"According to the last weather report I saw, another cold wave is expected this year—and it’s supposed to arrive early."

That’s what Kim Daram said as soon as we returned to the bunker.

As a former member of the National Assembly, she would’ve witnessed many people freezing to death during that first cold wave.

Even without her intel, I would’ve prepared for winter anyway.

"Think it’ll come again this time?"

Cheon Yeong-jae asked casually, but like Kim Daram, I was convinced the cold wave was coming.

That belief came from our forum.

Ever since the war, every winter has been met with brutal cold. Some of the smarter posters tried to explain it using their knowledge and logic.

There were a few real experts too, but just because someone’s an expert doesn’t mean they’re always right.

We chose the theories that suited our taste and matched our experiences—and decided to believe them.

One take that left an impression on me was the so-called "restorative momentum of weather."

Supposedly, Earth had been reacting to the global disaster of pre-war climate warming with a kind of counter-balancing mechanism. Things were fairly even, the momentum inching toward humanity. But after humanity collapsed, that flow abruptly tilted back in the opposite direction—anti-warming, with a vengeance.

No solid evidence. No scientific data. But the idea resonated with me and with others. Even the experts—well, the ones who seemed like experts—agreed.

Whatever the cause, it’s a fact: humans triggered climate change. And now, what we’re facing is the planet’s backlash.

Some say monsters are the ones calling down the cold.

But from the perspective of someone freezing their ass off, who cares who summoned it?

What matters is surviving.

Establishing allies inside a danger zone crowded with refugees, rather than some remote, abandoned outpost, had been a good decision.

First off, we were constantly surrounded by people.

Basically every day. Always, someone was nearby.

Within one kilometer—guaranteed. Often, someone would even spend the night less than a hundred meters away.

Unthinkable in the past.

Back then, my bunker would go into full lockdown just from spotting a lone figure wandering a few kilometers away.

That’s the downside of being near a city—but what can you do?

We’d already staked our claim here.

The fact that we weren’t isolated acted as a deterrent. Other groups were less likely to try anything.

And more people meant labor.

Being able to build things while sharing space with others is a privilege only larger groups get.

My plan was to build a winter house, like Ha Tae-hoon did.

There might still be leftover supplies inside the bunker, but who knows how long this disaster will last? Better to conserve what we have.

"You’re gonna build a house on top of the bunker? Why do something like that?"

Kim Daram and her husband didn’t look sold on the idea, but I had more experience surviving in cold open fields, not warm urban zones.

I gave them two reasons.

First: conserve supplies.

Second: strategic deception.

Smoke is visible for kilometers depending on moonlight, starlight, and weather—even at night.

In summer, nobody gives a damn about a little smoke. But in the dead of winter, one wisp rising from a remote area draws attention.

Imagine smoke rising from the middle of this abandoned golf course.

Someone will look.

The previous bunker tenants didn’t crank up zombie sounds and turn the place into a horror show for no reason. They all ended up committing group suicide out of fear.

Starving people—desperate people—don’t ignore even the tiniest clue.

Throwing together a shabby-looking structure over the bunker and spending the winter there isn’t a bad idea.

At first, Kim Daram looked hesitant, but the more she heard, the more she nodded.

Even she admitted—it really did seem like the safer long-term bet.

If you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest.

If you want to live among people, you’ve got to look as pathetic as possible.

If you can’t hide your bunker, cosplay as a beggar. That’s your best chance of survival.

Eventually, Kim Daram relented and nodded.

Still, she’s Kim Daram. She wasn’t going to do it for free.

"Senior, aren’t you being a little too cautious?"

The comment had bite, but I ignored it.

It’s not my first day.

And so, we got to work.

The bunker still had leftover materials and tools from when it was built.

Not much, but there were tools. A circular saw among them—which was promising.

First, we cleared the surrounding area.

Shhk, shhk—

There was a powered weed cutter inside the bunker, but we didn’t use it.

No need to make noise in the early stages.

We used Korean sickles and the machete Cheon Yeong-jae had brought to hack down the overgrown grass and pile it up in one spot.

Risk of getting shot during the work was low.

Tall grass taller than a grown man had taken over the entire golf course.

That grass used to be a nuisance when moving in and out of the bunker. Now, it was a ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) blessing—a natural barrier that concealed us from others.

BWAAAAAAA—

This place being close to other people, we could hear the roar of cars racing by almost constantly.

Bang! Bang!

Gunshots, too.

It was so frequent, it made the old heyday of the Rebecca mother-daughter duo sound peaceful by comparison.

Gunfire was as common as dogs barking in a country village.

Distant artillery fire was still audible. Once, we even saw a helicopter thundering through the sky.

"Mr. Park Gyu, should I stack it over here?"

We put Kim Daram’s husband to work too.

He might be a doctor at a hospital, but here, he’s just another community survivor.

If someone got hurt, we’d put him back in medical duty. But the rest of the time? He worked like everyone else.

Honestly, I’ve always found their son to be far more dependable than either of the parents.

The work didn’t suit him, and it looked tough—but he never once complained. He tried his best to do whatever task he was given.

"Definitely a school-type."

Cheon Yeong-jae said as he watched.

I was about to nod when Kim Daram shot me a murderous glare.

I didn’t assign her any work—not because she’s a woman, but because we needed someone on lookout.

We kept the labor intensity low.

Only worked enough to give an average adult male a decent sense of fatigue, with plenty of breaks.

"This is all we’re doing?"

Even Kim Daram’s husband eventually said that.

We did thorough health checks early on.

Checked the water. Checked for contaminants or harmful bacteria in the bunker. No tools to test for radiation, unfortunately.

Best to assume there isn’t any.

If by chance radioactive material got trapped in stagnant water and built up into a hot zone, well... we’d just die.

You can’t check everything.

And trying to check everything isn’t exactly mentally healthy either.

Thankfully, after three days, no one showed any signs of illness.

The bunker seemed livable—for now.

But once we started scaling up work, Kim Daram’s husband complained of mysterious stomach pain.

We all knew it was fake.

As the piles of grass rose into towers, we moved on to our next task: fencing off our territory.

There were a few sandbags inside the bunker, but nowhere near enough to enclose the whole perimeter.

Cheon Yeong-jae and I scouted the area for suitable fencing materials.

That night, after returning, he looked like he had something to say but didn’t speak up. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Even he probably realized now wasn’t the time for a fight.

"Please help me. Someone... anyone, help me!"

A woman’s desperate cry echoed from outside the golf course.

To outsiders, it would’ve sounded like someone in real distress.

But we locals had been hearing that same sorrowful plea for the past three days—getting closer each time.

There’s nothing more vicious than a scam that preys on human kindness.

Of course, that kind of scam existed long before the war too.

Bang!

The woman’s voice stopped after the gunshot—but picked back up the next day.

Even Cheon Yeong-jae, with his enhanced perception, would know that going solo in this environment is reckless.

And now that the government has collapsed, people with abilities like his are loose in the world.

According to public-channel chatter, one such raider, registered as a proper Awakener, had already wiped out a group.

Using the tall grass for cover, we put up a crude perimeter fence and barricades.

Kim Daram came to check on us.

"Isn’t it too small? We’re housing two families here."

"The work’s already piling up."

"Got any wire? I’ll try making barbed fencing."

We took her advice and expanded the space.

Didn’t matter if it was a bit wider—this was basically open ground with no natural defenses.

After talking it through with Cheon Yeong-jae, we expanded the area from about 50 pyeong to 80 pyeong.

That might sound spacious for two families during the apocalypse, but we also needed to account for a secure garden space.

Actual living space would be less than 15 pyeong for both houses combined.

Even if it’s a decoy structure, farming is essential.

We’re prepping for winter now, but the moment spring arrives, we’ll need to start growing food.

Waiting until the grass withers to start planting would be risky.

Inside the bunker were seeds—oats, millet, cabbage.

The previous tenants never could’ve germinated them.

Farming’s not that simple.

Anyway, with more hands, things moved quickly.

BWAAAAAAA—

Now that we lived among people, we no longer dropped our tools just because of a nearby car.

We’d adapted to life here.

As we finished the fencing, we learned there were at least five small groups living near the golf course.

There used to be six.

One of them had been running a scam using a woman to lure people in—but that kind of crap doesn’t stay secret.

One day, there was a burst of heavy gunfire—and that group packed into a car and bolted south.

Looking at these people reminded me of a paper I once read on the formation of primitive human societies.

Apparently, early humans, who moved in small family or kinship groups, didn’t merge instantly through violence. Instead, they gradually acknowledged each other and started forming loose alliances—like clothes soaking up water.

The key concept was "tolerance."

Recognizing and accepting another group allowed a small society to form.

In our torn-apart world, that theory felt worth revisiting.

Among the six groups in this golf course—including us—we were aware of each other’s presence.

No one was hostile, but no one sent friendly envoys either.

Just... awareness.

It might not sound like much, but it’s an important first step.

Knowing where everyone is means we avoid stepping into each other’s space. We don’t provoke.

It’s not altruism, like the so-called theory of human goodness says.

It’s caution born of knowing that if we fight, we’ll all die.

That group that used a woman as bait? They crossed a line. Got purged.

Two weeks passed.

No one had made contact.

"Shouldn’t we be getting friendly by now?"

Kim Daram suggested we reach out—but I shut it down immediately.

"There’s no need."

She looked visibly displeased, but I wasn’t changing my mind.

We could get friendly after winter started.

Right now, distance was better.

After sulking for a moment, Kim Daram muttered.

"Senior, you’re as overly cautious as ever. I get that caution’s good, but don’t you think it’s a little much?"

"That’s why I’m still alive."

"So smug. Really."

I had no doubts about my caution.

Sure, I can be bold sometimes too. And from my experience, rushing usually leads to more failure than hesitation.

Still, I’m not always cautious.

"Senior."

For the first time since joining, Cheon Yeong-jae approached me directly.

"Oh? What’s up, Yeong-jae?"

He avoided my gaze.

"You don’t use the satellite internet device anymore?"

"Can’t use it if I don’t have it."

I really wished I did.

Even if the U.S. government blocked access, connection was still possible.

With fewer users, it was easier to pick up U.S. signals.

But apparently that wasn’t the case anymore.

"Rumor has it they’re all back online."

"What?"

"Not sure on the details, but word is America’s pretty much collapsed and reverted to the old system."

"Where’d you hear that?"

"Nekropolis."

He glanced away a bit, which was suspicious, but the info sounded legit.

Kang Han-min had said it himself.

He’d destroy humanity with his own hands.

"What, seriously? You’re not thinking of going to Seoul for a stupid gadget, are you?"

Kim Daram, eating with her family, looked over and called out.

I turned back to Cheon Yeong-jae.

"You want to go somewhere with me?"

It’s true—we drifted apart a little after I went to the Rift alone that day.

But that’s temporary.

A good outcome brings people together.

As I watched him dodge eye contact, Cheon Yeong-jae met my gaze at last with a faint—what I saw as sly—smile.

"Where?"

I asked.

He replied.

"Seoul."

I paused.

"What, seriously? You’re not actually going to Seoul for that toy, are you?"

Kim Daram chattered on, but I ignored her.

"...Really?"

I may be cautious—but sometimes, I’m reckless to the point of madness.

"Let’s go."

Internet is serious business.