring so more food tomorrow."
It would be a lie to say I felt no pity for the children.
"You’re serious? You’ll bring more?!"
"…I’ll co by tomorrow during the day."
"Hey, uh, if you’ve got any, could you bring so alcohol? Just a little!"
I glanced sideways at Sergeant Jang, trembling as he begged, and climbed onto my motorcycle.
"See you tomorrow."
The motorcycle roared as it struggled under the weight of the boiler but soon picked up speed, its engine growling loudly as I rode away.
*
"Thank You. Truly, Thank You."
“I didn’t think you’d actually co back. Truly.”
I handed over a significant portion of food I didn’t need, including a bottle of soju.
It wasn’t just for Sergeant Jang—it was my way of showing so appreciation for the soldiers who had once sacrificed to protect this country.
Sergeant Jang, like many survivors in this era, was an alcoholic.
The way he cracked open the soju bottle and downed it in gulps without so much as a bite of food made that clear.
“Ahh! This is it. This is the stuff!”
Drunk or sober, his behavior and expression didn’t change much.
He remained jittery, insecure, and constantly glancing over his shoulder at the teenagers behind him.
I’d known from the beginning what haunted him.
After a few drinks, he started to open up more candidly.
“I should never have taken in those kids. I should’ve just left them behind.”
The kids.
“Couldn’t you have abandoned them halfway?”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“You seem to hate them enough.”
“If I left them, they’d all be dead. Last winter, only two of them died because I was there. If I hadn’t been, they’d all have frozen to death. Every single one of them!”
I couldn’t understand his feelings about the children.
They seed to be a chaotic ss of contradictions—he pitied them but despised them, they feared him but also seed to scare him in return.
Soon enough, I identified the source of my unease.
There was no clear purpose behind his actions.
What was driving him to live such a contradictory life?
I asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Sergeant Jang licked the neck of the empty soju bottle and gave a strange smile before murmuring:
“I don’t know. But when I ca to my senses, I was stuck with this damned burden.”
Then his eyes glead.
“No, I think I do know,” he said with sudden conviction.
“To avoid going to hell.”
“Hell?”
“I’ve done so many bad things. Doesn’t doing at least one good thing keep you out of hell? I know there’s no such thing as hell, but I can’t just die as a piece of shit, can I?”
I still didn’t understand.
Was it so form of atonent?
That was as far as my comprehension could stretch.
Sergeant Jang’s view of the world and mine must differ greatly in many ways.
I shifted my focus to a more imdiate issue.
“What about those older kids? The boy and the girl?”
The ones he seed so afraid of.
They were dangerous.
If left unchecked, either Sergeant Jang would die, or they would.
“You planning to kill them?”
In a similar situation, I would.
“No.”
Of course, Sergeant Jang wasn’t like .
“If you don’t, you might be the one who gets killed.”
“Then so be it.”
“Is that part of your atonent too?”
“Atonent? Nah, it’s not that grand. But if I kill them, the rest of the kids are as good as dead too. You can see I’m not long for this world, right?”
“…”
“I’ve taught those ungrateful brats how to survive, at least a little. They’re shitty kids, but the others like them more than they like , and those two care about the others more than I ever could.”
Sergeant Jang, who had been grimly reflecting on his dire reality, suddenly broke into a boyish grin.
“Got a K-walkie?”
“I do.”
“You know CQ?”
“Of course.”
CQ is the universal call signal for open frequency communication on walkie-talkies.
Most people skip it, but by-the-book protocol requires starting with CQ when broadcasting to random listeners.
“I told them to use ‘C8.’ When they get their hands on a walkie-talkie, they’ll just go ‘C8, C8!’ over and over.”
Sergeant Jang chuckled, his flushed face lit up with amusent.
I wasn’t just here to listen to his drunken ramblings or life story.
I handed him another item I’d brought along—a sheet of vinyl from Woo Min-hee.
I explained how to use it.
“If you find anything white or close to white, contact on the walkie-talkie. I can’t help everyone, but I might be able to ensure at least one of those kids has a chance at a decent life.”
That concluded our conversation.
With his flushed face and a mix of reluctance and gratitude, Sergeant Jang waved off as I prepared to leave.
“Hey, you bastard!”
He sent a farewell signal that only we survivors understood, but I didn’t respond.
*
Sergeant Jang never contacted again.
To be honest, I completely forgot about him—and even the wood-burning boiler.
The sumr was oppressively hot, and chaos unfolded in the north as yet another monster eruption plunged the region into turmoil. anwhile, in Incheon, an unprecedented disaster turned the entire city upside down.
I only rembered Sergeant Jang when the early chill of August began to cool the ground.
While others on the forum rejoiced over the cool, autumn-like weather, I hurried to retrieve the wood-burning boiler. I decided to test it out.
Whoosh.
The flas roared to life, and the boiler’s performance was impressive—no malfunctions, no repairs needed.
Even then, Sergeant Jang didn’t cross my mind.
Not until my K-walkie suddenly picked up a signal on the public frequency.
“Shibal.”
A young girl’s voice echoed over the walkie-talkie, spewing an unexpected curse.
Why on earth?
As I listened, the sa curse repeated over and over, ringing through the static.
“Shibal, shibal.”
It was then that I rembered Sergeant Jang.
These must be his kids—the ones who had especially hated him.
“Is anyone there? Please, soone respond.”
The fact that this voice was coming through likely ant one thing: Sergeant Jang was no longer alive.
A question crept into my mind.
Had the kids killed him?
Or had he succumbed to his illness?
“Hello? Is no one there? Shibal, shibal!”
There was no way to know the answer.
After all, I wasn’t about to respond to that signal.
“Hello! Is anyone there?!”
At least that bright, innocent voice still carried a faint glimr of hope.
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