Chapter 9: Neighbor
Bang!
Late in the afternoon, while sitting blankly on a folding chair looking at the sky, gunshots can occasionally be heard from the south.
The pattern of the gunshots is dull yet spreading widely.
It belongs to the sniper living to the southeast.
Originally, there was a small town there.
The distance is about 5.5km in a straight line.
There was a church, a mart, a local bank, a community center, and an elementary school; it was quite a bustling area.
When the war started, the area became a wasteland, but a few steel-reinforced concrete buildings remained like skeletons, looking eerie like corpses stripped to the bone.
Here lives my crazy sniper, one of my few neighbors.
The reason the modifier “crazy” is attached is because that sniper shoots first at anything that passes by.
The act of trying to kill everyone who approaches her territory reminds me of the human hunter from our community, but in fact, only the intent to kill is the same; if you dig deeper, there is a gap as wide as heaven and earth between the two.
The human hunter kills people to keep his territory hidden and unrevealed.
On the other hand, the crazy sniper just shoots first.
She has no other options.
Laying in ambush in a high-rise building that commands a view of all directions, she peers at the world through a scope and tries to shoot dead everything that enters her effective range.
Of course, this sniper is human too.
She also has the warm heart of a warm-blooded animal and knows how to love people.
Just as I know the sniper, that sniper also knows me.
The story goes back to three months after the outbreak of the war.
It was the year-end and New Year season.
A time of bustling crowds spending lavishly, twinkling trees, children throwing tantrums inside department stores, snow softly covering the streets, and Santa Claus—who, if you think about it closely, is a creepy guy—and so on. But right after the war, such things are nothing more than faded memories that can no longer be retrieved.
At the time, I was busy assessing the condition of the weapons I had taken from the US military base.
The guns and ammunition were inside a sturdily built bunker, so there was no damage or direct contact with radioactive fallout, but since they were in an area that took a direct hit from a nuclear explosion, I was concerned about radioactive contamination.
Fortunately, the inspection led to the conclusion that both the guns and ammo were usable, and I stocked them as is in my armory.
Regrettably, there were no weapons heavier than rifles.
Let alone the Hunter gear I had hoped for, there weren’t even weapons bigger than grenades.
I shouldn’t jump to conclusions since I’m not a military official, but the base had been emptied before the nuclear air raid.
Judging by the documents shredded and scattered chaotically, the supplies seemingly abandoned in a hurry, and a mug filled with coffee left intact on a desk.
The situation in the US wasn’t exactly great either.
The nuclear air raid on South Korea is just the tip of the iceberg.
Hundreds of missiles fell there.
Though, true to the US military known as the Space Force, they performed the spectacular feat of intercepting most of them.
However, even the US military has its designated bully.
Monsters.
Monsters are beings from another dimension created with completely different principles and logic than humans, possessing characteristics of both living and non-living things simultaneously. They are the natural enemies of humanity, seeking to exterminate humans with powers and miracles that humans do not possess.
They appear through dimensional rifts, and these rifts have two characteristics.
One is their even distribution.
Each rift opens at regular intervals.
There are four in South Korea, but the fatal one is the Paju Rift in Paju.
Why is only one uniquely fatal? Because rifts have another characteristic: intensity.
The intensity of a rift is proportional to the number of humans residing nearby.
The Paju Rift, encompassing the capital region, is of the highest grade, while the Jeju Rift is the lowest grade.
Having a large population and vast territory are traditional requirements dividing major powers and minor states, but now they have become requirements for a country to collapse quickly.
It is not a coincidence but an inevitability that India and China, equipped with both population and territory, perished rapidly.
The US, with a smaller population than those two, is in a better situation, but it is not a safe zone either.
Since its territory is vast and its population cannot be considered small.
In fact, before the war, the US side showed moves to repatriate troops deployed in major countries back to their homeland.
Before the outbreak of the war, you could frequently hear talk that not a single US soldier remained in South Korea.
But that supposedly extinct US military invaded my territory.
Driving a massive Humvee with a 12.7mm machine gun mounted right on top.
When the Humvee drove through the golf course with unstoppable momentum and came to my territory, I recalled the words of an ancient sage that in this world, luck is everything and the rest is nothing.
No, fuck, why me of all people?
What sin did I commit?
Is picking up some abandoned weapons a sin?
Amidst a flurry of thoughts, the Humvee stopped in front of my territory’s Bunker No. 11.
The one who got out of the vehicle was a young blonde woman.
Although a woman, her physique was as large as mine, and her state of armament—wearing a helmet, a bulletproof vest, and holding a gun with various attachments—was far superior to mine.
At that time, my closed-circuit cameras and wiretapping equipment hadn’t been restored.
The existing ones had burned to a crisp along with Old Man Kim’s house during the nuclear air raid.
To make matters worse, the periscope I installed for such occasions wouldn’t move.
It seemed debris brought by the monstrous blast wave during the nuclear air raid had gotten stuck in the crevices, but forcing it to move would only advertise that there was a person here.
So I had to rely on the meager information coming through a tiny observation window.
Soon she moved into a blind spot.
I stayed in place.
Because I hadn’t yet figured out the number of US soldiers that had invaded my territory.
There could be just one, or as many as three or more lurking inside that steel beast.
Fighting well-trained and armed US soldiers is not what I want, but if they are targeting my territory, I have no other option.
I’ll have to kill them all.
Even after watching for a long time, there was no movement inside the Humvee.
Rustle.
There was a sign of presence from the side of the main bunker.
It’s that woman from earlier.
What should I do?
I could quickly subdue the woman.
That route has a lower difficulty.
But I thought of another plan.
If that woman is the reconnaissance team, there’s a high probability that the US soldiers inside the vehicle have their guard down.
If I can annihilate the main force with a single surprise attack, this difficult fight will end in a perfect victory.
I went into action immediately.
After listening to the soldier’s footsteps and predicting her path, I silently exited through the dummy bunker’s exit and moved toward the Humvee while keeping my body hidden.
I remember one door was open.
That door had been open all along, and it was still open when I brought the Humvee back into view.
There was no reaction from inside the Humvee.
I switched the fire selector to automatic and approached.
Just before entering, I felt a presence from behind.
For a moment, I panicked.
“?!”
Because the sound came from an unexpected place.
Nevertheless, I calmly entered the Humvee and aimed my gun.
The inside of the vehicle was empty.
In the back seats, where people should have been sitting, there was a mountain of guns, ammunition, and combat rations mixed together haphazardly.
Gulp.
I swallowed dryly.
It’s an immense amount of gear.
It contained enough gear that even I, Bak Gyu, who tries to keep to the ways of humanity, could turn into a raider for it.
Is it one person?
Or two?
My brain spun faster than usual.
I don’t know, but it’s at least two.
The female soldier, unaware of my greed, was whistling and giving away her location.
Subduing her was a piece of cake.
After tripping her from behind to make her fall, I stomped on her back and aimed the cold muzzle at the nape of her neck.
It was when I was about to pull the trigger and prepare for the next fight.
Another soldier appeared from the side.
The second soldier was enough to throw a pebble of doubt into my mind, which was stained with murderous intent.
It’s a little girl.
About ten years old?
A naive child, completely out of place with the apocalyptic scenery of the burnt-down golf course and its ruins, was staring blankly at me, about to commit murder.
Suddenly, I noticed that the child and the woman had the same hair color and similar facial features.
The child tilted her head and called for her mom.
“…”
I hesitated for a moment.
Should I kill them and take everything?
Or risk it and let them go?
It’s not an easy question.
There’s no need to mention that the former is overwhelmingly advantageous in terms of profit.
Unless someone is shot in the head, anyone would choose the former.
“…Phew.”
I took a deep breath.
Countless thoughts wrapped around my consciousness like vines, but the path I ultimately chose was not a very wise one.
I took my foot off her back, kicked her gun away, and stepped back.
The soldier let out a short scream, jumped up, approached the girl, shielded her, and glared at me.
I quietly looked at my reflection in her blue eyes as she panted.
Standing silently in the center of her bloodshot eyes, I was wearing a gloomy robe of fear and contempt.
The moment I saw that reflection, I felt I knew what this foreign soldier thought of me.
She recognized me as a being distinctly different from herself.
Incomprehensible, and with no need to be understood.
For example, she is the sole resident of the civilized world thrown into a jungle, and I am an inhabitant of the jungle surrounding her.
Why, when our appearances, languages, and cultures are different.
In such an extreme situation, is there a need to understand each other?
Even if the roles were reversed, the outcome would have been similar.
“Here. My land.”
I said, pointing my finger at my territory.
I know their language, but I didn’t bother using it.
“My house.”
Because this is Korea.
They say Korea isn’t Rome, but in the present where everything is collapsing, Korea is as historical as Rome.
“?”
“Get out. Right now.”
“…”
“If you don’t get out, bang! Understand?”
The woman watched my expression, then quickly drew a pistol and aimed it.
I kicked the pistol away one step faster, then aimed my muzzle at her temple.
The child’s short scream rang out, but I winked at the child and said to the woman.
“Know when to stop, you bitch.”
“Bitch?!”
They say the first thing you learn when going abroad are swear words.
Did she understand that?
“Two years?”
“Fuck off.”
Only then did the woman seem to realize that I had no murderous intent toward her.
But that doesn’t dilute the differences between us.
Still showing subtle wariness, she spoke in clumsy Korean.
“Medicine.”
“Medicine?”
“Medicine. Have?”
“What kind?”
The woman pointed toward the child.
“Wait.”
I handed over fever reducers, cold medicine, as well as antibiotics and a can of powdered skim milk.
She seemed surprised by my goodwill, and especially upon seeing the skim milk, she stared at me blankly.
“Don’t come again.”
The mother and daughter left without even a word of thanks.
Taking with them the treasure that almost turned me into a raider.
It wasn’t long after that that I got a neighbor to the southeast.
She was still in the jungle, fighting the ghost of prejudice to protect her child who was thrown into the jungle with her.
There was one visit after that.
On a dark night, the little girl came to my bunker alone.
Perhaps having grown up eating my formula, the child, who was much taller than before, paced around my bunker with a tearful face looking for me.
When I revealed myself, the child said.
“Mom, sick.”
The child seemed to have adapted better to the jungle called Korea than her mother.
Like Mowgli from The Jungle Book, or commercially speaking, Tarzan.
I drove my dust-covered car and entered the town where gunshots could be heard.
The woman was exhausted and sick, and to my eyes, she looked more like a beast of the jungle groaning in a trap than a civilized person of the city.
I gave her an appropriate prescription, left the medicine, and turned around.
I didn’t exchange a single word, nor was there a need to.
As I was about to turn around after finishing my business, the child suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Name.”
The child was asking my name.
“Bak Gyu.”
“Fuck you?”
Seeing the child tilt her head in confusion while sticking up her middle finger, I wore a bitter smile and gave her my nickname instead.
“…Skelton.”
The child repeated the name as if savoring it, then smiled brightly and echoed it.
“Skelton!”
Time passed, bringing us to the present.
It happens to be Christmas Eve.
In the community, a virtual Christmas tree decorating event, which game developer Anonymous118 had converted from something floating around before the war, was popular.
It’s nothing grand; it’s a structure where a Christmas tree drawn with a single sprite has 10 blank slots, and other users select one of 9 ornaments to fill each slot with a message of support.
SKELTON: (Skelton Request) Please decorate my tree too~
Since I’m an unpopular user with no one to socialize with, my Christmas tree is completely empty, but sometimes being empty is better than being full.
IamJesus: Which bastard is it?!
The tree of the self-proclaimed Jesus Christ, the mentally ill guy I had blocked at one point, was filled with anonymous congratulatory messages.
<Leukemia, Liver Cancer, Rheumatism, Lou Gehrig’s, Myocardial Infarction, Stroke, Pulmonary Infarction, Asthma, Tuberculosis, Paralysis, Trigeminal Neuralgia>
The human hunter also received an equally large number of messages.
While I was watching with an amused smile,
Ding~
Something arrived.
[ An anonymous user has sent a message to SKELTON~ ]
I checked it.
One ornament slot on the empty tree was filled.
<John Lennon>
“Huh?”
John Lennon?
What is this? This?
What does it mean?
My question was momentarily pushed to the corner by the sudden noise of the K-Walkie Talkie.
-Zzzzt… Zzt!
11 PM.
At this time, in this remote place, I don’t remember the public frequency ever ringing.
I soon discovered the identity of the culprit.
“Merry Christmas~.”
A young girl’s voice rang out from the speaker.
“Skelton!”
No doubt about it.
It’s my neighbor.
I hesitated for a moment whether I should answer, but the result was already decided from the moment a smile spread across my lips.
“Merry Christmas.”
I should have asked for her name.
It was a brief exchange, but that day, immersed in a lingering feeling deeper than any Christmas tree message, I took out whiskey I would normally never touch and sank into sentimentality.
“Phew.”
When I opened the door, the cold air blew away the warm heat I had painstakingly and wastefully built up with the heater, but my heart felt much refreshed.
I looked up at the sky.
A pitch-black winter sky scattered with countless stars.
After realizing I hadn’t been chosen by God, I had never offered a prayer.
I clasped my hands and prayed toward the night sky.
May the gunshots of that mother and daughter be heard for a long time to come.
