Before the war, there was always a fiercely debated topic that divided opinions.

Should people survive as a collective group in the coming apocalypse, or as individuals?

The age-old debate was gradually tilting toward collectivism.

The main argument for individualism, as supported by people like me, was visibility—or rather, the inevitability of being noticed. Group systems, by their very nature, attract stronger challenges and ultimately crumble under pressure.

And indeed, there were cases of collapse.

For instance, the fortress of Chairman Park Cheol-joo, the ultimate symbol of collective survivalism, ended up in complete ruins.

But individualism had its own set of significant issues, and they weren’t about external threats so much as they were rooted in human nature.

Not everyone is inherently suited to being a recluse.

I thought I was, but the reality unfolding around me showed that I, too, was an ordinary person who needed others.

Spending years alone in a dark, enclosed space, unsure when death might strike, is not an easy feat.

Sure, there could be periods of tranquility.

But even the smallest change in daily life can spiral into uncontrollable fear and worry.

The idea that small, daily discomforts and pains lead to mental illness is a belief I hold firmly.

In my case, I eliminate the source of danger altogether, but most people endure those little discomforts and live with them.

You can’t fix it.

The majority of the suffering and inconvenience one experiences in a bunker lifestyle is determined at the planning and design stage of the bunker itself.

As a result, many people gave up midway or ended up changing in strange ways.

Even I, who hadn’t participated in any online communities before the war, found myself depending on them to the point of suspecting community addiction.

The way one dies is also different.

Dying alongside someone who fights with you, buries you, and mourns for you is an entirely different kind of death compared to dying alone in cold isolation.

There’s another issue, though.

It’s the flow of the times.

I thought Seoul would turn into something like Beijing.

When a city collapses and its systems fail, I expected millions of refugees to scatter, triggering a chain reaction of destruction.

But South Korea was different.

Whether it was because the lies of our leaders were more effective, or because people had a stronger faith in them compared to the Chinese, Seoul’s citizens chose to stay and die in place rather than attempt mass migration in the face of catastrophe.

They were far too optimistic.

Or perhaps their environment left them no other choice but to cling to hope, unable to imagine consuming anything else.

Unlike China, with its vast land and resources, the Korean Peninsula was small, and disasters converged within that narrow space.

If such trends continue, collectivism might indeed prevail.

It’s not my fault.

No one can see the future.

Just because what happened in China didn’t happen in Korea doesn’t mean the prediction was wrong. Interpreting it that way would be overly results-oriented.

"Hello, this is SKELTON."

I used every opportunity to engage in conversations with people whenever the chance arose.

"SKELTON? Oh, you're younger than I expected."

"You’re SKELTON? You’re nothing like what I imagined."

"Wait, why would someone normal-looking like you do the things you post on the boards?"

The reactions were strange.

I knew my popularity had tanked, especially after associating with someone like Unicorn18, but hearing the same comments over and over from everyone I met was unnerving.

“... Am I bad at using the internet?”

“Hm…”

One particular user, Anonymous848, seemed unusually familiar with me.

Even in the middle of the night, they wore sunglasses and a mask, making it hard to see their face. Judging by the parts not covered, they appeared to be in their mid-to-late forties.

“Do you know me?”

I asked cautiously, wondering if they recognized me somehow.

Probably not.

Hunter information in South Korea, including mine, was classified as top secret.

That decision was made by the higher-ups.

During the period when China was at its peak strength, dealing with disasters spilling over from India as well as internal strife, they also began targeting South Korea—not the country, but its people.

Hunters from the 8th, 9th, and 10th classes, elite soldiers trained with massive investments, defected to China in pursuit of money.

The government had to endure public outcry and media attacks over the sudden loss of its elite troops. As a result, all personal information about hunters trained in state institutions became classified.

Naturally, my face had never been revealed.

However, hunters not affiliated with government training programs or deemed unsuitable by those programs were less strictly managed.

That’s how certain people made a living by boasting about their exploits and spilling stories.

Like John Nae-non.

“No, I don’t know you personally. I was just curious. Kyle Dos occasionally talks about you.”

“What does he say?”

“That SKELTON might actually be a decent person, unlike his image on the boards.”

“Did he say he met me?”

“No, nothing like that. Have you met him?”

“A long time ago.”

We chatted briefly. The conversation started with Kyle Dos but soon drifted elsewhere, following my lead.

“The military? I also came from the west, but that region wasn’t dominated by the military faction. It was more neutral.”

“I see.”

“I’ve heard there are issues with the military faction. Apparently, their leader, Lieutenant General Kwon Sung-tae, was in a helicopter crash along with other commanders loyal to him. A leaderless army—well, you can imagine the rest.”

“…”

That was new information to me.

With no contact from Kim Daram, the community was my only source of updates on the situation in Seoul.

While there were users like "Reporter Guy" who found satisfaction in exchanging information, most community members hesitated to share unless they were confident about its accuracy, wary of spreading harmful rumors.

That likely explained the delay in the information reaching me.

“Defender…”

“Hm? What about Defender?”

“Nothing. Just thought of him suddenly.”

I wondered if he was safe.

The soldiers he had encountered didn’t seem like simple scavengers.

Could he have fallen victim to them?

If so, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Unless one of those siblings was an Awakened, even I would struggle to fend off an attack from trained soldiers.

Eventually, we arrived in the area where Sunbi’s bunker was supposedly located.

The outskirts were desolate as expected, but since the city was nearby, dim, eerie lights glowed from the hillside below.

Across from that, more faint, grayish-white lights flickered.

“… Damn.”

Was this an abandoned city, or had an erosion zone formed next to a preserved city?

Judging by its form, it seemed to be a small-scale erosion caused by a stationary Awakened.

The Gwangju area was a strategic location, meticulously maintained, so the appearance of an erosion zone here suggested negligence.

Negligence to kill monsters that could still be eradicated.

“Stop.”

Our guide, Dies Irae, signaled a halt.

“It’s here. According to Sturdy Orthopedics’ tip, there’s a large ventilation shaft over there.”

Sure enough, a vent came into view.

It seemed more suited for a subway or sewer system than a bunker, judging by its size and the foul stench emanating from it.

“Let’s go. We’ll scout ahead. The rest of you, stay alert and fire warning shots if anything appears from the sides.”

Dies Irae was undoubtedly a seasoned soldier.

“Wait. Could be booby-trapped. Let me check first.”

Not only was he experienced in combat, but he had likely achieved numerous victories through calculated initiative.

Where might he have served?

Perhaps in North Korea.

When North Korea fell, the South Korean military temporarily recaptured Pyongyang. Based on his age and experience, it seemed highly probable that he had been a soldier during that time.

“We’ve found the bunker. Judging by the footprints, there are five people inside. Two women, three men, based on shoe sizes.”

Everyone’s faces hardened.

A battle was imminent.

There was a real possibility of losing the bunker they had fought so hard to secure, along with their lives, reduced to cold corpses sprawled on the ground.

The tension was palpable, freezing everyone’s breaths in their throats. But it didn’t last long.

Laughter rang out.

It came from within the bunker.

“Hahaha!!”

“Kyahahaha!”

“Wow, holy shit! That’s insane!”

It was raucous laughter.

The kind of laughter we had long forgotten.

The sound of multiple men and women laughing and shouting at the same time.

“Are we killing all of them?”

A man, presumably the user Chochol, asked greedily, his eyes gleaming with desire.

“What about the women? Surely, they’re just caught up in this because the men are threatening them.”

Though he seemed to defend the women, it was clear he had ulterior motives.

Dies Irae answered without hesitation.

“All of them need to die.”

“What a waste, though…”

“Then go ahead. Rape them first if you want.”

Dies Irae’s irritation was thinly veiled.

“... No.”

Chochol scowled but dared not argue further.

“Let’s begin.”

Dies Irae gave a signal. Three fingers raised.

The countdown began.

From the bunker, the voices of boys and girls pierced through the thick steel doors, echoing through the ventilation shaft.

Dies Irae curled his fingers into a fist.

A fellow soldier wearing a tactical mask tossed a tear gas canister into the shaft.

The laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by violent coughing.

“Cough! Cough!”

“Shit! What’s happening?!”

“They’re actually here?!”

The bunker’s heavy door creaked open amidst panicked cries.

Dies Irae gestured.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire erupted. Precise, single shots.

Amid the thick smoke, silhouettes crumpled one by one.

“Please, spare me!”

A young girl crawled out, tears and mucus streaming down her face, clinging to Dies Irae’s leg.

Dies Irae glanced back, his gaze meeting Chochol’s.

Then, without hesitation, he aimed his gun at the back of the girl’s head.

“No! Don’t kill her!”

Bang!

The girl’s head slumped, lifeless.

“Why?! Why did you kill her?!” Chochol screamed.

It could be called murder.

But to me, it seemed like mercy.

The bunker was cleared.

The air was heavy with smoke and the stench of blood.

Among the remains, a laptop caught my attention.

“SKELTON, was it?”

For the first time, Dies Irae showed interest in me.

“What about it?”

As the others scavenged survival supplies, I retrieved the laptop and satellite equipment—items not immediately necessary.

“Do you plan to use it to give your posts a thumbs-up?” Dies Irae smirked faintly.

“I’m not that kind of person,” I replied curtly.

*

It had been a week since the new Sunbi died.

Still, there was no word from Defender.

I sent a message, but there was no reply.

“······.”

The air inside the bunker felt especially cold that afternoon.

Meanwhile, another "miracle" was unfolding on the forums.

tntn_Orthopedics: Wasn’t the fake Sunbi already dead?

Guest3321: Dude, it seems like it’s the same Sunbi.

The twice-dead Sunbi had returned once again!

However, this time, the resurrection happened in a different location.

The third Sunbi didn’t reappear on the Korean boards but instead emerged on the English boards, committing the ultimate sin: spamming.

SUNBI: KOREAN SUCKS

SUNBI: I HATE KOREANS

SUNBI: KOREANS, PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS

SUNBI: HELL ON EARTH: KOREA

SUNBI: 한국 싫어 (I hate Korea)

SUNBI: today's lunch ;)

...

...

“······.”

Without hesitation, I switched on the radio.

“Skelton? What’s up?”

Sue’s innocent voice came through.

“Put your mom on.”

“Skelton? What’s going on? I’m busy.”

I sighed deeply before replying.

“After everything I went through to get you that equipment, this is what you do on the forums?”

“······.”

A new post popped up on the English board.

SUNBI: EXCEPT SKELTON :)

“······Satisfied?”

“Delete that post and change your username immediately.”

I ended the transmission and pulled out a piece of paper from my pocket.

[Defender Summon Voucher]

Looking at the drawing my sister had made of me, which hung on the wall beyond the room, I clasped my hands together in prayer for the first time in nearly a year.

I prayed they were still alive, like the sniper and her daughter.

That this dry, desolate apocalypse hadn’t claimed them too.