What Kim Daram told me was more or less what I’d expected.

But the conclusion was far from what I’d imagined.

Here’s how it went:

Jeon Si-hoon staged a coup using Defender.

The suppression ended quickly.

Defender’s soldiers, wearing skull-mimicking masks, swept through the Assembly, the broadcast station, the power plant, the Joint Chiefs of Staff headquarters, and the National Assembly building.

Even the Jeju delegates who had stayed behind in Seoul and attempted mild resistance were all arrested.

Kim So-uk, who had sided with Jeon Si-hoon, was no exception.

They say a successful coup is called a revolution—and that was the case this time.

It was a revolution.

The problem came afterward.

The ones who had seized power suddenly vanished.

Jeon Si-hoon and his cohort disappeared without a trace.

What was left floating in the air was Defender and his faction.

Aside from the flimsy show of force that Jeon Si-hoon had handed him, Defender’s crew had no legitimacy, no popularity—and yet they were now the rulers of Seoul.

What followed was predictable.

Defender—no, by now more widely known as Hong Jung-ho—quickly assessed the situation and did what he could.

He released the Jeju delegates and withdrew his troops.

But the line had already been crossed.

The new Seoul was no longer a gathering of virtuous citizens. It had become a mosaic of semi-warlord fiefdoms and interest groups clustered by refugee zone.

The seeds of mistrust that had already spread were irreversible.

Paramilitary groups sprouted like wildfire, and firefights erupted everywhere.

Groups or individual refugees that couldn’t withstand the chaos had to flee the city.

The city, which had barely held together, was now torn apart—racing toward destruction.

Naturally, Hong Jung-ho’s group became the common enemy.

He tried to explain that his actions had been under Jeon Si-hoon’s orders, but no one wanted to hear it.

Amidst the fierce clashes, Hong Jung-ho and his subordinates fled east, and their whereabouts are now unknown.

“Okay but... what’s with calling me a damn bachelor out of nowhere?”

I spoke up the moment the story ended, laced with mild irritation.

Kim Daram let out a wry laugh, the kind that made you picture her face in your head, and explained the slip of the tongue.

“Oh, someone’s pretending to be your senior. I wanted to check if it was legit.”

“How?”

“See? You’re getting riled up. Only the real one would react like that.”

“...”

I calmed myself and asked again.

“Who’s pretending to be me?”

“There’s talk about someone impersonating Skelton and scamming people. They never contacted me directly, but sounds like a lot of folks got duped.”

“How are they scamming people, exactly?”

“They go around calling themselves ‘Skelton from Room 803’ and demanding supplies. I mean, sure, they might know your nickname, but not many people know your face or voice.”

“True enough.”

I had requested information security.

That included a Stage 3 protection protocol—creating a fake identity called Park Gyu to deliberately mislead others.

It was a planned deception.

I’d known what I was doing.

But in this mess, who’d have thought it would backfire.

I’d like to see the bastard’s face, but there are more pressing matters first.

“Anyway, where are you? Is it safe over there?”

First things first—I needed to grow our numbers.

“Not really? It’s not exactly safe.”

Kim Daram went silent for a moment.

Through the gap in silence, I heard gunfire from the speaker.

She’d probably put the walkie-talkie near the window so I could hear it.

From the frequency, it sounded like something more than a nervous standoff—it was a real firefight.

“Where are you now, senior? Are you safe?”

“Safe enough.”

“You in your bunker? That one with the toilet in the center?”

This woman.

She really hated my bunker.

I wanted to snap at her, but held it in and responded gently.

“No, it’s a government bunker. High ceilings, pretty luxurious. Still functional. Smells like hell because someone died in here, though.”

“A noble’s bunker?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know. One of those things. The kind of place where those who only pay lip service to ‘the people’ try to recreate the Joseon Dynasty in secret.”

She wasn’t wrong. You’d need a hell of a budget to build a bunker like this, and a big budget means rumors inevitably leak.

“Well, can’t deny it. Feels like a noble’s estate. That’s my honest take.”

“I’ve only heard about those. Never seen one for myself. So how did you know about it? Did Woo Min-hee tell you?”

“No, Na Hye-in did.”

“Ah. Senior Na. Makes sense—she would know.”

“What about Min-hee? What happened to her?”

“I’ll tell you if you get my family in there.”

Kim Daram’s blunt way of speaking is often called shameless. And it is.

But for someone like me, who prefers speed and clarity, it’s a perfect match.

Honestly, I was halfway hoping she’d say something like that.

Despite everything, having Kim Daram on your side is like gaining a whole army.

She might not come out of her bunker to help me directly, but even for pure defense, she’s worth tenfold the effort of fighting alone.

Snipers are especially deadly in defense.

Her husband, the doctor, is also a top-tier asset—even if he’s non-combatant.

“Fine. Where are you now?”

She gave me her location.

Thankfully, it was nearby.

North of the Han River.

“Why’d you cross the river?”

“There’s a rumor that soldiers from Sejong are marching north.”

“From Sejong?”

That’s bullshit.

IAmJesus wouldn’t make that call—and Sejong itself isn’t an expansionist power.

If anything, they’re like a boa constrictor that swallowed prey bigger than itself.

They’re already struggling to digest Chungcheong, Daejeon, Jeolla, and Gyeongsang regions. Now they want to swallow the Seoul area too?

Not even King at his peak could’ve pulled that off.

Kim Daram didn’t seem to believe the rumor either.

She gave a bitter laugh.

“What can we do? Folks like us, we just lie flat when the wind blows. Can’t ignore even a small breeze.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Sometimes a single individual can accomplish great things—but in the vast flow of history, most people are just swept away.

War is the clearest example.

I’ve been in battlefields—I know.

A civilian’s life means absolutely nothing in there.

“The location’s close,” Kim Daram said, her tone now different.

“But there’s one problem. The groups next to me started fighting. And wouldn’t you know it—I’m smack in the middle, so I can’t move.”

Her voice was calm.

Not Kim Daram the mom—but Kim Daram the warrior, sharp as a black panther.

Just hearing that voice brought me a deep sense of relief.

“Are you in immediate danger?”

“For now, I’m well hidden. Fortified the place too, just in case. But if one of the groups decides to target us, then that’s it for my family.”

I didn’t ask how long she could hold out.

It’s not up to her—it depends on the will of whoever holds the blade.

Instead, I asked briefly about the size and makeup of the forces around her.

Kim Daram and her family were currently holed up in a residential area.

A single apartment block—well-built and sturdy—served as their base.

Two unidentified survivor groups were battling nearby.

Each had between several dozen to over a hundred members.

She said they were fighting fiercely enough to use suicide drones and improvised Chinese-style mortars.

Not easy.

But Kim Daram is an ally worth that level of risk.

It wasn’t for nothing that I’d built my bunker away from Seoul.

When trust between people breaks down, humans become the most terrifying enemies.

“I’ll try to get my hands on a radio. Hang in there.”

“...I’ll wait three days.”

She didn’t say that because she doubted me.

She had seen the same sights I had in China.

Gifted kids from elite schools gunned down by stray bullets—how meaningless and fragile their lives were.

“Got it. Can you take a note?”

I gave her the address.

My legacy, in case I die—a gift to a junior I still cared about.

“Oh, the golf course. Yeah. I know the place. I remember thinking it was weird how many high-ups hung around there. Makes sense now.”

Just as I was about to give her the detailed address and end the call—

“Senior,” Kim Daram said.

“I really hope I get to see you alive.”

I let out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah.”

I ended the transmission and sat down in front of the computer.

Like any good computer of the apocalypse, this one wasn’t quite on par with Viva! Apocalypse! and other high-end satellite systems—but it could catch radio frequencies like cell signals and sync to a net browser.

I checked the signal.

Got a hit.

And the familiar message—written by me and Ballantine—filled the screen:

[For F. Sawyer, M. O’Connor, Byeong-seon K., and the one we loved in crimson.]

[Welcome to the noisy city of the dead.]

– If you are among the dead, press Enter –

I logged into Necropolis.

Sure, short-range radio contact would statistically be the fastest and simplest way to communicate, but a human life is just one.

Unless the situation is so desperate that I’ve got no choice, I’ll always pick the less risky route.

Dead10851: I’m in Uiwang—come live here. It’s a good place to live. ^^

Dead59231: What kind of balls did Hong Jung-ho have to try a coup?

Dead5413: The slave traders are out in the open now. If you’ve got a pretty daughter or wife, better scratch up their face now.

Dead43219: Don’t go to Uiwang. It’s controlled by warlord scum. They’ll harvest your organs.

Dead9281: I heard Hong Jung-ho’s dead. That true?

Dead991: Not going to Seoul was the best decision I ever made. lol

Dead8821: Getting tricked twice might be stupidity, but the third time? That’s your fate. You’re just destined to be a sucker forever. Yup.

...

...

Fortunately, Necropolis was up and active.

This was exactly what Deadman_Working, its founder, had wanted.

It’s barely perceptible, but just using Necropolis gives me a feeling of resonance with some unknown part inside me.

How should I put it?

It gives me a faint power boost—but nowhere near enough to satisfy the hunger.

Because that hunger... I can only satisfy it by killing monsters.

Still, Necropolis worked.

Time to post a trade listing.

Dead23213: I’m in the Goyang area. Want to trade pre-war canned goods for a K-WalkieTalkie. If interested, please start your post with (John Nae-non).

I posted it and waited.

Pre-war canned food is premium bait.

The suckers started biting fast.

Dead3233: (John Nae-non) What kind of cans? Don’t tell me it’s dog food.

Dead5481: (John Nae-non) Dog food ain’t bad, honestly. Is it okay if my radio’s busted?

Dead21111: (John Nae-non) I want to trade right now. Where are you? Can I come to you?

Dead9913: (John Nae-non) I’m a 20-year-old woman. Is that okay for trade?

...

...

Anyone who’s traded secondhand goods before knows—only a few people messaging you actually intend to buy.

Some are just poking around, some are trolling, some will throw ridiculous lowball offers.

Especially annoying are the ones who act all polite beforehand, only to haggle like lunatics at the meeting point.

I’ve been burned by one of those before.

Wanted to curse them out, but I was broke and in debt, so I had to endure. Still remember that smug bastard’s face.

But in the apocalypse?

You get worse than that.

You get robbery and murder.

And that’s not even rare anymore—it’s common.

Even if someone showed up intending a fair trade, the moment they realize you’re weaker or easy to kill, they’ll become a robber without hesitation.

Just like the real John Nae-non always said—trades only work when both sides have roughly equal power.

I chose Necropolis to help balance out that asymmetry.

Dead32311: There’s an abandoned convenience store next to the golf course. I’ll wait inside. Come alone. You can bring one or two people, but only one may enter the building. It’s to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.

Out of all the scammers and trolls, I arranged three meetups.

One turned out to be a raider who came to kill me and take my goods.

Another was an opportunist ready to murder if the chance arose.

Both groups brought at least four men, all armed. One group had even set up an ambush, just in case.

The third group, at least, had some decency.

A young man and woman. Both armed.

Don’t underestimate the woman just because of her gender—she handled her weapon like a pro.

What mattered was the number.

Two? I can deal with that solo.

Kill one, one remains. Manageable.

Sure, best-case scenario is if they came alone—but just because you want a smooth trade doesn’t mean you’ll get one.

This time, I showed myself first.

Rifle slung, but not aimed.

Still, I kept one hand ready to draw my pistol at any moment.

Flashed through my mind—a user on the North American board who played cowboy, mowing down robbers at shady trade meetups.

I could pull off something similar, maybe.

But that’s not the kind of experience I’m itching to repeat.

Living this close to danger has taught me—keep danger as far away as possible.

“Are you alone?”

The man asked.

The woman, whose shooting skills were probably better, took a step back and scanned the opposite side and surroundings with sharp eyes—not me.

That kind of wariness actually reassured me.

I handed over the canned food.

The man inspected the can.

“Hmm. You’re lucky today.”

Seems he liked what he saw.

And why wouldn’t he?

Where could anyone find pre-war canned pineapple in this world?

He pulled out the K-WalkieTalkie and looked like he was about to toss it to me.

I shook my head and gestured for him to set it down.

There are groups who provoke small movements like that just to attack.

The man followed directions, set the radio on the ground, and °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° stepped back quietly.

I kept both of them in my line of sight and picked up the radio.

Bzzzzt—

Good.

It works.

I figured it would.

Looks nearly new—barely used.

I nodded and lowered the rest of the canned goods in a plastic bag onto the floor.

But then the man suddenly spoke up.

“Hey.”

“?”

What now?

A jolt of combat tension sprayed through my heart like someone dumping a bucket of paint.

I thought about my pistol.

“Could you maybe pay a bit more?”

“...What?”

“It’s brand new, you know? Couldn’t you give us a little extra?”

A regular pain-in-the-ass, huh.

Before the war, I’d have cursed him out.

But hey, it’s the apocalypse.

These days, even this kind of idiot is kind of adorable.

I pulled out two pieces of candy I’d kept in my pocket just in case, and handed them over.

He grinned.

“You know how to deal.”

The man and woman both smiled and popped the candy into their mouths before walking off.

*

Bzzzt—

"It's me."

I tried radioing Kim Daram.

“Oh. Senior, right?”

“Yeah.”

Seriously—no matter how much time passes, this woman always manages to rub me the wrong way.

"This is really the place, huh? You're seriously telling me this is it?"

I looked down over the city.

What did she say earlier?

At most, a firefight between small militia groups—maybe a few dozen people?

Bullshit.

From every apartment number to every building window, people with bloodshot eyes and every kind of weapon imaginable were poised, ready to shoot at anything that moved.

Yeah.

The whole city’s become a killing field.