For the first time in a while, I picked up a TV signal.

The President was making a formal statement.

I didn’t bother listening carefully. The sewage pipe was clogged, and I had to keep going back and forth between the inside and outside of the bunker to clear it.

There wasn’t much point in paying attention anyway.

“The rumors about the government relocating to Jeju Island are completely untrue.”

It was nonsense right from the start.

Leaving the TV on, I went back to working on the pipe.

The blockage turned out to be caused by leaves and debris piled up around the sewage outlet. Trash I could understand, but where the hell did all those leaves come from?

“The reason military aircraft have been taking off so frequently recently isn’t to transfer government assets to Jeju but in response to threats from Japan. Three days ago, the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force sank a humanitarian vessel carrying over 150 South Korean refugees from Busan without issuing any warning shots…”

I kept catching snippets of the broadcast as I moved back and forth between the bunker and the outside.

There’s a bit of distance between the sewage pipe and the main bunker.

The main bunker is nestled into a low hill, with a small stream flowing nearby. Although the stream’s flow is light, there are too many prying eyes around, so I installed the sewage outlet a good distance away.

It was a smart choice overall, but at times like this, it’s a hassle.

“Some government assets were indeed transferred to Jeju, but this was a unilateral decision made by Director Lee Sang-hoon of the National Crisis Management Committee’s Intelligence Strategy Department…”

I thought about turning the TV off at that point, but given how rare broadcasts like this are, I decided to leave it on while I resumed my work.

I reinforced the outlet with a mesh cover and ran some water through it to check.

Clean as a whistle.

While I was at it, I decided to clean the septic tank as well.

This involved using a pump and a hose to suck out the sludge that had settled at the bottom and transfer it to another location.

Even as the pump was dutifully sucking away at my waste, I kept catching snippets of the broadcast.

“The government will release its reserves within three days to start unrestricted rations. Additionally, emergency free medical checkups for children and adolescents will be implemented. Contrary to rumors spread by some media outlets, our government possesses reserves of food, medical supplies, and other essential goods sufficient to last three years…”

At one point, I’d considered forgoing a septic tank entirely and just letting the waste flow directly into the stream. But the stench of human feces can be overwhelming, and if sediment accumulates around the outlet, it would only advertise that someone lives nearby.

That’s why I took advice from my mentor, John Nae-non, and set up a proper system.

Of course, I curse myself for it every time I have to clean the damn thing, but it’s worth the effort.

This bunker isn’t just a temporary refuge—it's where I’ll live until the day I die.

“Ah, shit!”

Some foul water splashed onto my mouth.

Spewing profanity, I headed back into the bunker, only to be greeted by the warm voice of the President.

“Our government will stand by its people forever.”

That’s when I turned the broadcast off.

Not only was it a waste of electricity, but there was no point in listening any further.

Still, I did manage to glean one useful bit of information:

Three days.

At least for the next three days, things should stay quiet.

Though, I can’t shake the bad feeling I have about this.

*

Day One.

I made rounds around the bunker to inspect its condition. My main focus was the detonation lines linking the decoy bunkers to the main one, ensuring they were in working order.

While there were no malfunctions, I found two exposed areas where the camouflage had worn off. It might seem like a minor issue, but in a crisis, such a small oversight could mean the difference between life and death.

After carefully re-camouflaging the lines, I installed new explosives at the secret entrance leading from the decoy bunker to the main one.

These weren’t powerful enough to blow the door off its hinges but were sufficient to eliminate any intruders snooping around the main bunker’s interior with the push of a button.

Behind the secret door, I also set up deadly traps and cover positions accessible only to me, preparing for the worst-case scenario.

In the afternoon, I worked on turning the meat I’d pre-dried into long-lasting rations.

I was making pemmican—a mixture of finely ground dried meat combined with dried cranberries, then bound together with fat. It has a decent shelf life and is nutritionally rich.

I didn’t plan to rely on it immediately. While it’s a practical survival food, it can’t compete with canned goods in efficiency, and my palate is a bit picky.

The pemmican was more like an insurance policy, in case the freezer or generator failed.

The incident with Colonel Choi had shown me that things rarely go as planned. Who knows when a second or third Colonel Choi might invade my territory?

Winter was approaching, and while the colder season might provide some relief, it’s always better to be prepared.

Since I had three days of relative peace ahead, I hastily watched some tutorials and gave it a shot. Surprisingly, thanks to my skillful hands, the result was edible—quite good, actually.

That said, unless you specifically need survival food, it’s not something I’d recommend. It’s incredibly labor-intensive.

SKELTON: (Skelton Cooking) Tried making pemmican!

I posted my efforts to the community, carving out time from my busy schedule.

While it didn’t get any likes, the unique topic sparked quite a few comments.

Even Defender chimed in, apparently finding time to relax.

Defender: I like men who can cook.

The moment I read that, I frowned.

“...?”

What’s up with this guy?

Could it be… that?

You know… men who like other men?

Should I unfriend him? But then again, if I do, I might be fast-tracking a future encounter with him. Better hold off for now.

Feeling slightly unsettled, I stored 36 portions of pemmican in a cool spot, thoroughly coated with preservatives.

Day Two.

I inspected the decoy bunkers and fine-tuned the shooting lanes.

Using an actual rifle, I aimed through each firing slit and from every cover position, identifying anything that could serve as potential cover for intruders and removing it in advance.

I’d done this once before, but that was prior to the war, and the environment has changed significantly since then.

The worst offenders were the overgrown weeds, which had become a constant nuisance.

I spent the entire day hacking them down with a scythe, reshaping my territory into a reflection of my will.

Despite all this labor, my stance remained unchanged: combat is a last resort.

I’m alone, and the enemies I’d have to face are endless.

The rising sophistication of my foes is another risk factor.

When a country collapses, its military often becomes the most dangerous group—a lesson learned from the examples of India and China.

I doubted the planes heading to Jeju Island were packed with soldiers.

Even Kim Daram had said there wouldn’t be many spots for them on Jeju.

Just then, a transport plane roared overhead.

A thought struck me.

Could Kim Daram be on that plane?

It might be time for him to leave, too.

That night, I soaked in a hot tub, letting the warm water wash away the day’s fatigue.

Afterward, I gulped down a glass of long-life milk and logged into the community.

The user enjoying a meteoric rise in popularity these days was Gijayangban.

Living in Seoul, he delivered real-time updates on the city’s decline, which naturally made him a favorite.

Gijayangban: Live from Gangnam.jpg

Gijayangban: (Pailnet repost) Live Han River temperature.jpg

Gijayangban: Latest Seoul fashion.jpg

Gijayangban: Tanks spotted inside the Four Gates.gif

Sure enough, the trending posts section had practically turned into Gijayangban’s personal bulletin board.

He reminded me of the glory days of John Nae-non.

One of his posts left a particularly strong impression on me.

Gijayangban: Current airport scene.jpg

The photo showed a swarm of people crowding the airport.

They were desperate to board planes.

Military and police were blocking their way, but some had broken through onto the runway, surrounding transport planes and pleading to be taken aboard.

The enraged soldiers responded by beating them back with batons.

Though there were no reported deaths, the sight of blood seeping from cracked skulls onto the gray concrete vividly reminded me of my comrades, torn apart by monsters, drenched in blood.

*

Day Three.

Under the warm sunlight, I spread out a blanket and set up a small folding table. With care, I inspected my weapons, checked my ammunition, and sharpened my axe blades.

It was a peaceful, quiet day.

Even the community shared a similarly languid atmosphere, as if we were all basking in the calm before a storm.

Though everyone talked about mundane daily matters, it was clear that all eyes were on Seoul.

That said, there was a small commotion in the middle of it all.

Defender: I keep getting called a girl, so here’s proof.

The post contained a picture of Defender’s hand.

It was long, pale, and somewhat elegant. But the muscular structure and the pronounced veins made it unmistakably clear: Defender was a man.

I had been right all along.

The guy was a man, not some mysterious woman.

Those who had been spouting nonsense about silhouettes and claiming otherwise quickly fell silent.

Only one user stubbornly clung to their increasingly flimsy arguments.

unicorn18: (Info) Women’s hands can sometimes look like men’s depending on the lighting and angle!

No one else supported Unicorn18’s comment.

It seemed even Defender was finally encountering difficulties.

Usually, he would silently post cold, factual updates or proof of his kills, but for once, he openly expressed trouble in the forums.

Defender: Anyone have spare bullets?

Curious, I clicked the post.

Defender: Looking for 5.56mm rounds. The more, the better. I can trade canned goods, batteries, clothes, fuel—basically anything but medical supplies. DM me if interested.

P.S. For anyone worried about me killing too many people: I don’t mess with other forum users.

Well, it was no wonder he was running low on bullets with all the killing he’d been doing.

Still, it was amusing how someone as ruthless as Defender would choose now of all times to trade for ammo. It just went to show how differently he thought compared to most people.

Then again, this guy was technically my internet friend.

Message from Defender: Skelton. Got any spare bullets?

SKELTON: Not really.

Message from Defender: If you’ve got any, let me know. Name your price.

Message from Defender: Answer me.

SKELTON: (Leaves chat.)

Message from Defender: Don’t mess with me. I’ll come find you.

I sighed.

Defender wasn’t really a threat to me.

Sure, his combat skills were impressive, but that was all.

In an unpredictable outdoor environment, it would come down to preparation and luck. Still, in a controlled setting, my chances of losing to him were close to zero.

It wasn’t about fear or danger. It was simply that he felt incompatible—like a genre of film you can’t stand.

For me, it’s horror movies.

When life itself is a horror story, why would I go out of my way to watch one?

Defender was like a walking horror movie.

And this horror movie wanted to hang out.

Message from Defender: Okay, joking aside, I’m serious this time. Things are bad. I messed with some guys connected to the military, and they’ve been searching the area for the past two weeks. I think there’s going to be a big fight soon. You’re the only one I can trust, Skelton. Help me out.

I could tell from his tone and past behavior that he wasn’t lying.

What should I do?

Maybe I already knew the answer.

SKELTON: (Man of Loyalty Skelton) Where are you?

In the end, Defender and I weren’t so different.

Message from Defender: (Moved to tears) Skelton, you’re awesome!

Defender’s chosen rendezvous point was… unexpected.

An abandoned amusement park near Yongin.

It was a desolate area, hit directly by chemical weapons during the war and long since abandoned.

I didn’t particularly like the idea of meeting there.

The surrounding region was a gray zone, outside government control.

Nearby was an area dominated by infiltration-type monsters. While they weren’t roaming predators, they had settled there, creating a no-man’s-land that attracted all sorts of criminals.

No mutations had been reported, but the most dangerous thing while traveling wasn’t monsters—it was a sudden bullet.

Meeting Defender there meant significantly raising that risk.

I hesitated.

After a while, another message came through.

Message from Defender: If it’s too much trouble, I can come to you. I’m the one asking for help, after all. But I’ll have to walk since I don’t have a car.

SKELTON: No, I’ll come. Just send me the safest route.

It was risky, but it was better this way.

I wasn’t about to reveal the location of my bunker to him.

Though Defender was confident in his abilities, my bunker wasn’t so easily found.

We spent some time discussing the route in detail, planning in 100-meter increments using a map.

This was the last task of my third day before the storm hit.

*

The Next Day.

Everyone was waiting for the next update from Gijayangban, the forum’s de facto journalist.

Like them, I found myself repeatedly refreshing the page, feeling a mix of tension and curiosity I couldn’t quite define.

The usual posts filled the feed:

Keystone: (Breaking news) The jerks camping next door still haven’t left.

Anonymous118: Does the server feel slower to anyone else?

Iamjesus: He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.

Unicorn18: My little guy’s stiff again...

Anonymous552: Current situation in Seoul.jpg

Kyle_Dos: That last post is bait.

SKELTON: What should I have for lunch?

.

.

Finally, in the afternoon, Gijayangban posted.

Gijayangban: Current situation in Seoul.jpg

The result exceeded everyone’s expectations.

The government had actually kept its promise.

Food distribution and medical aid were underway as promised.

With a mix of relief and disillusionment, I stretched my arms.

Somehow, they had managed to weather the storm.

As a transport plane roared overhead, passing directly above my bunker, I thought about sun-drying my bedding.

While I was arranging the linens, my K-walkie-talkie emitted a sharp tone, signaling a private message.

Private ID: DARAM.

It was Kim Daram.

“…”

They say bad premonitions always come true because people rarely count their good ones.

But how many good premonitions do people even have?

If you live a life where you can count good premonitions…

Kim Daram: “Hey, senior. How’s your bunker? Got room for three, including me?”

...maybe that’s a happy life.