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The information was updated even while we were moving.

A military outpost built in a building between the outskirts and the city center. Instead of an 81mm mortar, they’ve mounted a heavy machine gun on the rooftop, ready for anything. Where they even got that thing is a mystery.

The infantry squads took turns pillaging, sweeping through the city like a swarm of locusts.

And some troops, whether for supply or transport, moved busily like ants, shuttling the looted resources from the outpost to the military units on the outskirts.

We shared all this information with the mercenaries, who shook their heads and muttered things like:

“They carried that heavy machine gun all the way up there? From the military base to the rooftop of that building?”

“Don’t regular infantry not even use heavy machine guns these days? Where’d they even dig that up?”

“Probably scavenged it from some forgotten corner.”

The veterans chuckled. Even though the military was the enemy, their actions reminded them of their own past.

Only Sajihyeok, who hadn’t served in the military, looked confused, tilting his head.

Meanwhile, I adjusted my hat and assessed the enemy’s capabilities.

‘Seems like the military has adapted to the apocalypse too.’

They’ve been using captured bicycles and motorcycles for transport, even modifying them with makeshift carts.

Their equipment, organization, and movements were bizarre. It felt like they’d cobbled together a chimera, using parts scavenged from everywhere.

No, that military *is* a chimera.

“How many soldiers were in this city?”

“Not sure, but probably a lot.”

I quietly lowered my hand, lost in thought.

The I-Virus reduced their numbers. Some troops were relocated to critical national facilities or the frontlines. The remaining forces must’ve dwindled too.

In the end, these 300 soldiers are a chimera, scraped together from whatever was left in the city. Some soldiers changed roles, others took up weapons they’d never used before.

But we can’t underestimate them…

‘Chimeras are scary.’

Especially a military chimera optimized for the apocalypse. Their equipment and tactics have all been modified with a purpose.

To face this chimera, we’d need to bring out the best of humanity—courage, determination, and wisdom. The righteous wisdom of humanity surged in my mind, ready to defeat the monster.

The spark that started human civilization. If we all had the courage to die together, we could blow up the military outpost with a big enough fire. The ammunition would explode.

As I thought this, the sky darkened, and against the burning sunset, the towering apartment complex came into view.

“We’re here. It’s getting late, what should we do?”

“The military hasn’t reached here yet. We’ll secure the area first.”

And so, we entered the sprawling apartment complex.

***

The world slowly darkened. The tall apartment buildings, now blackened like evil towers, began casting deep shadows.

I quietly looked up at the rooftop and tapped Park Yang-gun’s shoulder.

“Do you think anyone’s living here?”

An apartment complex this size could have a survivor group. At the very least, other survivors might’ve moved in and made it their home.

Park Yang-gun, a professional thief, would be the best at detecting any signs of life.

“Hard to say.”

With his sharp night vision, Park Yang-gun quickly scanned the area, squinting at the building.

“Something’s suspicious.”

He swiftly traced a line from the rooftop down to the ground. The windows were broken in a straight line from the top floor.

“They’re broken in a straight line. One after another.”

Definitely suspicious. While many windows broke during typhoons and rainy seasons, they didn’t shatter in such a neat, straight line.

“So, there might not be survivors, but someone’s definitely been here.”

“Yeah. Probably a painter or something.”

I nodded.

A painter working on the apartment walls. Someone descending from the rooftop on a rope could’ve left such marks.

Then, Park Yang-gun pointed to a specific apartment. One on a middle floor.

“That one’s suspicious too. There’s tape on the window. Probably for typhoon protection.”

“Just that one?”

“Yeah.”

As we talked, the mercenaries, scattered around, blinked and asked:

“So, where and how do we plant the bombs?”

Why are bombs the priority now? There’s a treasure trove right in front of us. Survivors might be hiding here.

I pulled out my handgun. The mercenary who asked stiffened, and a strange tension filled the air. The mercenaries held their breath, watching my gun.

I slowly waved the gun, and their eyes followed. I grinned.

“Let’s think about the bombs later. The military doesn’t rest at night either. Why are we doing this dangerous job? For the loot, right? Let’s start by looting a few apartments.”

“…Loot?”

At the faint hope in their voices, I aimed my gun at the taped-up apartment.

“Let’s start there.”

Probably an apartment painter. A lesser version of Park Yang-gun, the professional thief. No hesitation in killing them.

***

With flashlights on, we climbed the emergency stairs. Park Yang-gun stepped forward and struggled to open the front door.

“If I hadn’t stolen a drill, we wouldn’t have gotten in.”

He used a power drill to break the lock. Not a door lock that a taser could handle.

The mercenaries, survivors with experience like mine, skillfully entered the apartment, deliberately stomping to provoke any zombies.

“No zombies.”

“But there might be people. Be careful.”

I walked in boldly, my handgun aimed forward.

The faint sunlight cast a dim glow. The apartment looked more like an expensive hotel, spacious and luxurious, but covered in dust from disuse. The tape on the windows created an odd dissonance.

Our footsteps echoed loudly.

Soon, a scream-like sound was heard.

“Found a corpse!”

“A corpse?”

It was in a room further inside. I pushed past the mercenaries and entered the room.

A student’s room, with a desk, textbooks, and workbooks. On the soft bed lay a decaying body.

Park Yang-gun quickly picked up the equipment around—thick ropes, thin footholds, and fixing devices.

“Definitely a painter.”

“Seems like it.”

I searched the corpse and found a notebook. It had the names of various apartments, repair notes, and contacts. Flipping through, I found diary entries.

Interesting records.

I glanced at the mercenaries and companions and waved my hand.

“Look for food or anything edible first.”

“Got it!”

The mercenaries scattered. Meanwhile, Park Yang-gun fiddled with the painter’s equipment, learning how to use it, while Sajihyeok and Jeondohyeong casually explored the apartment.

“Haha. I used to live in a place like this. Wonder what happened to the people who lived here? Did they survive like me?”

“They’re either dead or alive.”

I quietly read the painter’s notebook, like it was someone else’s story.

‘While painting the apartment, the zombie outbreak happened. Thought it was just a disease, so I kept working diligently.’

Then his family turned into zombies, and he fled alone. Lucky not to be infected, the painter used his skills to come to this apartment. By then, many had died or left.

Traumatized, he holed up in the apartment. When food ran out, he stole from one floor at a time.

But he couldn’t take his medication, and his health deteriorated. He wrote about hearing his zombified family screaming… and that was the end.

“Chronic illness killed him.”

Health is everything. I put the notebook in my pocket without much thought.

By then, the apartment search was done.

“We’ve gathered everything.”

“Let’s see.”

At the mercenaries’ call, I headed to the spacious living room. There was some food there.

Ramen nearing its expiration date, rice, canned goods, kimchi, and even pet food. People could eat that too. There were also expensive or unusual spices.

I picked up the spices and tilted my head. I recognized some expensive salt or pepper, but not these. Maybe from a cooking show.

‘Don’t know what they are, but they’re good to have. At least they’ll spice up the food.’

A mercenary pointed to the fridge.

“There’s a lot in the fridge, but it’s all rotten. Meat, milk, eggs, side dishes—all inedible.”

“If it were fine, something would be wrong. Let’s divide this exactly by N.”

We’ll split it fairly. I wasn’t in urgent need of food anyway.

Suddenly, I smacked my forehead.

“Ah, we don’t have bags. Let’s empty our bags. If we’re taking this, we’ll need to set up explosives first.”

Feels like our priorities shifted, but it’s just the mood. Killing two birds with one stone.

“How do we plant the explosives…?”

The mercenaries, who’d been eyeing the food, suddenly tensed and quietly set down their bags. I looked at Sajihyeok and Park Yang-gun.

“Mr. Sajihyeok. Uncle Park Yang-gun. Any advice?”

“Me? I don’t know about this stuff.”

“Why me?”

At their bewildered looks, I met their gaze.

Isn’t it obvious? A con artist who manipulates people’s greed, a thief who steals valuables. Who better to disguise a bomb?

I had no choice but to speak.

“Make the bomb look like valuables or food, or something that’ll make them curious enough to open it.”

“Ah.”

A short exclamation. Sajihyeok scratched his head and looked around.

“Can we get military uniforms? If there’s a soldier’s corpse in the apartment, they won’t touch it. Write something military-like on the box too. Communication security?”

“Communication security is for calls, never mind.”

Then Park Yang-gun thought for a moment and spoke.

“The apartment complex near the main gate, around the 3rd floor. That’s the best spot. They’ll enter from the lower floors first.”

“I’ll leave it all to you.”

No need to waste my energy on this. That’s what comrades are for.

Instead, I need to think about a bigger attack method or the timing of the time bomb.

‘Not a gas stove, but induction. Exploding the gas pipes would be… A boiler? No. If we set a fire wrong, the firearms could get ruined. The magazines might explode.’

Poison is iffy too. Injecting it or feeding it requires incubation. If the goal is just to kill, that’s fine, but I need to wipe out the squad and loot their guns.

No time to wait for them to die from poison.

Then it hit me.

‘A squad. About thirty? We’ve got a dozen mercenaries.’

If we can kill twenty, that should be enough. By then, they won’t be able to handle the corpses and will retreat, leaving plenty of guns for us.

 

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