I ended up going rat hunting out of nowhere, but honestly, it’s not a bad way to clear my head.

This one’s an intriguing creature.

And more than that—it's a rat.

“It’s a damn cunning bastard. Picture this: a rat sneaking into a warehouse packed with infrared security lasers, stealing ammo, cleaning up after itself, and vanishing without a trace. Shit, it's like a real-life episode of Tom and Jerry.”

Historically, rats have been icons of disease and destruction, but to me, they’ve always been symbols of luck.

Back when I was operating in China, I captured a mid-stage mutation rat that was still undergoing genetic alteration due to the mutation factor. I submitted it to the academic community and presented conclusive evidence for mutation mechanisms, earning international recognition.

The mutated rat that broke into Sergeant Gil’s warehouse is fascinating in a very different way.

“No matter how smart these goddamn mutations get, they’re still animals at their core. They follow instincts. But this bastard? It’s been sneaking into a dangerous warehouse every single day, stealing ammo, cleaning up after itself, and getting out without triggering anything—for over two months?”

The man delivering this passionate explanation is one called Shin Bokyeong, and he’s the living proof of that story.

“The rat’s been selling the bullets.”

The idea that bartering and trade are exclusive to humans was debunked long ago. Multiple zoologists have proven otherwise.

And mutations, being far more intelligent than normal animals, are an entirely different level.

Even now, I carry Gold in my heart, and I remember Silver—who might’ve been even more cunning—vividly.

But a rat that trades bullets? That stretches even my open-mindedness to the limit.

We reviewed CCTV footage taken inside Sergeant Gil’s warehouse.

“...A mouse?”

It wasn’t a common sewer rat.

It was a mouse.

Round, flat, not particularly repulsive in appearance. White fur with black spots suggested this one probably descended from a domesticated pet.

“Still just a damn rat.”

Shin Bokyeong lacks the kind of delicate animal sensitivity that I have.

Maybe that explains the exhaustion etched deep in his weathered face.

Anyway, from the blurred footage, I was sure—the thief was a mutated rodent.

Its original species must’ve been quite small, or perhaps its mutation process hadn’t fully completed. Either way, its size was significantly smaller than most known mutations.

It looked about the size of a small dog—or a cat.

But if it started as a mouse, even that would be considered massive overgrowth.

Bokyeong had a point.

The rat is devious.

It avoids infrared detection with precision, steals skillfully, cleans up behind itself like Bokyeong testified, and always retreats via the same path.

There’s a clear intent in its actions.

Even someone like Bokyeong, who lacks animal empathy, can recognize how human the rat’s behavior is.

“Well, if you say so. I guess I could stick around longer, but sure.”

I had Defender and his men leave.

Even if their identities weren’t publicly known, that blood-scented murderous aura clung to all of Defender’s crew.

From the moment we entered the black market, every vendor's eyes locked onto them.

Some even murmured the name of Defender’s group—Skull Brigade.

Instead, we gained a new companion.

“....”

From a distance, Sergeant Gil’s gang was watching us.

The sensory-type esper who’d been suspicious of me didn’t follow. Probably stayed behind to guard the warehouse.

For Gil’s crew, that warehouse was worth far more than someone like me.

With Gil watching from afar, I searched behind the warehouse.

“You confident about this, senpai?”

Cheon Yeong-jae asked casually.

I answered with a smirk.

“I’m counting on you.”

“Still, finding some rat when we don’t even know where to start...”

“Back in China, I tracked and caught a single rat once.”

“That White Beauty?”

“Yeah. That one.”

I like to think I know rats pretty well.

Back then, I caught a sewer rat rather than a mouse, but generally, animal behavior is shaped by size and environment.

I knelt down and examined the overgrown weeds around the warehouse.

Something the weight of a cat wouldn’t easily press down thick weeds. But if something had been moving through here daily for two months, even drops of water could wear down stone. There would be a trace somewhere.

“Here.”

A patch caught my eye—discolored, with slower growth compared to the surroundings.

Still wearing gloves, I pushed the grass aside.

Sure enough, there was a long strip where the vegetation was stunted or flattened.

A trail—one made by the rat, and only by the rat.

Likely the best path it could manage.

The rat trap placed nearby confirmed it—it had been set along the creature’s own trail.

“Anything you’re seeing?”

Gil approached.

“I think I know where it went.”

“Really? How?”

I showed him the trail I’d found.

Gil, bulky and hairy but oddly expressive, furrowed his brow in thought.

“You’re saying it’s using this path?”

“It must have a base somewhere. Who knows what else is there—we need to prepare.”

Clack.

I chambered a round.

Gil asked bluntly, expressionless:

“You saying we might have a fight?”

“That’s right.”

“So you're implying there’s a person behind this mutation?”

That was probably the root of his doubt.

Mutations had grown too intelligent to serve humans, and they resented humanity. That’s what all those government-issued mutation reports had insisted before and after the war.

In fact, once the mutation progressed, animals often turned on their human masters and killed them.

Looking back, I’m sure there were exceptions.

But fear made people betray and dispose of mutations quickly.

Governments likely preferred blanket execution policies to avoid bureaucratic waste.

Bottom line: mutations, despite their intelligence, can be friends to humans.

I’ve proven it myself. And over time, others around the world have, too.

“There are mutations that follow humans.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that kinda thing on FaleNet.”

Gil bared his teeth in a grin.

“Still, I don’t believe it unless I see it with my own eyes.”

I figured as much—he’s a stubborn one.

Without replying, I resumed the chase.

The Gwangjang Market sits atop a low hill, about two kilometers from New Seoul.

Steeper than it looks—if you sprint up it, you’ll feel it even with good lungs. But that elevation makes it resistant to flooding, a major problem for areas south of the Han River, and offers both defensive and scouting advantages.

Below the market, the sloped terrain is a chaotic mix of stepped farmland, abandoned plots, crumbled buildings, and debris. As usual with neglected areas, crops and weeds grow without order.

“So what now?”

Gil asked as I paused.

“We search slowly.”

We’d already lost the trail.

How much trace could a cat-sized rat really leave behind?

But the target is a mutation.

They’re tough prey—but often surprisingly easy to find.

“I’m going to check those houses.”

If a mutation thinks and acts like a person, then we can predict its behavior at human level.

It’s not perfect, but this tactic had worked well for me in the past.

In my experience, mutations prefer human homes.

Shelter might seem like a luxury, but houses were built to block wind and rain.

And animals hate harsh weather just as much as humans do.

“You’re going to search that area?”

Gil chuckled.

“You sure you’re up for that?”

His cynical blue eyes turned toward the ghostly row of buildings.

“Is there a problem?”

“You could say that.”

Gil pulled something from his coat.

A mask.

As he donned it along with protective gloves, he continued:

“That place is where the world’s rejects go to die.”

Another man added:

“It’s a self-made graveyard.”

New Seoul’s rise may have made things look normal again, and survivor factions claim prosperity—but many still die in the shadows.

The first to die are those without a group, or the ones cast out from groups.

Their deaths are unrecorded, unmourned, and silent.

The abandoned buildings on the slope beneath the black market had become a magnet for such people.

A fitting horror site to have next to a black market.

Judging by the low-rise piloti buildings lined up side by side, this place had once been a one-room rental cluster.

“People with no family, no friends—they all end up here. Originally, gangs dumped their dying, STD-ridden women here. But somehow word got out, and soon sick old folks, loners, and criminals started coming, too.”

The man looked fully Korean but wore a name tag reading James over an unranked U.S. military uniform.

“Even zombies show up now and then.”

No wonder.

Snares were everywhere.

In one, a withered human arm dangled, dried and severed.

“....”

The air was foul.

The reek of old corpses mixed with mold and lay heavy over the village.

The midday summer sun shone, but the whole town looked sunken in shadow.

“This place has a yin aura,”

Cheon Yeong-jae muttered as we entered the one-room village, guns drawn.

Gil followed several paces behind.

“Over there.”

Cheon pointed toward one of the buildings, his glowing eyes locking in on life signs.

“Something’s there.”

Clack!

I readied my gun and entered.

No gas mask—but I soaked a handkerchief with canteen water and tied it around my mouth.

There was a bio-signal just beyond a half-open door.

Even through the cloth, the stench of death was overwhelming.

I slowly opened the door.

“....”

Then slowly closed it again.

Cheon had already turned and started down the stairs.

On the first floor, Gil was waiting.

“You find it?”

“No.”

“What was it?”

“Someone about to die.”

We continued our sweep of the complex.

“Was it a woman?”

Gil asked again.

He seemed more sentimental than his appearance suggested.

I nodded.

“Syphilis? What did she look like?”

“Not sure. Didn’t look closely. If you’re curious, check yourself.”

Gil pulled what looked like a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

“I used to have a woman with me. After the city rose, she left.”

His blue eyes darkened with sorrow.

Must’ve meant a lot to him.

“...I sent people to look for her, but she vanished. I mean, what could a woman with no friends or ties do on her own? Probably got sold into prostitution or raped and killed somewhere.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Gil exhaled white smoke.

“It’s fine. I erased her from my heart long ago.”

We resumed the search.

Cheon pointed out a second signal, and we investigated.

Gil didn’t follow us this time either—but ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) he repeated the same question:

“Was it a woman?”

I shook my head.

This time, I asked a question of my own:

“Still not over her?”

Gil shook his head.

“Nah. Let that go ages ago. No real regrets. I’ve done my share of bad things too.”

His face looked surprisingly peaceful.

I could dig deeper, but I didn’t want to in a place like this.

We found the third signal at the far end of the complex.

This time, there was a reason to be hopeful.

“It’s like a human... but not.”

Cheon grinned.

“Maybe it’s that rat bastard.”

I drew my pistol.

Time to end this in one shot.

I’m not bragging, but I shoot better with a handgun than even Kim Daram.

I had Cheon cover the perimeter and climbed the stairs alone.

Someone followed.

Gil.

This time, he came with me.

When I paused, he grinned.

“Everyone’s allowed to hope, right?”

I ignored him and climbed.

The door—like the others—was broken and barely hanging on.

There was an attempt to secure it with a makeshift latch, but judging by the reek inside, there was nothing left of value.

I opened the door.

“....”

A corpse.

Female.

Dead for at least three days.

Due to the season, decomposition was fast. Visibly, the cause looked like a mix of illness and malnutrition.

Some preserved ration bricks remained, but her body had long since become too weak to digest them.

In her hand was a grimy piece of cardboard—a note, but I didn’t bother reading it.

Just another dying woman’s last words in the apocalypse.

What caught my eye was next to her corpse.

A stack of bullets. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

More than 100 rounds of various calibers, neatly arranged.

No sign of anything else.

The rat had vanished.

But it hadn’t left the building.

I checked the vent and the window—openings a cat-sized animal could fit through—and turned to Gil.

“We can recover the ammo.”

Gil’s gaze remained fixed on the corpse.

“You know her?”

He shook his head.

“Looks similar, but no.”

Gil crouched and began collecting the rounds.

“Sergeant Gil.”

Clack.

I aimed my gun.

The rat had appeared.

White fur with black splotches like a panda. A rodent the size of a cat.

It was him—the one that had been stealing from Gil’s warehouse.

I could shoot, but I didn’t pull the trigger.

The reason was its reaction.

Despite its small size, the mutated creature bristled its fur and bared its fangs at Gil, snarling.

“KIIIIIIII!”

Startled by the sudden appearance, Gil fell on his butt—but only for a moment.

He drew his gun.

A .45 caliber—advanced model with a laser sight, fit for a weapon technician.

The red dot hovered between the rat’s eyes.

“Wait.”

I stopped him.

Used my gun to push his barrel off-target.

Gil scowled at me, but I answered with a smile and carefully approached the woman’s corpse.

The rat lunged.

I dodged lightly and pulled the note from her hand.

[Please take care of Hayangi. I know there’s nothing I can offer, but if you’re willing to help her, please lift my corpse.

P.S. – If I’m still alive, if I still have breath left, please... help me. ㅠㅠ]

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I fired warning shots to push the rat back and flipped the corpse.

It snarled furiously but didn’t charge—knowing we had guns.

Beneath the corpse, wrapped in plastic—

A cell phone.

Maggots writhed atop it in the leaking fluids.

“Whoops.”

Gil grumbled as I picked it up.

“KIIIIIIII!”

The rat—Hayangi—grew even more agitated.

By then, Gil finally noticed something was off.

“What the hell... is it loyal to the corpse?”

I nodded.

“Probably.”

I stared at the rat, thinking.

“Hmph.”

A decent idea came to mind.