"Skelton, over here."

Following the sniper's daughter into a low-rise building, I found myself staring at an unexpected scene.

The interior was a chaotic shrine to Americana.

There were signs from U.S. franchises, statues of a fried chicken-loving colonel, posters of comic-book heroes, American road signs, neon lights with English lettering long extinguished, stacks of old English newspapers, and even a certain superhero’s shield.

The wide, cluttered space was filled with objects that screamed “America.”

On the upper floor, where cold wind swept through makeshift barricades, the sniper was prone, aiming her rifle downward.

Without looking away from her scope, she spoke in her halting Korean.

“Enemy. RPG. Have.”

Her daughter knelt beside her, scanning the area below with binoculars.

“Don’t see.”

“They hide.”

The sniper added grimly.

“RPG dangerous. They aim at us.”

I quickly understood the situation.

The men creating a ruckus below were bait. Somewhere out of sight, a man with a rocket launcher waited, ready to obliterate the sniper and her daughter in one strike.

That was likely why the sniper had called me.

But I couldn’t just rely on her assessment.

From experience, people in desperate situations often exaggerated the danger.

“Let me take over for a moment. Draw me a map of their positions.”

Taking the sniper’s rifle, I felt the sweat-slick grip in my hands.

Peering through the high-magnification scope, I confirmed it—these weren’t ordinary raiders.

They were survivors of countless battles, the kind who had clawed their way to the top by killing others of their kind.

The men causing the commotion were intoxicated, laughing and shouting like madmen, but behind them, hidden beyond the range of gunfire, were heavily armed, cold-eyed raiders watching every angle with predatory focus.

The rowdy ones were just cannon fodder.

There were women in the group, too, though they didn’t seem to be fighters.

“Skelton.”

The sniper handed me a hastily drawn map.

Glancing at her left foot, I noticed it was awkwardly elevated, wrapped in nothing but a bandage despite the freezing wind.

The way she had struggled to stand earlier made sense now.

Her injuries weren’t just slowing her down—they were disabling her.

Her blue eyes met mine, clouded with a mix of sadness and fatigue.

“Your leg—what happened?”

“Need medicine.”

Her face darkened as she glared at her injured foot.

“...my leg. Rotting.”

“We’ll look at it later,” I said, trying to focus on the map she’d given me.

It was drawn with the precision of someone with military training, highlighting the critical points.

After a moment of analysis, I reached my conclusion: this was a losing battle.

The enemy wasn’t just numerous—they were patient hunters.

They knew they had the upper hand and were using their numbers to choke the life out of their prey, bit by bit.

The RPG wasn’t a direct threat yet—it was just there to unsettle them, to make them imagine every worst-case scenario and break down faster.

“This is a hard fight,” I said to the sniper.

“So?”

“There’s space in my bunker,” I offered.

Her eyes flickered, betraying a moment of turmoil. She knew the reality of her situation.

She glanced at her injured leg, her expression one of resignation.

“Sue.”

The sniper called for her daughter.

So that was her name—Sue.

The girl seemed to understand her mother’s unspoken words immediately. She shook her head and threw her arms around her mother.

The sniper whispered something in English, likely trying to reassure her.

As she held her daughter, she looked at me with tear-filled eyes.

“Sorry, Skelton. I knew it was dangerous. But I called you anyway.”

Her sudden confession caught me off guard.

I responded plainly. “Do you have any other weapons?”

“Other weapons?”

“Yeah. I remember you had plenty of heavy arms in that Humvee. Where are they?”

The sniper gently pushed Sue away and gave her a nod. The girl adjusted her oversized helmet and sprinted ahead.

“Skelton. Follow me.”

The sniper gestured for me to come along, her expression forlorn.

She wanted me to take Sue and leave, but I shook my head.

Her eyes widened briefly in surprise before I followed Sue upstairs.

The weapons were stored in a second-floor room.

It was a treasure trove of firepower: recoilless rifles, 7.62mm machine guns, Claymore mines, grenades, and even two Javelin launchers.

A veritable weapon emporium.

But there was a reason she hadn’t used them.

Both Javelins had dead batteries, and the other weapons—while powerful—had limitations in range and accuracy.

More importantly, her injured leg meant she couldn’t wield any of them effectively anymore.

But that didn’t apply to me.

I found what I was looking for: an American-made recoilless rifle.

I’d used one back in Paju. Light, reliable, and with excellent firepower. Its effective range was just under 200 meters—perfect for what I had in mind.

“Let me borrow two of these.”

“Two?”

The sniper seemed surprised by my request.

Nodding, I asked her, “What’s your name?”

She hesitated, then met my gaze with steady eyes.

“Rebecca.”

*

Now, with heavy firepower in my hands, the plan was straightforward: make it count.

Though I carried two launchers, there would only be one truly effective chance to strike.

The goal was simple: kill as many as possible in one shot, especially the heavily armed veterans hidden deep within their ranks.

The drugged-up cannon fodder could wait—though their sheer numbers might still be a problem.

My strategy wasn’t original. In fact, it was strikingly similar to the sniper’s: stay hidden, bide my time, and seize the perfect moment.

But these raiders weren’t easy targets.

Unlike the pioneers I had faced in the theme park, these men were disciplined predators.

They maintained loose formations, posted sentries at every angle, and showed no signs of recklessness.

I waited, concealed in the undergrowth, letting the cold seep into my bones as I bided my time until nightfall.

“Hey, you bastard! Keep your eyes open! I told you to stay alert!”

A harsh voice rang out from the enemy’s camp.

It was their leader, beating one of the cannon fodder with a club for falling asleep on watch.

The unlucky man, battered and broken, was dragged off and dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. No one even glanced in his direction.

Even after night fell, their vigilance didn’t waver.

In fact, they ramped up their harassment, sending a few riflemen to fire periodically at the sniper’s building, ensuring neither she nor her daughter could rest.

The intent was clear: wear them down, physically and mentally.

Seeing no better option, I swapped roles with the sniper, taking her position so she could get some rest.

The provocations continued into the next day.

They grew bolder, bringing an armored vehicle closer to the building and blasting music through mounted speakers.

When the music stopped, the leader’s voice rang out, amplified through a microphone.

“Hey, I know how many of you are hiding in there. Two? Maybe three? I heard you calling for backup on the radio. Think that’s going to change anything? I don’t like wasting time, so let’s cut a deal. You’ve got plenty of ammo, right? Just hand over 500 rounds. That’s all I’m asking. Fair, isn’t it? Your stockpile’s famous around here.”

As evening approached, I crept closer to their camp.

The man they had dumped outside the previous night was now a frozen corpse, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at nothing.

The raiders’ defenses were still tight.

I could’ve tried to exploit a small gap, but it wasn’t worth the risk—not yet.

I retreated, prepared to wait another day.

By this point, even the sniper began to show signs of worry.

“Are you sure about this? No way forward?”

“Patience,” I replied, handing her a chocolate bar.

While she kept watch, I dozed off, letting a few muffled gunshots drift into my dreams.

Another day passed.

By now, I should’ve been worrying about my bunker, but I refused to let myself waver.

This fight was a battle of endurance.

The ones who faltered first would die.

The opportunity came without warning.

Late in the evening, rain began to pour.

In temperatures that should’ve brought snow, the sudden rain was unexpected.

The raiders quickly pitched tents and huddled beneath them, seeking shelter from the freezing downpour.

I could guess their reasoning—they didn’t want to sit soaked in this bitter weather.

But in war, the ones who are less prepared are the ones who die first.

Freezing rain dripped down my forehead, soaking my already sodden clothes.

The muddy ground clung to my elbows and knees as I crawled closer.

The icy wind blowing off the nearby river sapped every ounce of warmth from my body, chilling me to the bone.

None of it mattered.

Through the mist of my breath, I could see them clearly now.

They were chatting and laughing under the cover of their tent, oblivious to the danger.

I took aim, leveling the recoilless rifle at them.

As I disengaged the safety, their leader turned in my direction.

But by then, the rocket was already screaming toward them, accompanied by a deafening roar.

BOOM!

The explosion tore through their camp, scattering bodies and debris in every direction.

An explosive ending.

I hate to admit it, but it’s the simplest solution.

*

For the second time since the apocalypse began, I invited someone into my bunker.

This time, it was the sniper Rebecca and her daughter, Sue. The reason? Rebecca’s surgery.

Her left foot was necrotic.

What was once called cellulitis had infected her soft tissue, eating away at her leg and her spirit.

Even her constant talk of drugs was likely her way of trying to dull the pain—or to psyche herself up to attempt a desperate, self-administered operation.

“Hold on. Let me watch a video first.”

I may not be a doctor, but I learned some basic trauma care in school and on the battlefield.

With the help of a few tutorial videos, I could probably manage.

“Skelton!”

Sue seemed fascinated by my bunker.

To her, this vast, well-equipped shelter must have felt like a treasure trove.

“Why’s the toilet in the middle of the room?”

“…Stay next to your mom.”

The surgery began.

I drained the pus, made an incision, disinfected the wound, and applied ointment.

That was the best I could do.

Her recovery would depend on the antibiotics left behind by Kyle Dos and Rebecca’s own resilience.

Rebecca, her face pale and sweat-drenched, looked up at me with a mixture of desperation and suspicion.

“Did you… do it right? You didn’t botch it, did you?”

“I followed the tutorial. It should be fine. Just make sure you take the medicine. Unless you want to lose that leg.”

She stared at her bandaged foot, now wrapped in bloodied gauze, then pushed her hair back and gazed at the ceiling.

“Got any… drugs?”

“You’re still asking for that?”

“It’s… hard.”

Her sigh was heavy, her tone desolate.

Of course, it’s hard. I could understand that.

But no.

I had decided from the start.

“No drugs. Drugs won’t solve your problems.”

Rebecca nodded slightly, tears welling up in her eyes.

“…I miss home.”

Home.

It had been a long time since I’d heard someone say that word.

“And people. People who speak my language. I want to talk. Not in this language, but my language.”

Her words were clumsy, her Korean imperfect. Yet, they struck deeper than any polished expression could have.

I could only imagine what it felt like—to live every moment surrounded by people who spoke a language that wasn’t yours, to feel isolated in a world where every word was foreign.

For Rebecca, that alienation was her everyday reality.

“Our language…”

Maybe that constant alienation was what had truly sickened her soul more than her body ever could.

But what could I do?

How could I send her back to America in this world, where the concept of “home” barely existed anymore?

I was about to offer her hollow platitudes when something struck me.

Wait.

There was a way.

“Hey, Rebecca.”

I called her name.

“Come here.”

Opening my laptop, I navigated to the one place that could grant her wish.

<Viva! Apocalypse!>

“What’s this?”

Sue, curious as ever, peered over my shoulder.

It was time for magic.

Not the kind of magic that required incantations or elaborate rituals—just a few clicks of a mouse.

The spell began, the scroll bar sluggishly dragging down the screen.

anonymous45: Is it actually hard to find protein-rich plants in the wild to eat if one is starving?

In_domini_LK: It depends on the season and place.

PennKIX1978: Wild amaranth is pretty high in protein.

anonymous71: Meet my WAIFUs.

Awkwardly worded English posts filled the screen.

This was the Viva! Apocalypse! English forum.

In truth, it was the main hub of the community, with several times more users than the Korean boards.

There was a built-in translation function, but I rarely used it.

The Korean forum was my home, after all.

But for someone like Rebecca—someone from another world—the voices of people like her would be far more comforting.

“Is this… real? Are these… living people?”

Of course.

It was the sound of her homeland.

“Of course.”

Seeing her face light up like a little girl’s, I stepped aside.

Her trembling hands hovered over the keyboard.

For the first time in years, she could send her own words, in her own language, to people who would understand her without effort.

SKELTON: Hi guys :)

*

"Get out."

I admit it.

I, Park Gyu, am not a gentleman.

"I said, get out."

"Just a little longer."

"No, you've been on it all night. How much longer are you planning to do this?"

"Just a bit more."

The sniper is one thing, but her daughter is just as relentless.

"Skelton, what's this?"

"Hey, hey! Put that away. Kids shouldn’t be looking at that!"

She has an uncanny knack for finding the most embarrassing items.

It's like dealing with my sister's pet ferret.

By the time I finally managed to usher the disastrous duo out, it was almost noon.

"…Thank you, Skelton."

"Thank you! Skelton!"

Rebecca whispered something to Sue.

Sue nodded and, in surprisingly fluent Korean, asked me:

"Mom wants to know why you helped us back then."

"Back then?"

"When you changed your mind and told us to run away."

I smiled faintly.

There was no need to explain.

There was no need for them to know that Rebecca, holding her daughter with tear-filled eyes, had looked so much like my mother in her final moments—holding my sister just before her death.

"Because we're neighbors."

It was half true.

Though I had kicked them out of my main bunker, I had offered them one of my decoy shelters.

One way or another, it seemed these two were nearing their limits.

Rebecca still appeared reluctant to leave her territory.

I didn’t press her.

After all, sharing my living space with someone—even for just half a day—had been far from easy.

I’d learned that the hard way.

We both needed more preparation.

Both the mother-daughter pair and myself.

"Just one more hour on the computer?"

"Out."

From beside the truck, I watched them climb the stairs of the abandoned building.

Rebecca moved with a noticeable limp, but as she passed, she turned to give me a polite nod.

I called out to her suddenly.

"Do you still need the drugs?"

Rebecca responded with a bitter smile and shook her head.

Sue clung to her mother’s arm and waved at me energetically.

I stayed there for a while, watching them leave.

The magic potion did exist after all.

I left, hoping to find a magic potion that would work for me too.

"…."

This Christmas, I should just stick to exchanging radio transmissions.