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The soldiers, armed with firearms, bulletproof helmets, and ammo belts, looked rough. Dark circles hung under their eyes like they hadn’t slept in days, and their eyes were bloodshot. Some stared blankly into space, while others flinched and trembled at the slightest loud noise.

I casually walked past, glancing at their name tags. “I need intel. Any names that scream ‘whistleblower’ or ‘deserter’?” Sadly, no. Just ordinary names.

Eavesdropping on soldiers smoking seemed like the next best move, but thanks to the virus, no one was lowering their masks for a smoke. I tried asking directly once, but it didn’t go well.

“Hi, can I ask you something?”

“Huh? Uh, no.”

“Can you just tell me what’s going on? My brother’s in the army, and I haven’t heard from him. I’m worried—is he eating? Is something wrong?”

I even made up a fake brother to build rapport, but the soldier just avoided eye contact and shook his head. Clearly, they’ve been told to keep quiet.

The more they hide, the more I’m convinced something’s wrong with the military. What’s the problem? How big is it? That’s what matters.

Scenarios ran through my head. “Did the virus spread badly? Did they shoot their own? Was there a firearms accident?”

Then, an opportunity for intel appeared.

“AAAAHHH!”

A crowd had gathered, and suddenly, one of them turned into a zombie. It was a guy haggling over cigarettes, but he lunged at the other person and bit their neck.

“Who do you think you are?”

The crowd reacted like it was routine. They swarmed in, beating the zombie with weapons, then casually looted cigarettes and food from the corpses. Just another day in the apocalypse.

But one soldier, with dilated pupils, watched the scene, then backed away and disappeared. I followed him to a deserted building’s first-floor bathroom.

Inside, I heard muffled sobs. He was trying to hold it in, but the crying seeped through the stall.

“Kill him, take his gun… No, what would I even do with one gun?”

In this tense situation, acting impulsively would be a mistake. The military seemed to be preparing to enter the city, handing out rations and gauging public sentiment.

I knocked on the stall.

The crying stopped abruptly. I spoke gently, “It’s tough, huh? The military’s hard enough, and now this. It’s okay to cry. Letting it out is good for your mental health.”

Crying is important. It’s like flushing out toxins, a kind of emotional cleanse. Plus, it’s the perfect psychological state for me to approach him.

“If something’s bothering you, you can talk to me. Holding it in isn’t good. Sharing your sorrow halves it, right?”

Silence followed. I stared at the stall door. Would this work? Most people avoid showing vulnerability, but this guy’s mentally broken, and his only life experience is the military. It might just work.

Luckily, it did. The bathroom door opened like his heart had cracked.

A young soldier with puffy eyes sat on the toilet, looking up at me. I tried to pour as much warmth into my gaze as possible.

He broke down, words spilling out. “It’s… it’s too much.”

No formal speech? Good. A mind untainted by military discipline, resisting oppression—perfect for an informant.

The private wiped his tears with his sleeve and started rambling.

***

In the early days of the zombie outbreak, the military was fine. Just vacation restrictions, masks, and disinfection. Soldiers complained, but no big issues.

But as time passed and the virus spread, soldiers started turning into zombies. It got bad.

“We locked the infected in empty barracks. The one next to mine. Every night, I heard their screams, their nails scratching the doors. I still hear it. The sound of nails scraping against the wooden doors…”

The soldier scratched his ear with his nail, staring blankly. The wound from scratching was deep.

I listened silently. Let him talk. Don’t interrupt.

“During roll call, meals, sun disinfection—anytime, people started turning. Soldiers, NCOs, officers—no one was spared. The zombies in the barracks kept increasing, and the sounds… the sounds.”

Virus transmission… Living together, day in and day out. The spread was terrifying, and the aftermath unbearable.

If you can’t sleep because of the infected’s screams right next to you…

Eventually, the military gave up the buildings.

“The barracks became temporary quarantine zones. Soldiers were told to set up tents on the parade ground. That day, my buddy…”

The soldier’s hands trembled. His dull eyes looked down at his shaking hands. He clenched them.

“We were setting up the tent. My buddy suddenly turned into a zombie and tried to kill me. He was such a good guy… I swung a shovel without thinking. Just like that…”

He killed him.

I thought about it. If the military attacks zombies, what happens to soldiers who turn? Kill them? How does that affect morale? If they only kill civilian zombies, how do civilians react?

Without a cure, the fight against the I-Virus is a fight between people. Soldiers against soldiers, survivors against survivors, people against people.

And here’s one of the victims.

The soldier cried, head bowed. His mask was soaked with tears.

“I killed him. With my own hands. I did it. I did it.”

“That must’ve been hard. You’ve been through a lot.”

I gathered myself and chose my words carefully. I still had questions.

Self-test kits, the military’s reorganization after losing troops, infrastructure protection, safe zones. The soldier might not know everything, but I could get some clues.

But the soldier was lost in his own world, muttering to the air.

“All those dead people. They’re still buried, right? No, they’re with us. I hear them. The ones who starved to death in the barracks.”

“…Starved to death?”

What’s this now?

“The abandoned ones. Their screams, ah…”

I tilted my head, looking down at the soldier. He clutched his helmet, curling up and crying.

“I couldn’t do anything. This isn’t right. It’s not.”

He’s not in a state for conversation.

I let my imagination run wild.

A reorganized military unit, excluding the infected. Troops deployed to defend infrastructure or the frontlines. And the ones left behind.

Not all units could be maintained. Some were abandoned, along with the infected soldiers they couldn’t handle.

A scene flashed in my mind. Soldiers moving supplies—guns, protective gear, food—while infected soldiers screamed from behind barred windows. Barracks abandoned like ruins, filled with those who starved to death.

I quietly stepped back.

“20% infected? Seems way higher.”

The relatively intact soldiers were deployed to key points for defense and facility maintenance.

I think I know why this unit is entering the city. A rear-guard unit. But with supply lines cut, they’re looking for a way to survive.

A dangerous military. One that left infected comrades to die, with broken soldiers and dwindling resources.

I hurried back to the streets, leaving the crying soldier behind. I didn’t suggest desertion. Weaklings like him are no good for pillaging.

***

“Kim Da-in. Good, you’re back. The military has something to say to us.”

Just as I returned, Uncle called for me. The ration distribution was done, and the traders had left.

I looked around. Police, Rider Zero, firefighters, an evangelical elder, a doctor, an archer—representatives of the surviving groups were still there.

A chill ran down my spine.

“Massacre? Are they planning to wipe out the loud survivors? Take over the city and evolve into warlords?”

The mentally unstable soldiers, armed with guns, glanced at us.

A subtle pressure. No survivor was unaware of the tension, but those who’d fought daily for survival exuded a deadly aura. A message: kill us, and you die too.

The police officer leader, holding a radio, glared at the soldiers.

“I don’t know why you’ve entered the city, but if you pull any nonsense, it’s war.”

The police had the capability. Their armory, reserve firearms, and ammo meant they could easily organize a force to oppose the military.

Not hard at all. Plenty of people had completed their military service.

“If the military turns on us, we’ll all have to unite.”

“We’ve got plenty of Botox left…”

“Let’s see how this plays out.”

Everyone eyed the soldiers suspiciously.

What to call it? Fundamental distrust? Dislike? A sense that the military couldn’t be trusted, that they’d evolve into warlords oppressing and pillaging.

Maybe it was the wariness of the weak.

No matter how much survivors honed their weapons, facing a military trained for combat was terrifying. Who would win in a direct confrontation?

“Seriously scary. They’re not planning a massacre, right?”

I shivered as I watched the soldiers, but thankfully, it didn’t seem that way.

It wasn’t a combat formation but a return formation. They were checking numbers, loosely grouped. On closer look, their gazes seemed directed at Rider Zero, who’d removed her helmet.

Then an older-looking captain appeared.

“Yes, I’m the company commander. Representing the remaining forces near the city.”

He didn’t look great either. Or maybe it’s just how soldiers age.

The police officer leader stepped forward.

“What’s the military’s goal? You’ve been quiet until now, and this doesn’t seem like a zombie purge. You’re short on supplies too, right?”

“I understand your caution. Warlords, domination—I know what you’re worried about. But that’s not going to happen.”

The captain sighed deeply, looking at the survivors.

“Let’s be honest. If the military pushed in, would you just sit back? Concrete cities, local resistance, brutal terrorism. We’re not willing to take that risk.”

He had a point.

Turning the city into an enemy would be tough for the military. Combat isn’t just about direct confrontation.

So, the military seemed to be showing cooperation.

“We’re just like you. Supply routes are cut, and we’re barely surviving day by day. We just want to survive, like you.”

“…No plans to pillage?”

“No. We don’t have the energy for that. Soldiers shouldn’t do that anyway.”

The captain rambled on.

“Soldiers are just kids, scared and forced into this. We can’t let them starve. Just treat us as neighbors. That’s all.”

People exchanged glances.

Some were receptive, while others, like me, remained suspicious.

Reputation management? The first step in stirring trouble? I couldn’t trust if he was sincere, and who knows how things might change later.

But the conditions they offered were too good to refuse.

“We’ll soon clear out the zombies. Malls, commercial areas. Of course, we’ll take the resources there, but you’ll be safer too.”

Zombie clearance.

The following conditions weren’t bad either. The military would secure markets, connect with surviving farmers on the outskirts for agriculture.

In the end, the city’s people decided to accept the military. They couldn’t refuse anyway. They lacked the firepower.

People just kept their suspicions and guard up, watching the situation closely.

I also kept an eye on the captain.

“The military… Can I use them? Will they help me?”

 

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