The centerpiece of Defender's relocation plan was a truck.

Somehow, they’d gotten their hands on a five-ton refrigerated cargo truck.

Everything was packed into the truck, including his younger sister.

[ Hello. ]

Defender's sister waved at me, showing a message on her tablet screen.

"Hello," I replied.

As soon as she saw me, her fingers danced across the tablet, and she showed me a new message.

[ You’ve lost a lot of weight. Something happened? ]

"It’s a joke. I was imitating John Nae-non."

Hearing that, Defender's sister gave me a serious look before her fingers moved lightning-fast once more.

[ No wonder people keep swearing at you. I mean, wasn't John Nae-non's alternate account name something ridiculous like ‘183cm83kg3cm’? Honestly, it’s so transparent. So predictable. Consistently absurd. ]

As she enthusiastically criticized John Nae-non, Defender's sister suddenly set the tablet down and stared at me.

"Hey, Skelton," she said out loud.

It was the first time, to my memory, that she’d spoken to me directly. Her face looked tired, drained even. I silently watched her, waiting.

She met my gaze briefly but quickly averted her eyes, hesitating.

Does she have something to say?

As I continued to wait, she picked up the tablet again.

[ It’s nothing, Mr. 197cm100kg30cm. ]

"That’s just another one of John Nae-non’s ego-driven displays."

[ Go check on my brother. ]

"Hey."

I could’ve just walked away, but she was also a Defender.

"Got something on your mind? Spill it."

It was clear she had something troubling her, though she hesitated for reasons I couldn’t discern. I couldn’t promise to fix everything, but I could listen.

"Got no worries?"

In the past, I wouldn’t have cared. Even when I knew someone was suffering, nearing despair, I’d ignored them. Be they juniors, peers, or seniors, I had left them to their pain.

I’d dismissed their struggles as weakness, a lack of the resolve needed to face monsters.

Because of that, I’d lost countless comrades.

People I could’ve saved, people I’d known, disappeared like smoke into the void.

"Don’t regret it later," I said.

Maybe I was saying this as much for myself as for her.

Defender was in the living room, checking a route on a map composed of four printer sheets taped together.

"Oh, Skelton. Want something to drink?" he asked.

"Water’s fine. Let me take a look at that map."

I folded my arms and stood beside him, observing the route.

Defender’s plan was straightforward: avoid soldiers, zombies, and cultists by passing through two relatively safer zones.

Once through, they’d reach a temporary safe area. While pioneers might occasionally appear, they were minor nuisances compared to soldiers, cultists, and monsters.

The map marked their destination as an area about 4 kilometers west of my territory. Like most places, it was desolate, close to a U.S. military base obliterated by nuclear strikes. The site had been hit with countless cruise missiles in the aftermath, rendering it uninhabitable.

"Where exactly do you plan to settle?" I asked.

"Your bunker."

"You know that’s not happening, right?"

"Of course, just joking."

Defender's sister appeared out of nowhere, holding up her tablet. She displayed an image of an abandoned rural house.

It was a courtyard-style residence, its few windows shattered, part of its outer wall collapsed, exposing the interior like a cracked egg.

"This house looks promising," Defender said.

"Doesn’t look great to me," I replied.

"The inside’s a mess, sure, but it has a solid underground setup. The previous owner must’ve been eccentric, building unnecessary underground facilities."

"A bunker?"

"No, a gambling den."

"When did you check this place out?"

"A while back."

"A while?"

His sister chimed in unexpectedly, "My brother has a hobby of house-hunting."

Defender shrugged. "I knew from the start that this place wasn’t ideal. So, I scouted properties here and there."

"Why not pick a good location from the start?" I asked.

"I didn’t have the means back then."

"Really?"

"This isn’t our house."

Defender smiled faintly at his sister, who remained silent with a peculiar expression.

"Is that true?"

Both siblings nodded in unison.

This was surprising. Did they already move once before?

How did they join Viva! Apocalypse!?

Judging by their reactions, it wasn’t a joke. Only one possibility came to mind.

The siblings might have been raiders from the beginning.

When the war broke out, they were likely quick to turn to looting, killing the house’s original owner and taking everything, including the Viva! Apocalypse! account and satellite equipment.

Defender, as if reading my suspicion, stood up casually.

"We should get going before sunrise. We’re not staying the night, right?"

Defender’s sister watched her brother intently before speaking.

"Leaving now?"

"Yeah. Get in the truck."

"What about Dad?"

For the first time, I saw Defender’s sister lose her composure. Though her voice was still soft, it carried a sharp determination.

I recalled the weary expression she had briefly shown me earlier.

"Are you leaving Dad behind?"

Defender stopped. Without turning, he replied, "You deal with it."

"I won’t."

"Neither will I."

Defender turned, glaring at his sister with cold, unyielding eyes. It was a murderous gaze, but she met it without flinching, holding her ground.

A sibling argument, huh? Moving is serious business, after all.

Surprisingly, it was the brother who yielded in their silent battle.

"…Do whatever you want. I don’t care."

He walked away with a deflated expression, leaving the room as though escaping.

His sister, having won, slumped onto the couch like a punctured balloon and let out a shallow sigh.

"What’s going on?" I asked her.

She looked at me with tired eyes.

"Skelton," she said, calling me by my nickname before averting her gaze again.

Instead of speaking, she picked up her tablet. Her black-painted fingernails tapped rapidly, and she showed me the finished message.

[ Be honest, you think we’re weird, don’t you? ]

"Spot on."

[ You’ve never dated a girl, have you, Skelton? ]

"Plenty of women liked me."

[ What’s wrong with you? ]

"…"

[ I have a favor to ask. ]

"A favor?"

[ Just past the house, you’ll see a cliff with a view of a theme park. There’s a body hanging there. ]

A body hanging? Was she talking about that corpse earlier? The one that looked eerily like the siblings?

[ That’s our father. ]

"…Your father."

I stared at her. I couldn’t deny the mix of condemnation and disbelief in my gaze.

Even knowing what kind of people the Defender siblings were, this still felt like they had crossed a line.

Though she didn’t meet my eyes, it was clear she knew what I was thinking.

"I know what you’re thinking," she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I’m really sorry, but… could you check his belongings for me?"

"Why not do it yourself?"

Even I was surprised at how cold my tone was. She flinched, shrinking into herself as her head bowed low. Finally, she whispered:

"…I’m scared."

"What?"

"I’m not the only one. My brother’s even more terrified."

I struggled to understand. Fear of a corpse? These were siblings who killed people, handled their bodies, and even posted videos online. What could frighten them about this one?

She curled up in the armchair like an armadillo, trembling slightly.

"…Just this once," I said.

She looked up at me, and for a moment, her gaze seemed clearer than when we first met.

"Thanks, Skelton."

Defender called out from the other room, "Everything’s ready. I’ll be in the truck."

Gathering my resolve, I left the house and returned to where the corpse was hanging. As if by some cosmic coincidence, the clouds parted, revealing a full moon that bathed the area in its pale light.

Standing beneath the body, I felt like an archaeologist from a hundred years ago, uncovering relics in a desert ruin. Carefully, I searched the remains.

Thud.

"Oops," I muttered as an arm fell off.

There wasn’t time to reattach it, but I did find something critical—a letter in the breast pocket of the tattered clothing.

A will.

Relieved, I retrieved it. This was proof that the siblings hadn’t killed their father.

But the will was illegible.

Time, rain, and decay had erased most of the text, leaving only one discernible phrase:

[ Sorry, and I love you. ]

It was a painfully generic sentiment, a cliché found in countless suicide notes.

*

In Ominous Silence, the Truck Began to Move

Defender took the wheel, and I sat in the passenger seat. Defender’s sister crouched in the cramped space behind the seats, sitting on a flattened board.

“Smells like a rotting corpse,” I muttered.

Bang!

The truck lurched precariously as it descended a slope, rattling as though it had hit a sizable rock. Even in the pitch-black darkness, Defender navigated the steep incline deftly without turning on the headlights.

“Wow,” I blurted out, unable to suppress my admiration. Though it wasn’t the time for compliments, his skill was impressive.

“What’s that smell?” Defender asked sharply, reacting to the stench of decay.

I glanced back at his sister. She looked at me, hesitated, then spoke in a small voice as she stared at her brother’s resolute back.

“Skelton picked up Dad’s will,” she said.

“Did he?” Defender responded, indifferent.

“So, what did it say? Don’t tell me it was something cliché like ‘Sorry, I love you.’”

“How did you know!?” I interrupted involuntarily.

But my clumsy intrusion seemed to have no effect on their sibling dynamic. It was as if I were posting an obscure meme on Viva! Apocalypse!—like ‘Skelton’s Beatbox Vol. 3’—only to be completely ignored.

“It's not too late. Can’t we just cremate him?” his sister asked seriously.

“We can’t leave him there forever.”

“He liked the theme park. He said it reminded him of when we were kids. He’s probably happy even in death,” Defender replied with a bitter smile.

“Brother.”

The truck shook violently, jostling us all.

Defender’s lips curled into a sardonic smirk. “Our dad… still the same.”

He muttered in a tone laced with self-mockery. “Even now, he finds a way to hold us back at the worst possible time.”

The rough jolting subsided as the truck hit the road, leaving the soldiers’ territory behind and entering the zombie zone.

“Keep an eye on the sides,” Defender instructed as he turned on the headlights.

The beams illuminated the truck’s fortified front, revealing smooth, rounded metal bars welded onto the front bumper. It was a deliberate anti-zombie measure. Sharp spikes had been popular once, but they came with downsides—zombies stuck to them like glue. Since zombies don’t feel pain, the spikes were more of a liability than an asset.

In contrast, rounded barriers, reminiscent of playground obstacles, didn’t hurt zombies but caused them to fall away when they got tangled, leaving the truck free to keep moving.

In the distance, we heard the eerie groaning of zombies.

I mentally reviewed the map. The zombie zone was a significant detour. On foot or by bike, it would be an unthinkable route. However, with a road available and the need to avoid soldiers, it was the only viable option.

“They’re close,” Defender said as the groans grew louder. He brought the truck to a stop.

Shapes began to appear beyond the lights—human figures stumbling toward us.

Zombies.

The abandoned city’s residents were rushing out as if to greet us.

Click.

Defender chambered a round.

Click.

Behind us, the sound repeated. His sister had armed herself, too. She looked at me with a mischievous smirk, sticking out her tongue slightly.

“Seduction doesn’t work on zombies,” she quipped.

Surely, she hadn’t actually tried… had she? Then again, with these two, anything seemed possible.

Inside and outside, the stench of death filled the air.

“Let’s go,” Defender said.

The truck accelerated sharply, cutting through the pervasive smell of decay. Zombies appeared vividly in the headlights, their glowing red eyes reflecting hunger—for flesh and for their own kind.

Bang!

The reinforced bumper sent several zombies flying, while others were crushed beneath the tires.

“Hah!” his sister laughed, baring her teeth in exhilaration.

Even Defender, moments ago stoic, wore a carefree grin.

“Skelton! Watch the sides!”

This pair really did love killing, didn’t they?

Bang! Bang!

Two shots rang out as I took aim at the zombies clinging to the sides of the truck. More effective, however, was the pump-action shotgun his sister wielded.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each blast sent clusters of zombies tumbling to the ground.

“Haha!” Her laughter grew louder as Defender whistled, flooring the accelerator.

The engine roared as the truck plowed through everything in its path. It was a satisfying, flawless breakthrough.

The adrenaline-fueled chaos seemed to thaw the frost between the siblings, at least temporarily.

In the grayish-white light of the cultist zone, Defender stopped the truck to inspect it. He carefully examined the armored panels on my side and his sister’s.

“Brother,” she called softly, her tone different now.

“Tell him,” she added, glancing at me. “Skelton’s curious.”

Defender sighed, his expression one of reluctant resignation. He hesitated, his furrowed brow betraying his inner turmoil.

Finally, he pointed back toward where we’d come from.

“The house we lived in,” he began.

“Yeah?” I replied.

“It belonged to the master.”

“The master?” I echoed, momentarily confused. I must have misheard. It was so far removed from what I’d imagined.

But the next words brought everything into sharp focus.

“Yeah. Our dad was their servant.”

Defender’s once-predatory gaze softened into something colder, more subdued. His eyes turned toward the hazy past he clearly didn’t want to revisit.