The collapse of the system means that the services we’ve always taken for granted are no longer available.

Weather forecasts are one such service.

People used to complain that forecasts were always wrong, but really, who else could analyze and predict the weather if not them?

The past three days had been warm.

By both seasonal and calendar standards, it was perfect spring weather.

But the world changed overnight.

A sudden, unannounced northern wind swept through in the middle of the night, freezing everything in its path.

The outdoor thermometer now read -32°C.

The bunker had become a giant refrigerator.

The water in the toilet bowl, located in the very center of the first-floor bunker, was frozen solid.

If Duchamp, the artist who made toilets famous, had seen this, he might have titled it The Frozen Fountain.

I waited until daylight before stepping outside.

Despite the extreme cold, not a single snowflake had fallen.

The sky was absurdly clear, and the air was painfully crisp.

“······Hah.”

What should I do?

The battery reserves were almost depleted.

It had already passed the season for ipchun (the beginning of spring), and the temperatures had been steadily rising, so I hadn’t run the generator in a while.

With the oil reserve below half, I had switched to conservation mode. Spring seemed to have arrived, so I hadn’t thought to turn on the generator.

And then this brutal cold arrived.

Now, I needed to run the generator even in broad daylight.

Running the generator had its advantages: it would prevent the pipes from freezing, reduce my risk of frostbite, and, most importantly, decrease the likelihood of freezing to death by 99%.

But running the generator during the day would inevitably produce smoke.

While the smoke reduction systems I had installed would minimize visibility, it wouldn’t be completely invisible.

At night, unless the moonlight was exceptionally bright, the smoke would be nearly undetectable.

But this was daylight, with the air crystal clear.

In this desolate, abandoned land, even a faint wisp of smoke rising into the sky would look far more prominent than I’d like to imagine.

The choice was simple:

Do I stay hidden and endure the cold, or do I risk exposure to potential hostile entities by running the generator?

Lighting a fire inside the bunker wasn’t an option. That would just be another way of committing suicide.

“······.”

Initially, I chose to endure the cold.

Without electricity, I thought I could face the cold like a primitive human, relying only on insulating gear and my body heat.

But even primitive humans didn’t survive winter with their bare skin.

They had fire.

I, on the other hand, only had small chemical hand warmers. While a campfire could reach temperatures of 1,300°C, a hand warmer barely hit 40°C.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The battery died.

The heated mattress inside my thermal tent began to cool rapidly, and every passing moment felt like the cold was whipping at my very soul.

I considered drinking alcohol to warm myself, but that wouldn’t ignite some internal furnace to fight the cold. It would just make my blood circulate faster, which isn’t exactly helpful.

Plenty of people froze to death while drunk even before the war.

“······Shit.”

I wiped my nose and cursed without realizing it.

If I kept this up, I’d freeze to death.

Forget monsters or raiders; I’d succumb to the cold long before they got to me.

At around 11 a.m., I made my decision.

I had to run the generator.

It was the only conclusion that ensured survival.

But I wouldn’t do it in an obvious way.

I opened the bunker door and braved the knife-like wind, heading toward the fallow field on the far edge of my territory.

Last year’s wild weeds had overgrown and now lay wilted like dried radish greens.

I soaked a rag in synthetic oil from Ji Young-hee, threw it onto the field, and struck a match.

The wind kept blowing out the flame.

When do people curse?

Everyone has their reasons, but for me, it’s when my body is pushed to its limits.

“Shit! Fuck! Who even calls this garbage oil?”

I couldn’t stop the curses from spilling out as I repeated the same process over and over.

By the time I could barely feel my hands and feet, the field finally caught fire.

The flames roared, carried by the wind, and I stood there for a while, letting the fierce heat warm me even as the fire threatened to consume me.

By the time I returned to the bunker, the flames had grown, spreading across the field.

Black smoke billowed endlessly into the sky as I activated the generator.

Vrrrooooom—

The hum of my most prized possession, beating like a heart, filled the bunker. I climbed the ladder to the first floor.

The bunker was still a frozen hellhole, but I already felt warmer.

My main heating setup consisted of a thermal tent and a heated mattress—an efficient combination that provided maximum output with minimal cost.

But I had something else up my sleeve.

Hissssss—

Radiators installed throughout the bunker, powered by the generator, began circulating heated water. The subtle steam emitted warmth into every corner of the bunker.

This was my secret weapon: a heating system that didn’t just warm the floors but the entire air inside the bunker.

It was a luxury I only indulged in on special occasions, like Christmas or Lunar New Year.

The fact that the radiators were functioning meant that the plumbing had survived the brutal cold.

I shed my thick parka and watched the thermometer rise.

The temperature climbed.

I began preparing a meal.

For some reason, I was craving curry.

My kitchen was next to the toilet.

People always asked why I’d placed the toilet in the center, but it was an unavoidable design choice.

To optimize the water and sewage system, the toilet had to be in the middle.

If I’d felt like it, I could’ve made the bunker resemble a fancy apartment with three rooms, two bathrooms, and a neatly divided layout.

But since I was the only one using it, why bother?

Besides, the toilet had a ventilation duct directly above it, making it the quickest way to eliminate odors without installing extra exhaust systems.

Tap, tap, tap—

I chopped half-frozen carrots, onions, and potatoes into measured pieces.

On the induction stove across from me, water boiled in a wok, and a packet of Japanese curry roux sat nearby, ready to plunge into the pot like a kamikaze.

Meanwhile, the bunker’s temperature rose steadily.

Even with the -28°C cold outside, the thermometer in the bunker crept toward a balmy 15°C.

It felt like spring.

I could’ve turned off the generator at that point, but the battery wasn’t fully charged yet.

Since I’d taken the risk of turning it on, I might as well make the most of it.

I filled a wheeled bathtub under the showerhead beside the toilet with warm water from the generator-powered boiler.

After a proper wash and shave, I sank into the tub.

“······Ahhh.”

It felt like being reborn.

Though I was alive, the hot water made it feel as though new life was being poured into my body.

The heat not only thawed my frozen limbs but also melted the frost in my heart.

Watching the thick steam escape through the ventilation duct above the toilet, I let my body relax completely.

Who else could enjoy such luxury in this apocalyptic wasteland?

A warm smile crept across my lips as I let myself savor this rare moment of satisfaction.

In the kitchen, the curry simmered, growing richer in flavor.

Yes, days like this were necessary.

Before the sun set, I checked my surroundings.

The field to the west was blackened, with only wisps of white smoke rising from it.

There were no signs of people, and the air remained cold.

The outside temperature was still -28°C.

Even zombies would freeze to death in weather like this.

*

Just like yesterday, today I checked in on the sniper.

“Ugh, it’s so cold. Too cold. Fucking Korea!”

It seemed I didn’t need to worry about the sniper and her daughter.

The fact that she was still posting on the forum in this frigid weather was proof that they were doing fine.

In truth, very few posts were appearing on the community forum lately.

Most of them were complaints about the cold, with a few lamenting how they were freezing to death—that was about it.

For us doomsday survivalists, freezing to death was rare.

But even in a bunker-turned-icebox, typing on a keyboard in this relentless cold wasn’t easy.

Nobody wanted frostbite bad enough to start losing fingers just for the sake of a post.

After filling my stomach with the leftover curry from yesterday, I headed out for my morning patrol.

The air was still bitterly cold, but it had warmed slightly to -18°C—better than yesterday.

The skies remained crystal clear, and still, there was no snow.

I exhaled a puff of white breath as I scanned the direction of the golf course.

A faint change caught my eye.

At the bottom of the gentle slope leading up to the golf course, a black speck stood out.

It looked like a person but was completely still.

I grabbed my weapon and carefully approached.

As I suspected, it was a frozen corpse.

The person had died kneeling, slumped forward, their head bowed.

Oddly enough, the direction they faced was toward my bunker.

I retrieved the firearm slung across their back—a K2 rifle, a South Korean model. Its magazine was full.

Inside their pocket, I found condoms, cold medicine, and, for some strange reason, mosquito repellent. I took it all.

The person’s clothing was my size, and their imported high-end parka tempted me, but I left it behind.

After collecting the items, I pondered what to do with the body.

Should I burn it? Bury it?

Neither option appealed to me.

Burning it would attract too much attention, and burying it would mean digging into the frozen ground—a labor-intensive task.

Leaving the body somewhere out of sight seemed like the best option for now.

When the weather warmed up, I could decide whether to bury or cremate it.

I grabbed the corpse by the legs and began dragging it up the slope.

I’d never played golf, nor had I ever been interested, but I knew this course was called a "country club."

Unlike public courses where anyone could play, this one required an expensive membership.

Kim Elder once told me that memberships here traded for around 1.8 billion won.

Come to think of it, I’d often seen luxury cars coming and going back when I was exhausted from working on the bunker.

Occasionally, I’d spot one of those cute little golf carts buzzing over the hill, and I’d wonder, What’s beyond that hill?

What kind of exclusive world awaited in a country club with memberships worth 1.8 billion won?

After the war started, I finally got to see what lay beyond that hill.

Nothing.

Just scorched, short-cropped grass, random piles of trash, and collapsed bungalows.

A faint reminder that this was once a gathering place for South Korea’s elite.

Now I was crossing that hill again, dragging someone else’s corpse behind me.

My plan was simple: dump the body just beyond the slope where it would be out of sight from my bunker.

Not only for aesthetic reasons but also to keep scavenging animals from disturbing my line of sight.

“Phew.”

I reached the crest of the slope, feeling like I’d climbed a mountain.

And then I stopped.

I had no choice but to pause.

There were more bodies.

Not just one or two, but dozens.

All of them frozen to death.

Some carried weapons, while others looked like civilians.

The man I had dragged wasn’t wearing a uniform, so perhaps they were refugees—or pioneers?

I wanted to believe they were raiders, but the presence of elderly people, children, and women among them suggested otherwise.

The frozen corpses formed a line, one by one, pointing ominously toward my bunker’s territory.

“······.”

I stood there in silence, lost in thought.

The man I had dragged had been facing my bunker as well.

Could it be?

Had they seen the smoke from my generator and come here?

In temperatures dropping below -30°C?

There was the smoke from the field too, but why had they come this way?

Was my smoke really visible from so far away?

Had the smoke from my generator seemed more inviting than the harsh, black-and-red smoke from the field fire?

Frustration bubbled up inside me as I surveyed the bodies.

“Why the hell did you come here······?”

I wished I had the power to speak with the dead.

I wanted to grab their spirits and ask why they had crawled their way toward me in this unbearable cold.

Why they had ruined the good mood I’d managed to salvage for myself.

But my anger wasn’t tied to fire or warmth.

Leaving the unfinished intruders where they lay, I turned away from the golf course.

When I returned to my territory, I spotted footprints I hadn’t seen before.

I remembered the armed corpses back at the golf course.

Though they’d all frozen to death, they’d been well-equipped.

Seven automatic rifles in total.

I couldn’t carry all the weapons, so I had only taken the ammo, removing the firing pins from the rest.

But what if that wasn’t all of them?

What if another group had been out there, one that didn’t freeze to death and managed to find my bunker instead?

“······.”

My blood ran cold as I carefully set down the rifle I had retrieved and approached my bunker.

The footprints disappeared halfway, replaced by drag marks.

At the side of the fourth dummy bunker, I found a discarded rifle.

The drag marks grew more chaotic, their width narrowing as they led toward my main bunker.

When I reached the entrance to my well-camouflaged main bunker, I found a man collapsed on his knees, leaning against the door.

There were no signs of life.

The burrs stuck to his clothes like tumors suggested he’d crossed through the mountains to get here.

Perhaps that’s why he ended up separated from the rest.

The abandoned rifle, the aimless dragging—he seemed to have reached my bunker entrance driven purely by instinct and impulse, without any conscious awareness that it was here.

Looking at his face, which seemed no older than his early twenties, I muttered a cold remark without thinking.

“Hole in one.”

It seemed this cold wave had frozen more than just the heavens, the earth, and these nameless souls.

*

Defender: Why are you looking so downcast?

Defender: The cold wave saved you, didn’t it?

SKELTON: (SKELTON suddenly beaming) Really?

Defender: Should we team up?

I was about to type "YES!" when—

“······.”

My excitement froze mid-thought.

That’s when I realized this was a dream.

It had been ten days since I’d last heard from Defender.

People on the forums whispered that even the great Defender hadn’t survived this apocalypse.

“······.”

When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by familiar darkness.

Pitch-black. Nothing but suffocating, absolute darkness.

Without much thought, like a blind man navigating by memory, I groped around for my computer and turned it on.

No particular reason.

I just wanted to see people.

I wanted to say something.

Even if no one responded, I wanted to at least know that others were alive and moving.

There was a message waiting for me.

Message from Defender: Skelton, did you miss me? You didn’t freeze to death, did you?

Even a few simple words can stir emotions.

“······Shit.”

I could feel something hot streaming down my cheeks.

It was infuriating and heartwarming at the same time.

That I, Park Gyu, would tear up over a message from someone like him.

But the warmth running down my face wasn’t a dream. It was real.

Tap, tap, tap.

With stiff, frozen fingers, I began to type.

SKELTON: It’s been a while.

Message from Defender: That’s it? That’s all you have to say? I waited for you, you know?

“Hah.”

Why is this guy so irritating?

There had to be something—some clever way to express my joy at reconnecting without wounding my pride.

A phrase I’d seen somewhere flashed through my mind, like it had come to me in a dream.

Tap tap, tap—

“Whew.”

I blew on my fingers to warm them as I sent my reply.

SKELTON: (SKELTON denies) I-I wasn’t that eager to see you or anything!

Message from Defender: Wow······.

Message from Defender: Honestly, have you always been this bad at the internet?

SKELTON: !