Even an apocalypse has its phases.

While opinions differ, the primary metric for distinguishing these phases is the state of the nation.

The severe stages are invariably marked by the collapse of a country.

South Korea's collapse began when Chinese warlords initiated their suicidal conflicts, and nuclear missiles struck key cities across the nation.

Countless lives were lost, and numerous cities were reduced to rubble. Yet, even at that point, the structure of the Republic of Korea held firm.

There was no pressing need to venture outside.

Simply tuning into shortwave radios or picking up TV broadcasts provided updates on the emergency status of the nation.

My main TV had been fried by an EMP, but I replaced it with the backup I had prepared in advance, watching events unfold with detached interest.

Millions dead, half of urban functions paralyzed—yet Seoul and its surrounding areas were rapidly stabilizing, thanks to the military, government workers, and dedicated volunteers managing the crisis response.

I only left my bunker after communications and systems in my area were restored.

With a battered cargo bicycle I’d prepared for this day, I headed toward Seoul.

If this were America, where everyone and their dog carried guns, such a journey would be fraught with danger. But this was South Korea.

The risks of sniper attacks or random gunfire couldn’t compare to those in the U.S.

Even if I were in America, though, I’d have made the same decision.

Cowering in fear from the beginning guarantees you nothing.

That said, basic apocalypse etiquette must be observed, even here.

I dressed in cheap, tattered clothes, ensuring I looked as unthreatening as possible. My belongings were sparse: three days’ worth of food and water, some cash in dollars, cigarettes for bartering, a single American-made handgun, and a well-sharpened hatchet for self-defense.

The journey to Seoul presented no major threats. Still, the ruined landscapes and somber air gave me a complex mix of feelings: relief for my preparations, a sense of accomplishment, and a creeping melancholy seeping into my steps.

But there was a reason I’d left the comfort of my meticulously crafted shelter and ventured toward Seoul.

“I’m looking for Hunter Lee Sang-hoon.”

I chose a soldier who looked approachable among the bustling military personnel and asked.

“Hunter Lee Sang-hoon?”

“Yes, the current disaster relief director.”

“Can’t you see we’re busy?”

Though curt, the man became noticeably more agreeable after I handed him a few packs of cigarettes.

“Oh, Director Lee Sang-hoon? His name’s pretty common, you know.”

“Ah, I see he’s been promoted. Always knew he’d go far.”

“Wait here. I’ll try to get in touch. Who should I say is asking for him?”

“Tell him it’s Park Gyu, someone who went to school with him. If he doesn’t remember, mention the top graduate in his class. He’ll know.”

The soldier returned a short while later.

“Director Lee is in a meeting right now and can’t be reached.”

“Is that so?”

“Is it urgent? If there’s anything I can assist with, let me know.”

I hadn’t expected to meet Lee Sang-hoon anyway.

Even when I left my bunker, I knew he wouldn’t see me.

To be honest, I didn’t want to see him either.

Using his name had a specific purpose.

“I’d like a military-grade walkie-talkie and a personal identification number.”

In some areas, cell phones still worked, but in many, they didn’t.

The farther you were from urban centers, the more useless a cell phone became.

In these situations, high-performance shortwave radios like the K-walkie-talkie were invaluable.

They were heavier and more complex to operate than a phone but far more reliable. With public frequencies, you didn’t even need the other party’s number to communicate with anyone nearby.

Even this basic functionality was incredibly convenient, but military-grade walkie-talkies had an additional advantage: access to encrypted military frequencies.

This meant direct communication with the military, the most trustworthy armed force and source of information at present.

“Since you know Director Lee, we can provide a walkie-talkie for free. But personal identification numbers are reserved for military or monster management personnel only.”

As expected.

I hadn’t counted on getting a personal identification number in the first place.

The soldier handed me a brand-new walkie-talkie, still in its packaging.

I carefully inspected it for defects and tested it on the spot.

It worked perfectly.

One of my main objectives in coming to Seoul was now complete.

With my remaining time, I cycled around the city.

According to reports, five nuclear missiles had been launched at Seoul. Four were intercepted midair, but one had struck within the old city walls.

The exact death toll was still being calculated, but estimates exceeded a million.

The roads were now massive parking lots of immobilized vehicles, and the cityscape was dotted with ruins.

The area within the old city walls, which had taken a direct hit, was under strict no-entry orders.

Homeless individuals wandered everywhere, and hospitals were so overcrowded that injured and radiation-exposed victims were sprawled out in the streets.

Despite everything, law and order seemed relatively intact—for now.

Whether this was due to strong law enforcement or citizens lacking the energy to commit crimes remained to be seen.

The EMP hadn’t caused as much damage as expected; while many vehicles and cell towers were disabled, others remained operational. Limited power was also being restored to priority areas.

People’s greatest fear was the possibility of another airstrike.

The government claimed that it had retaliated with nuclear countermeasures, obliterating the origin of the attack. Few believed this.

Unsurprisingly, an air raid alarm blared as I wandered through Seoul, forcing me to seek shelter in a subway station.

Inside, I witnessed a crowded scene of evacuees.

Apparently, this station was near a large apartment complex, as the subway platform was packed to capacity.

“Hmm?”

I squinted at the signs posted around the station.

[Sanjeon “Best Louis Villington” Resident Zone]
[Label “Chief Head Stone” Resident Zone]
[Brandia “Proud Noble Hill” Resident Zone]
[Lotu “Rupert Reich Palace” Resident Zone]

...

The subway station had been divided into zones based on nearby apartment complexes.

Though there were no visible armbands, men and women in their prime patrolled these zones with a proprietorial air, ensuring no one encroached on their “territory.”

A man in his sixties wearing a red cap suddenly approached me.

“Where are you from?” he asked brusquely.

“I’m still in my twenties, actually. Just turned 29.”

“No, I mean, where are you from? Are you local?”

“Watch your tone. I’m not your servant.”

“Are you from this area?”

“No.”

“Non-residents, over there.”

Without even looking at me, he waved me toward the farthest corner of the station.

[Rental and Miscellaneous]

This dimly lit section was where non-residents were corralled.

Several people with despondent expressions wandered aimlessly, while faint radio chatter filled the air.

“...The current airstrike is not nuclear but a cruise missile attack. Our military’s interception units, guided by the spirit of Admiral Yi Sun-sin, will defend us. However, citizens are advised to prepare for potential emergencies...”

The ground rumbled faintly, and distant explosions echoed through the subway walls.

Thump. Thump.

Experiencing an airstrike in a crowded shelter with strangers was far from ideal.

Above all, privacy was non-existent.

Rustle.

Hunger prompted me to unwrap a chocolate bar.

Immediately, a dozen hungry eyes fixated on it like a swarm of rats.

The pressure was immense, but what unsettled me most was a small child who approached me silently, staring up at me with wide eyes.

Growl.

The kid’s stomach rumbled.

Despite their plump appearance, it seemed they hadn’t eaten well.

A figure, presumably the child’s parent, quickly intervened and pulled the child away.

“Excuse me.”

I extended a fresh chocolate bar toward them and asked a few questions.

“Food rations? They handed out scraps, but even those were...”

The parent trailed off, glaring resentfully toward the section controlled by the apartment residents.

Their silence spoke volumes.

“Did the apartment residents monopolize the rations?”

The parent nodded silently.

“I see.”

It was a startling revelation.

In times of crisis, people naturally band together into interest groups, but Koreans had their own unique unifying point.

If clan villages defined the Joseon era, modern times were shaped by apartment complex villages.

The larger and more influential the complex, the stronger its power within these makeshift communities.

This power dynamic was laid bare within the cramped confines of the subway shelter.

Powerful complexes claimed prime spots and monopolized resources, while weaker ones were relegated to subpar areas with meager supplies.

A quintessentially Korean scene, you could say.

Soon, the all-clear for the air raid was announced.

“Air raid over! Air raid over! Citizens are advised to resume their daily lives outdoors.”

After bidding farewell to the family I had spent time with, I made my way out of the subway.

As I exited, I couldn't help but glance at the signs demarcating zones by apartment complex and the residents who guarded them.

“...”

Well, I doubted they’d cause me any trouble.

Koreans might tolerate theft, but stealing bicycles was an unforgivable sin.

As I wheeled my bike past them, I felt numerous shadowy glances inspecting it. Still, no one made a move to act against me.

After all, life was still bearable, and the nation still stood.

Unintentionally, I overheard snippets of their conversation.

“They say the latest strike hit the new city district. Apparently, the Chinese bastards packed their missiles with chemical weapons, and the damage is catastrophic.”

A predictable exchange, really.

But one woman’s brusque comment made me stop in my tracks.

“That’s an opportunity.”

For a moment, I thought I’d misheard her.

“?”

An opportunity? In this situation?

“I’m telling you, it’s a good thing. There aren’t many decent complexes left in Seoul. If every other neighborhood is destroyed except ours, doesn’t that make our area the most prestigious housing district?”

If only one or two people had said this, I might have brushed it off.

But human behavior always exceeds expectations.

“Now that you mention it, it really is a great opportunity.”
“Our complex is going to become Seoul’s top luxury housing area.”
“That friend who kept bragging about her neighborhood? Serves her right.”
“I can’t wait for the war to end so we can finally see how the rankings shake out.”
“Crisis truly brings opportunity, doesn’t it?”

Since the war began, I had avoided looking at other people’s faces.

After all, most of them would be gone soon enough.

But this time, I couldn’t help myself—I turned to look.

Their faces were utterly ordinary, the kind you’d see anywhere.

And that only deepened my anger.

“Excuse me, but don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

Figuring I’d never see them again, I decided to confront them.

Their response? A cold glare.

One middle-aged woman smirked, exchanged glances with her neighbors, and delivered a dismissive retort:

“Move along.”

*

There’s no way for me to know the ultimate fate of that entire apartment complex village I witnessed that day, nor do I care to find out.

I’m not so idle as to waste energy on people who call the end of the world an "opportunity."

However, I do know exactly what happened to one of their factions—the residents of the Rupert Reich Palace complex.

It was about a year and a half after my first visit to Seoul.

A group of refugees passed near my hideout.

- Static! Crackle! This is... Rupert Reich Palace Residents' Association! If anyone is listening, please respond! Repeat! This is...

They were desperately trying to make contact with anyone in the area using the public frequency.

I didn’t bother responding. I just listened.

I had enough food and water to feed hundreds of people, but I had nothing to spare for them.

Not a single grain of rice. Not even a flake of dead skin from my body.

If they’ve reached my territory, I can guarantee that, for them, this wasn’t the "opportunity" they thought it would be.

- Static! Aaargh! It’s a monster! This is Rupert Reich Palace Residents' Association! We’re under attack by monsters! Repeat! This is the Rupert Goddamned Palace Residents' Association!

About a month ago, a few creatures capable of killing people had appeared near my base.

But the ones attacking them weren’t monsters.

They were beings corrupted and mutated by the disease the monsters had brought with them.

Mutations.

A few stray cats cared for by a local cat mom had been infected with the mutation factor.

They’d grown to the size of tigers and were now trying to exterminate humans with the same efficiency they’d used to decimate native birds and natural monuments.

Their combat prowess wasn’t quite on the level of the Gold Pack, the pack of mutated killer dogs active down south, but against ordinary people, they were practically Lü Bu incarnate.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire echoed as their walkie-talkie spewed out terrified screams.

- Static! This is the Rupert Reich Palace Residents’ Association... Repeat! We’re under attack by monsters!!

I listened silently for a while before picking up my radio and calmly speaking into it.

“Sounds like an opportunity.”