Ever since I first saw Na Hye-in’s memo, one question hasn’t left my mind.

Is the shelter really safe from scavengers?

The closer to Seoul you are, the more active the scavengers.

Those rough, brutal scavengers ride around in school buses, sweeping up everything usable from Seoul all the way to Corps-controlled areas.

Even the tens of thousands of vehicles abandoned along the major war-damaged highways—vehicles the Korean government couldn’t do anything about—were all cleared out by scavengers in record time, as if mocking the government’s impotence.

If the location of this shelter is even a little known, it’s possible that there’s absolutely nothing left inside.

Just like the golf course facility, picked clean to the bone like a fish skeleton.

The entrance to the shelter lay at the center of what had become a jungle-like golf course.

The exact location was supposed to be between the 14th and 8th holes, beneath a low hill where red pines were planted.

But I couldn’t see the 14th hole, or any red pines for that matter.

Someone must’ve cut them down.

I took my time and searched carefully.

After nearly an hour of searching, I found the entrance.

Whoever designed this place was pretty cunning.

They built a small underground facility called “Golf Course Maintenance Room B” on the shaded slope of a hill that faces northwest—meaning it’s in shadow all year round.

That maintenance room had already been stripped clean by scavengers, right down to the door.

But that room itself wasn’t the real entrance.

Inside, in the spot where there had been a boiler and breaker panel—roughly 7 square meters—only a dark concrete wall remained.

Even knocking on it with force produced the dense, solid sound of concrete.

But there was a gimmick.

If you grab the slightly recessed section and push it sideways with all your strength—

Kugugugugu—

The entire concrete wall slides to the side like a door.

It requires considerable strength, clearly designed for two adult men to open together.

But if you’ve got no teeth, you chew with your gums.

I mustered every ounce of strength and pushed the heavy concrete wall open.

Behind it was a steel door.

It had a mechanical vault-style lock, the kind used to avoid vulnerability to EMPs.

But someone had already opened it.

A note was stuck in front of the handle.

[ Ahead: multiple zombies. ]

[ No entry without additional instructions from the National Awakened Authority. ]

“······.”

Na Hye-in doesn’t speak carelessly.

Sure enough—

The moment I opened the door, the stench of corpses hit me.

Click.

Axe in one hand, lantern in the other, I slowly stepped inside the steel door.

There was a staircase.

A deep one.

It spiraled downward, coiling around a hollow central shaft that had an old-style gondola—like the ones used in old apartment buildings.

They must’ve used that pulley to bring supplies into the shelter.

It was a long way down.

From the top, the light didn’t even reach the bottom—but now that I was descending, I could tell it was at least five stories deep.

The farther I went down, the worse the smell got.

I stopped halfway and put on my dust mask.

Just then, a foreboding sound echoed below.

Wooooooo—

A chorus of zombies.

Yup. Zombies.

And not just one or two.

But it wasn’t hundreds either.

At most, a few dozen.

And that’s being generous.

This shelter was built for government VIPs. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

They wouldn’t have let just anyone in.

If they had let just anyone in, the entire place would’ve gone down during the initial zombie outbreak.

But if the number of zombies is limited, resistance can crush them easily.

Preparing for all possibilities, I kept descending slowly.

When I was nearly at the bottom, I took off my backpack and set it on the floor.

Tssssk—

I tore off a piece of cloth, dipped it lightly in rubbing alcohol, and placed it in my mess tin so that one edge stuck out.

Then I lit it with a match.

Fsssh—

Once the flame held, I poured a little more alcohol in.

Improvised alcohol lamp complete.

In this pitch-black space, it would be a good way to reveal my position and weapons—if needed.

Honestly, I’d rather set up a claymore or something, but I don’t have the luxury.

Some might question why I go to all this trouble.

Zombies don’t react to me anyway.

But that’s just how I am.

I’m not indecisive, but I always need a Plan B in case things go south.

Who knows?

What if one of the zombies is a special type and charges me on sight?

Or what if, in this darkness, there’s a variant that tracks by scent?

I hate to admit it, but I haven’t properly washed in days and I’ve been sweating like hell—I probably stink.

I set up a weak checkpoint and reached the floor.

Another door.

It was open.

First impression: the scale is massive.

The stairs, the entrance—everything is oversized.

Even shining my lantern down the corridor didn’t reveal the far wall.

Not quite the level of a U.S. military base bunker, but definitely absurdly expensive.

Korea isn’t exactly known for noblesse oblige, but the pre-war behavior of the elite was still disappointing.

In Jang Gi-yeong’s words: it’s like immature children grew into adults without developing mentally, then went into politics and ran the country into the ground.

“Brats running around calling themselves congressmen and presidents. What kind of future could this country have?”

Granted, he said that after stepping down as principal and getting dragged into lawsuits.

Back when he was at his peak:

“People in this country need to get over their envy. Everyone blames the nation for their failures—but have they even tried? Have they?”

He used to say stuff like that all the time.

I wore a bitter, nostalgic smile and stepped into the operation zone.

“······.”

I stopped walking.

Turned around and shined the lantern downward.

There was a tripwire.

If I’m right, it’s a booby trap.

Standard pull-wire mechanism.

I checked the floor to see if a previous advance team had reached this point.

Sure enough, mine were the only footprints in the dust.

The person who left the warning note never came this far.

They were likely ordered to come and tried to leave as soon as they smelled the corpses or heard the zombie chorus.

They didn’t even get this far.

Any follow-up reports with exaggerated claims were just speculation.

Since this place became a zombie nest, I’m the first person to come this far.

Wooooooo—

The zombie sound echoed again.

“······.”

I tilted my head.

Something’s off.

That sound... felt wrong.

I listened closer.

It didn’t sound like actual zombies.

More like a recording being played back.

I didn’t advance further.

Instead, I stared into the darkness.

How long had passed?

Wooooooo—

There it was again.

Definitely not zombies.

A speaker.

The way the sound traveled, the slight distortion, the way my ears registered it—all confirmed it.

Which led me to a new hypothesis:

There’s still someone alive here.

They used the stench of corpses and fake zombie sounds as a barrier.

And for anyone who crosses it, they prepared booby traps.

Click—

I gripped my gun tighter and examined the wire.

Sure enough, it was connected to a grenade pin.

The simplest kind of booby trap.

I carefully disarmed it and moved forward.

I deliberately made my footsteps loud.

People who’ve been holed up for a long time tend to have intense fear of outsiders.

Even though I came alone, the person hiding here might imagine I’m part of a whole squad of Paks.

That’s how it is.

Hiding is a smart survival tactic—but if your hideout is discovered, you have to live with the fear of what happens next.

Wooooooo—

I found the source of the zombie sounds.

A ceiling-mounted ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) speaker.

Looked similar to the public announcement systems used in apartment buildings.

I moved cautiously, ready for anything.

I saw doors with electronic locks.

Like apartment doors.

Really fancy ones, too.

Come to think of it, this shelter was insanely luxurious.

Even the floor tiles, the ceiling air vents, the wall finishes—everything screamed “luxury.”

This must be one of those VVIP bunkers they started building when the war was escalating.

No wonder Na Hye-in had info on it.

But it’s too early to thank her.

Creak—

I opened a door.

Time to search every room.

As expected, each door led to a unit.

Each unit had 3 rooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room, and a kitchen—your standard 84-square-meter apartment layout.

No windows, of course.

But each room still had personal belongings.

And in those rooms, the mummified, dried-up corpses were decomposing.

From adults to teenage girls to children—whole families had died here.

From the way they died, it didn’t look like they were killed by others.

They looked like they just collapsed mid-routine, like they were living normally and then just fell over.

One young boy had died in his mother’s arms.

I’d need a forensic specialist for certainty, but there were no signs of murder.

The second unit confirmed my suspicion.

One man had died sitting upright on the living room sofa.

In front of him was a dried wine bottle on the table.

But what stood out in the second unit was a special object.

A pill.

Not the kind you swallow whole.

It looked like one you bite slightly to release a liquid—typically used for suicide.

“······.”

The picture was becoming clear.

But I’d leave conclusions for later.

I searched the third and fourth units, and then the rest.

The last room was probably the control center.

I headed there, weapon ready.

Finally, a homicide.

One man had been shot to death.

Looked like a maintenance worker—wore work clothes, more worn than the others.

Behind him, a computer was still running.

From its speakers—

Wooooooo—

The zombie sound file played on repeat.

In the storage room behind the control center, I found a good amount of supplies.

Canned food, medicine, preserved rations, a carbine rifle with ammo, and a few grenades.

Even baby food and snacks—enough to leave a strong impression.

But sadly, the residents of this grand tomb left no message.

They’d been dead from the start.

Still listening to the zombie chorus.

Forever.

Click—

I shut off the sound and looked around.

Then I quietly rejoiced.

A working comms device.

I might be able to contact my allies with this.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

*

Creak—creak—

I still need to investigate this shelter further, but most of the machinery and electronics seem to be working.

Even the gondola connected to the entrance functioned properly.

I loaded the corpses into it and hauled them out.

They were dehydrated, so aside from peeling them off the floor, moving them wasn’t difficult.

Probably won’t be hard to burn them either.

Once the bodies were out, I turned on the ventilation.

Whrrrrrrrr—

The generator seemed to be behind the control center.

I’ll figure out the fuel source later.

Right now, I need rest.

Thunk—

I locked the heavy door and went to the least-disgusting unit.

Tried the shower.

Kugugugugu—

The pipes made a grotesque sound before spewing out dark red water.

Not blood. Rust.

Soon it cleared, turning into clean filtered water.

The stench of death still clung to the room, but—

Then came the angelic hiss of steam.

Hot water.

Whoooshhh—

Sometimes, the simplest things can bring true happiness.

A long-overdue shower.

The purest feeling of being alive.

I squatted, washed my underwear with soap, then laid out a sleeping bag in the hallway and lay down.

“······.”

Sleep tugged at me, but before I closed my eyes, I pieced together the story of this place.

Most likely, the VIPs arrived before or right as the war began.

Hoping for survival through full concealment and isolation—something a doomsday prepper would applaud—they built a small community here.

The supplies used and left behind suggest they lived for over a year.

Maybe longer.

They could’ve lasted another year easily.

So why did they choose death?

Why turn this luxurious shelter into a tomb filled with death and silence?

Maybe it was about hope.

I realized something while showering.

Some people are content with little.

Others have impossibly high expectations for life.

Even before the war, there were people in tiny rooms dreaming of the future—and others who felt the world had ended because they lost VIP status at a department store.

These people seem like the latter.

Even living in the most luxurious shelter, they longed for pre-war life—and hoped it would return.

But as time passed, and they realized the world wouldn’t go back...

They chose the simplest way out.

They left this world.

Tonight, I’ll offer silent respect to these people—and to the innocent ones who died with them.

As a side note, there was no Viva! Apocalypse! satellite gear in this bunker.

But just maybe—if they had it—things might’ve turned out differently.