Bang!

In the late afternoon, as I sit idly on a folding chair, staring at the sky, the sound of gunfire occasionally echoes from the south.

The pattern of the gunfire is dull yet expansive.

It belongs to the sniper living southeast of here.

There used to be a small town there.

The distance is about 5.5 kilometers in a straight line.

It had a church, a supermarket, a local bank, a community center, and an elementary school—a bustling area in its own way.

When the war started, the area was reduced to ruins, leaving only a few skeletal steel-concrete structures standing like eerie, lifeless remains.

That’s where one of my few neighbors, the Mad Sniper, resides.

The "mad" moniker comes from their tendency to shoot at anything that moves without hesitation.

Their behavior, killing anyone who enters their territory, might remind you of the Human Hunter from our community. But while the intent to kill is the same, the two are worlds apart in execution.

The Human Hunter kills to keep their domain hidden, to remain unseen.

The Mad Sniper, on the other hand, simply shoots. There are no other options.

Perched in a high-rise building that provides a commanding view of the surroundings, they observe the world through their scope, taking aim at anything that comes within their effective range.

Of course, this sniper is human too.

She has a warm-blooded heart and is capable of loving others.

Just as I know of the sniper, the sniper knows of me.

This story goes back to three months after the war began.

*

It was the end of the year.

The kind of season once filled with bustling crowds, glittering trees, children throwing tantrums in department stores, snow blanketing the streets, and even the unnerving figure of Santa Claus, if you think about it. But in the aftermath of war, such scenes were nothing more than faded memories, irretrievable relics of the past.

At the time, I was preoccupied with inspecting the weapons I had salvaged from a U.S. military base.

The firearms and ammunition had been stored securely in my bunker, avoiding direct exposure to radiation or fallout. However, since they came from an area hit directly by a nuclear blast, I was concerned about contamination.

Fortunately, after thorough testing, I concluded that both the weapons and ammunition were usable. I added them to my arsenal.

Unfortunately, there were no weapons beyond standard rifles—no hunter gear or grenades, as I had hoped.

I’m no military expert, but it seemed the base had been abandoned before the nuclear strike.

Scattered and shredded documents, hastily discarded supplies, and even coffee mugs left half-full on desks painted a clear picture of a hurried departure.

Things hadn’t been great on the American side either.

The nuclear strike on South Korea was just the tip of the iceberg.

Hundreds of warheads had been launched in their territory.

Despite their reputation as a formidable "Space Force," capable of intercepting the majority of threats, even the mighty U.S. military wasn’t without its bad luck.

Monsters.

These creatures, entirely alien in origin and principles, are a terrifying combination of biological and non-biological traits. They wield miraculous powers and abilities incomprehensible to humanity, making them the apex predators of mankind.

They emerge from rifts—dimensional tears known as gyeonryeol. These rifts have two defining traits.

The first is even distribution.

Each rift opens at regular intervals.

In Korea, there are four rifts, but the one in Paju stands out as the most dangerous.

Why?

The second trait of rifts is strength, which correlates with the population density of the surrounding area.

The Paju rift, covering the densely populated metropolitan region, is the highest-grade rift, whereas the one in Jeju has the lowest grade.

Historically, large populations and expansive territories were markers of strong nations, but now they’re the recipe for rapid collapse.

India and China fell quickly, not by chance but inevitability.

The U.S., with its smaller population compared to these two, fared slightly better but was far from a safe zone.

Its vast territory and relatively high population ensured that no corner remained untouched.

Even before the war, the U.S. had begun recalling troops stationed in allied countries.

It was rumored that not a single American soldier remained in South Korea by the time the war broke out.

And yet, one of those supposedly extinct soldiers intruded into my territory.

Driving a hulking Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on its roof, no less.

As the Humvee bulldozed its way across the golf course and into my domain, I couldn’t help but recall the old saying that luck governs everything in this world and nothing else truly matters.

No, seriously, why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

Just because I scavenged some abandoned weapons, does that make me a criminal?

A whirlwind of thoughts clouded my mind as the Humvee came to a halt in front of Bunker No. 11.

A young blonde woman stepped out of the vehicle.

Though she was a woman, she was as tall as I was. Wearing a helmet, a bulletproof vest, and carrying a heavily accessorized rifle, she was far better equipped than I was.

At the time, my CCTV and surveillance systems were still non-functional.

The old equipment had been incinerated during the nuclear strike along with Kim Elder’s house.

To make matters worse, the periscope I had installed for situations like this wasn’t operational either. Debris from the shockwave had jammed it, and forcing it open would only reveal my location.

I was left relying on scant information from a tiny observation slit.

The woman soon moved out of sight.

I stayed put, unsure of how many soldiers had accompanied her.

There could be just one, or as many as three—or even more—hidden inside that armored beast.

Fighting well-trained and heavily armed U.S. soldiers wasn’t something I wanted, but if they intended to take my territory, I had no choice.

I’d have to kill them all.

After some time, there was no movement from the Humvee.

Then, a rustling sound came from the side of the main bunker.

It was the same woman.

What should I do?

Taking her down quickly would be the easiest option.

But I considered another plan.

If she was just a scout, then the soldiers in the vehicle might be unprepared. A single surprise attack could annihilate their main force, turning this difficult battle into a flawless victory.

I decided to act immediately.

Listening closely to her footsteps, I predicted her path. Moving silently, I exited through the decoy bunker and made my way toward the Humvee, staying out of sight.

I noticed one of the vehicle’s doors was slightly ajar.

It had been left open, and it remained that way when I regained a clear view of the Humvee.

No movement inside.

Switching my rifle to automatic, I approached.

Just as I was about to enter, I sensed movement behind me.

I froze for a moment.

“?!”

The sound had come from an unexpected direction.

Keeping my composure, I swiftly entered the Humvee, aiming my weapon.

The vehicle was empty.

The back seats, where soldiers should have been, were piled high with firearms, ammunition, and combat rations in disarray.

Gulp.

I swallowed hard.

An overwhelming arsenal.

Even someone like me, who tries to live by a moral code, could easily turn into a raider faced with this treasure trove.

Was there just one person? Two?

My mind raced faster than usual.

At least two.

The female soldier, oblivious to my greed, whistled as she revealed her position.

Taking her down would have been easy.

A quick sweep of her legs, a stomp on her back, and a gun to her neck would have sufficed.

I was about to pull the trigger and prepare for the next encounter when another soldier appeared from the side.

The second figure shattered my murderous resolve with a single question mark.

It was a child.

A girl, no older than ten.

Her innocent gaze pierced through the post-apocalyptic chaos of the golf course, locking onto me—someone moments away from committing murder.

I noticed that her hair was the same color as the soldier’s, and their faces were strikingly similar.

The child tilted her head and called out, “Mom?”

I hesitated.

Should I kill them and take everything?

Or should I take the risk of letting them go?

It wasn’t an easy decision.

The former was undeniably more advantageous.

Anyone in their right mind would choose it.

“...Hah.”

I exhaled deeply.

After wrestling with countless thoughts, I chose a path that wasn’t particularly wise.

I stepped off the woman’s back, kicked her weapon away, and backed off.

She shot up with a gasp, shielding the child as she glared at me.

I looked into her trembling blue eyes, seeing my reflection—a specter cloaked in fear and loathing.

In that moment, I understood how this foreign soldier perceived me.

To her, I wasn’t human.

I was something incomprehensible, something she didn’t need to understand.

She was the lone inhabitant of a civilized world, stranded in the jungle.

And I was a part of that jungle.

Why try to understand each other when our appearances, languages, and cultures were so different?

The outcome would have been the same if our roles were reversed.

“This. My land,” I said, pointing to my territory.

I knew her language but didn’t bother using it.

“This. My home.”

This is Korea.

Korea isn’t Rome, but in this broken world, it’s just as historic.

“?”

“Leave. Now.”

“...”

“If you don’t, bang! Got it?”

The woman hesitated, then quickly drew her pistol.

I kicked it out of her hand before she could aim, pressing my rifle to her temple.

The child let out a brief scream, but I winked at her before addressing the woman.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Bitch?!”

She seemed to understand that.

"Two year?"

"Get lost."

Realizing I didn’t intend to kill her, she relaxed slightly.

But the gap between us remained.

Still wary, she spoke in clumsy Korean.

“Medicine.”

“Medicine?”

“Medicine. Have?”

“What kind?”

She pointed at the child.

“Wait here.”

I returned with fever reducers, antibiotics, cold medicine, and a can of powdered formula.

She seemed surprised, especially by the formula.

“Don’t come back.”

Without a word of thanks, the mother and child left, taking treasures that could have easily turned me into a raider.

Not long after, the neighbor to the southeast moved in.

Even now, she lives in the jungle, battling prejudice to protect her child.

There was one more encounter later.

One dark night, the girl appeared alone at my bunker.

She had grown taller, likely nourished by the formula I’d given her.

Tearful, she wandered around the bunker, calling for me.

When I revealed myself, she said, “Mom’s sick.”

She seemed more adapted to the jungle of Korea than her mother—like Mowgli from The Jungle Book or a commercialized Tarzan.

I drove through the ruins to their hideout.

The woman was exhausted and ill, looking more like a wounded beast than a survivor of civilization.

I gave her the appropriate treatment and left medicine behind.

There was no need for words, and I didn’t say any.

As I turned to leave, the girl suddenly grabbed my wrist.

“Name.”

She wanted to know my name.

“Park Gyu.”

“Buh-kyoo?”

She raised her middle finger in confusion, making me chuckle bitterly.

“...SKELTON.”

The girl repeated the name, smiling widely.

“Skelton!”

Time passed, and now it’s Christmas Eve.

In the community, a game called Virtual Christmas Tree Decoration was trending. Anonymous118, a game developer, had created it by repurposing pre-war designs.

The game was simple: a digital Christmas tree with ten empty slots, where users could place ornaments and messages of support for each other.

SKELTON: (Skelton’s request) Please decorate my tree~

Being an unpopular user with no friends, my tree remained empty. Sometimes, emptiness is better than fullness.

IamJesus: Who the hell is this?!

IamJesus, the self-proclaimed messiah I had blocked, had his tree filled with anonymous "blessings":

<Leukemia, liver cancer, rheumatoid arthritis, ALS, heart attack, stroke, pulmonary embolism, asthma, tuberculosis, paralysis, neuralgia.>

The Human Hunter received just as many messages.

As I laughed at the absurdity, a notification popped up.

[An anonymous user has sent SKELTON a message!]

One slot on my tree was filled.

<John Nae-non.>

“Huh?”

John Nae-non?

What does that mean?

Before I could ponder it further, the crackle of my K-walkie-talkie interrupted my thoughts.

-Static... Static!-

11 PM.

No one had ever used the public frequency in this remote area at this hour.

I quickly discovered the culprit.

“Merry Christmas~.”

A young girl’s voice echoed from the speaker.

“Skelton!”

It was unmistakable. My neighbor.

I hesitated briefly but smiled as I replied.

“Merry Christmas.”

I should’ve asked her name.

Though our interaction was brief, it left a deeper impression on me than any Christmas tree message.

For the first time in ages, I opened a bottle of whiskey, sinking into quiet reflection.

“Phew.”

As I opened the door, the cold air swept away the warmth of the heated room, but my heart felt lighter.

I looked up at the sky.

A pitch-black winter night sprinkled with countless stars.

Since realizing I wasn’t chosen by God, I hadn’t prayed.

But that night, I clasped my hands together and made a wish to the heavens.

May the gunshots of this mother and daughter echo for a long, long time.