The nickname Defender slowly faded into obscurity, now remembered only by those who knew him—just a relic of a bygone user.

From the perspective of a forum oldbie and once-famous namefag, Defender probably hadn’t had much of a choice.

His identity on the forum was built entirely on killing. It’s not exactly easy for someone whose content revolved around murder to suddenly post beatboxing videos like I did and expect to get a reaction.

The label murderer is like darkness—thick and all-consuming.

No matter how bright the content he created, he could never scrub off that murderer’s mark.

Defender did try to change his image once.

You can still find it in the Korean board of Viva! Apocalypse!, from about two to three years ago, back when only satellite internet owners could access it.

Defender: German Tier 3 engine teardown.jpg

Defender: Today’s jackpot

Defender: Mutated roe deer.gif

Defender: Summer sky.jpg

Defender: Old drafts

Defender: Domestic 2500cc engine parts

Defender: German cars aren't all good (feat. cost-cutting)

Defender: (Addendum) Tandem oil pump issue

...

...

Defender tried to move away from murder-themed content and blend into the board with car maintenance, scavenging, and interesting finds.

But honestly, his posts weren’t any fun.

His comments had a sharp, biting wit, but his actual posts lacked explanation, had awkward flow, and most of all—were just plain boring.

Take that roe deer mutation post, for example—it’s just a picture of a deer taken from a distance.

If he had Skeleton’s sense, he would’ve zoomed out and placed the deer alongside other objects to show scale—make it stick in people’s minds.

If he wanted fame, he would’ve called the deer closer or approached it to create a more dynamic narrative.

But a distant phone pic like that? Not even worth a single comment.

In fact, there are only a handful of his posts that ever got comments.

And the ones that did—

SKELTON: (Skeleton awe) Ddi-yong~

...

SKELTON: (Skeleton nods) Hoooh...

...

SKELTON: (Skeleton) Is Benz better? Or BMW?

...

dongtanmom: Murderous bastard's trying hard. Yum yum... kek

...

SKELTON: (Skeleton’s back arches like a bow) Ohgogok!!

...

SKELTON: (Skeleton) Zzzzzz....

...

...

That’s all I wrote.

Dongtanmom also left one, but let’s ignore that.

She’s... not well.

Well, if Defender had a solid base like he does now and felt truly safe, maybe Da-jeong would’ve come out and posted herself.

The fact that the Defender siblings didn’t make that choice shows they still had a good sense of judgment.

Thinking back, I don’t think Defender wrote those posts to reclaim fame.

Maybe my friend, Defender, just wanted to be a normal user again.

Now, no one remembers Defender.

People know and fear him more as Hong Jeong-ho.

He’s waiting for me.

*

The Skull Brigade's HQ is set in what used to be a university.

It’s not hard to find.

Even in the early morning, its bright lights made it stand out more clearly than the stars above.

Men in tactical gear and masks shaped like skull jaws glared at me with murderous eyes.

They wouldn’t harm me.

I had the same armband they did—signifying we were on °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° the same side.

One of the masked men up ahead raised a hand toward me. A familiar face, even with the mask.

Go Jeong-du, was it?

One of the original members, back from when the Skull Brigade was still just Team Defender.

I remembered him because he used to make decent money pre-war with patriotic clickbait content.

Sadly, he was too busy to create Skeleton-style nationalist content, but let’s be real—at this point in the ruined world, even if he had, it wouldn’t have gone viral.

“Been a while.”

He greeted me.

I gave a small nod and asked where Defender was.

“He’s on the main building rooftop.”

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud—

The sound of rotors echoed from above.

Two helicopters, tailing one another, were attempting to land on the Skull Brigade’s helipad.

Even before the thunder of rotors faded, the ground began to tremble faintly as a convoy of armored vehicles sped toward the city.

A de facto military force.

My friend Defender stood waiting for me atop the gothic rooftop of the university’s main building, as if inspecting the troops.

Spotlights swept the sky in erratic, irritated lines, crisscrossing into pale streaks of haze. Defender stood there, hands behind his back, staring into the distance without a twitch.

“...You came?”

Defender’s voice, weary somehow.

I nodded.

He turned around.

Still a handsome face—but now, the weight of years was clearly visible.

His cheeks had hollowed, giving him a strangely older look than mine, perhaps due to the ordeals he’d endured.

“Shall we go in?”

The top floor, a wide room encompassing the whole wing, was Defender’s office.

A place where past grandeur and present disorder coexisted in disarray—a perfect reflection of Defender’s current standing.

He sat down.

There was just one monitor on his desk—no papers in sight.

A woman, presumably his secretary, brought us drinks.

A translucent green soda with a cool, sweet flavor.

We each took a sip.

Defender was the first to speak.

“What is it you want to say?”

He and I have completely different tastes and personalities, but we share one thing in common—

We hate fluff. We’re blunt, to the point.

I nodded and got straight to it, our way.

“I’m worried about you.”

Defender nodded too.

“I get what you mean.”

He added—

“Da-jeong said the same thing.”

Of course.

The siblings must’ve had a serious talk before I arrived.

Probably didn’t end in a proper compromise.

In the silence, or maybe indifference, Defender continued.

“I know. The higher you climb, the harder the fall. I know I’m not exactly standing on a stable platform either.”

He gently swirled his glass.

“Maybe this ends with me being thrown away once I’m no longer useful. Honestly, the odds are high.”

“Defender.”

Of course.

He knew everything.

He knew exactly where he stood, what kind of risk he was under—yet he still chose this position.

Yeah.

That’s the Defender I know.

“...I don’t agree with that Italian proverb about living one day as a lion, but...”

Defender exhaled a deep sigh and, for the first time, locked eyes with me.

“I still think it’s better than scraping by every day like a rat.”

I nodded.

We weren’t exactly reading each other’s minds, but I could see how firm his conviction was.

This was the path he chose.

“Alright.”

No point in lecturing a boardmate about a decision they made after long thought.

I gave him a faint smile as I stared at him.

“You feeling okay?”

Defender chuckled.

“Weren’t you here to talk me down?”

“That was the plan... but after seeing you, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

I stood up.

“I’m planning to leave soon.”

“Back to the bunker?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll go someday, but not now.”

“The rift.”

“Yeah. I’m going inside.”

He rose too—not to leave, but to walk around the desk and look out the wide, roughly patched-up window behind him.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the horizon was glowing with soft pre-dawn light.

“I might die. I might never come back. To be honest, the odds of dying are higher than returning. Worst case, I don’t even make it into the rift before I die.”

“Is this because of Kang Han-min?”

“Yeah.”

“You think meeting him will really bring the apocalypse to an end?”

I looked at him.

Thought for a second, then shook my head with a bitter smile.

“Then why?”

Without even blinking, Defender shot back sharply.

“There’s a huge difference between dying knowing the world still has hope and dying thinking the world was doomed anyway.”

“If you get shot in the head, you won’t have time to think about that.”

“That’d be a good death, then.”

“True.”

Defender tapped the desk lightly.

“Skeleton. Take a look at this.”

He pointed at the monitor on the desk.

Maybe 32 inches?

And on it, unbelievably, was a piece of the past I thought was gone forever.

“This is...?”

A photo we’d taken.

In front of a lonely rural house, I stood beside the Defender siblings, all of us staring ahead with dead expressions.

We were younger in the photo, but the vibe was totally different.

I looked sharper and more guarded back then. The siblings were more eerie, and there was a strange unease about them.

“Back then, we accepted every possible future. That I’d be captured, tortured, and killed... that Da-jeong would be dragged around and defiled until she died.”

It’s a common scenario.

When you’re holed up in a bunker or a hideout with no idea when raiders will come, imagining your worst fate becomes routine.

They even held a worst-case-scenario competition on the board once.

Defender clicked through the photos.

Some with just the siblings, some with just Da-jeong, some with only him. Others of car engines—an eclectic mix.

The scroll, flipping rapidly, came to a halt.

It was a shot of Defender’s old hideout next to my bunker.

“...It wasn’t bad, living here. Might’ve been the best time, really. Still anxious, sure, but compared to that amusement park era... having a reliable neighbor made all the difference.”

“...”

I agree.

In the grand scheme of the apocalypse, just a phase.

But for us, it wasn’t a bad time.

The board was livelier back then. John_nenon and Melon Mask were still alive.

The image changed to my bunker.

“I didn’t like it here.”

Defender scrolled quickly, as if the feeling came back to him.

“Oh—not that I hated you. I just hated the atmosphere.”

“Sorry. I should’ve looked out for you more.”

That was my mistake.

Being team lead isn’t the same as being a group leader.

Treating everyone fairly doesn’t always mean doing the right thing.

Some people... you give more to.

No—you have to.

If someone is precious to you.

Selfish, maybe, but people live for themselves in the end.

The photos began to blur past again.

The album condensed the Skull Brigade’s chaotic, unpredictable growth from Team Defender into a whirlwind of expansion.

One strange photo passed by—just one frame.

The album returned to group photos, until finally it stopped on a clean-cut image of Defender standing tall in front of the university HQ.

“Want me to be honest?”

I said nothing, but the future felt written.

Defender continued.

“It’s neither good nor bad. Honestly, I can’t feel much. Sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream. But at least now, I feel like I’m doing something.”

That one odd photo stuck in my head.

A portrait—undeniably, a woman.

I’d heard he had someone he liked.

Probably a memory from that time.

I don’t know what happened between them or what impact it had.

While I mulled over it, Defender clicked once more.

One last photo.

He scrolled a good while but nothing else appeared.

The final picture in Defender’s album was of a single tree.

A withered, dead tree overlooking the old amusement park.

I recognized it.

His father had hanged himself from that tree.

Before I could say anything, Defender’s radio buzzed to life with a loud ring.

“What is it? Ah, really? Got it. I’ll be right out.”

I could hear soldiers scrambling.

Engines rumbling to life. Shouts. Weapon checks. That click of a chamber being tested.

The plaza was thick with the scent of war.

Time to say goodbye.

Fitting, really.

“Well then, I’ll get going.”

“What do you think makes a right choice?”

Defender asked, suddenly.

“...”

I had no answer.

No one can predict the future.

But as a friend, I owed him something.

One thought came to mind.

I gave his shoulder a light pat.

He turned his gaze to me, and I said—

“Not leaving any regrets.”

His eyes met mine a beat later, and I smiled.

“Dying with regrets is annoying, right?”

That’s the most honest thing I could say between us.

In a world with no rules or lines left to keep, the only one you have to answer to is yourself.

Defender gave a dry chuckle and looked back out the window.

The sun was rising.

I left the room.

His voice followed me like a tailwind.

“Yeah. I climbed on a tiger’s back. I did. But hey... what happens when you fall off?”

Defender laughed brightly.

“Fuck it, let’s fall off.”

He threw a thumbs-up over his shoulder.

Yeah.

That’s the Defender I know.

“...Take care of Da-jeong.”

He added, a natural request—as expected.

I exited Defender’s office.

“Commander. This way.”

The convoy was waiting.

I changed into the transport unit’s uniform and pulled my cap low.

“Move out!”

The trucks bound for the rift rolled out eastward.

Coming the other way, a hodgepodge of vehicles and armored trucks carrying Defender’s soldiers crossed paths.

“Feels like something’s about to go down.”

The soldier in the driver’s seat muttered.

Before any journey, the weight of doubt clings to your heels.

Did I forget something? Is the gas off? Is the heat still on?

But casting that aside and stepping into the unknown—that’s what it means to have the heart of a traveler.

“Yeah, probably.”

Even knowing the city behind us might soon burn—I won’t look back.