“Grrraaah!”

    Directly beneath the hovering necromancer-type monster, Je Pung-ho, the chairman, stood amidst thousands of zombies, baring his teeth.

    “Chairman.”

    I found myself muttering as I looked at him.

    “Let’s not do this.”

    But Je Pung-ho took the lead, charging toward us.

    Behind him, an infinite sea of zombies flooded the entire roadway, advancing on us with overwhelming force.

    “Is there nothing you can do?!”

    I turned to IAmJesus in desperation.

    “N-no! They’re not listening to me!”

    His pale face was filled with despair as he stammered.

    “I can’t use my power—not now.”

    I understood what he feared.

    Every time he unleashed a shockwave, I’d collapse, losing consciousness. He was terrified of that happening again.

    It was a reasonable concern.

    But stopping the motorcycle wasn’t an option. Even if we dismounted, it was doubtful he’d be able to command the zombie horde led by the true king.

    With no other choice, I swerved into reverse, dodging the incoming wave.

    Vrooooom!

    For a fleeting moment, I felt a hint of gratitude toward Baek Seung-hyun. The fact that this motorcycle could carry both me and two other beings—one human, one zombie—while still moving so powerfully was a testament to its build.

    But the road behind led deeper into the city center—the zombies’ den.

    I quickly reconstructed the mental map I’d memorized earlier.

    There was no escape route.

    Every potential path was flooded with an unmanageable number of zombies.

    “...”

    If I were alone, I might have made it.

    If I ditched IAmJesus and his sister, the motorcycle would be lighter, allowing for faster, more agile maneuvers.

    But I couldn’t abandon them.

    What I carried wasn’t just flesh and blood—it was the weight of humanity.

    “Can’t you do something?”

    At this point, all I could rely on was IAmJesus.

    I didn’t believe in gods or saviors, but in this moment, I had faith in this immature boy.

    “Yes! Wait!”

    IAmJesus’s eyes darted around before lighting up with realization.

    “My dad’s church!”

    “What about it?”

    “The basement! Take us to the basement—it should still be intact.”

    “How?”

    “There’s an underground parking lot! Behind the church!”

    Vrooooom!

    At his words, I floored the gas and sped toward the back of the church.

    There it was—a wide underground parking lot entrance, partially hidden beneath the rubble of the collapsed building.

    I plowed through the debris and descended directly into the parking lot.

    Click.

    I turned on the headlights, illuminating the scene.

    Corpses were strewn everywhere.

    These weren’t zombies—they were unturned corpses. Likely former church members or people who’d sought refuge here, only to die before they could reanimate.

    “Go to B3! The third basement level!”

    “There’s a third floor?!”

    “Yeah! There’s a place I know down there!”

    The spot he mentioned turned out to be a dead end.

    “There’s nothing here!”

    “Wait!”

    He jumped off the motorcycle and felt along the wall.

    “There it is!”

    With a press of a hidden button, a shutter camouflaged as a wall began to rise with a mechanical whir.

    Behind it was a small garage containing a pristine Bentley, untouched and without a single scratch.

    “It’s my dad’s private garage.”

    We hurriedly parked the motorcycle in the empty space and closed the shutter.

    From beyond the underground walls, we could hear the sharp, echoing footsteps of approaching zombies, accompanied by their haunting groans.

    I grabbed my axe and scanned the area.

    Sure enough, faint glints of eyes began to appear in the darkness.

    There were around fifty of them.

    “...Hey.”

    I called out to IAmJesus.

    “Can’t you do something?”

    Boom!

    A shockwave rippled out as IAmJesus extended his hand.

    The fifty glowing pairs of eyes dispersed and slowly ascended to the second basement level.

    “Phew...”

    “Skelton, over here. This way.”

    He opened a door at the back of the garage.

    “What’s in there? More stuff?”

    “Yeah.”

    I followed him inside.

    It was a surprisingly spacious room, complete with a bed and other amenities.

    Everything inside was top-notch—even the bed was far better than anything I’d ever used.

    But as I scanned the room, my appetite for comfort vanished.

    The space was cluttered with a nauseating number of explicit adult items, strewn about without care.

    When IAmJesus turned on the light, the pink hue of the room’s illumination only intensified its disturbing atmosphere.

    “What is this place?”

    I asked, though I already knew the answer.

    He chuckled bitterly, his tone dripping with self-deprecation.

    “It’s where my dad brings women.”

    “...”

    “After he got caught by reporters doing it elsewhere, he decided to build this in the church basement.”

    “...And the electricity still works?”

    “It’s probably backup power. I once heard him rant about getting stuck here during a blackout with one of the women.”

    “I see.”

    It was an outrageous family history, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

    I turned my attention to the zombie.

    It still stood there, obedient to IAmJesus’s every command.

    Placing my ear to the garage door, I listened carefully.

    Judging by the sounds, the zombies from the second level were mingling with those from the third, creating a chaotic shuffle.

    We’d be safe for the time being.

    “Alright.”

    It was time to focus on the most important task.

    Turning the zombie back into a human.

    This was the moment when IAmJesus would ascend from a deranged poster boy of the forum to humanity’s messiah.

    As he sipped from a bottle of water, I asked:

    *

    "From the beginning, he wasn''t a bad father."

    On our way back, I heard about his father.

    "When it was just a small pioneering church, he was a good man. Kind, polite, deeply faithful. He knew every part of the Bible. We didn''t have a mom, but Dad filled in for two parents."

    He glanced at the cargo compartment.

    Though we had discarded the satellite equipment to make room for the zombie, the small gaming console and cartridges were still there, squished and lying scattered.

    "This game console—Dad got it for me."

    "Really?"

    "Yeah. When I was in elementary school, I begged for the latest console—the one that played Blu-rays. But we didn’t have any money. So instead of buying one, he got an old one someone from church was throwing out. It wasn’t even secondhand—it was practically garbage. But he gave it to me anyway."

    He picked up one of the cartridges.

    I recognized the game. It was the same classic bestseller he was doing a speedrun of when I first tried to befriend him.

    IAMJesus looked at the faded cartridge with a melancholy expression before putting it back in the cargo compartment.

    "Maybe those days were better."

    "The past always gets romanticized."

    "Maybe."

    We were heading to IAMJesus’s bunker.

    He said there were still some things he hadn’t taken with him.

    The sun had set, and the city was cloaked in darkness, but there was no reason to worry.

    I was more concerned about the mental state of this young man.

    "Dad committed too many sins. He''s probably in hell."

    His voice carried the instability of his inner turmoil.

    It was understandable.

    For someone who had shut himself off from the world and lived in isolation, he had experienced far too much in such a short span of time.

    "Don’t worry about your father. Right now, focus on calming your mind and resting."

    It was sincere advice.

    Too much emotional turbulence can drive a person insane.

    Especially someone as fragile and inexperienced as IAMJesus.

    "...Dad."

    Tears began welling up in his eyes again.

    "I... I should have..."

    His voice, already hoarse, was barely a whisper.

    "If I had just said something stern to him..."

    "You think that would’ve changed him?"

    "Yeah."

    He looked at me with certainty.

    "Dad would do anything I said. He worshipped me."

    "Really?"

    "If I told him to die, he would’ve done it."

    "Hmm."

    "I lost my mind because of the money Dad gave me. Even though I knew he was going off the rails, I turned a blind eye. And now, look what happened."

    The familiar makeshift walls came into view.

    We had reached IAMJesus''s bunker.

    "Dad built this bunker for me, too."

    "Figures."

    While he went inside, I stood outside, staring blankly at the night sky.

    I guess I’m no better.

    Even in this moment, I was thinking about whether I might pick up a shard of power from this kid, enough to light a cigarette I didn’t even need.

    "Skeleton!"

    IAMJesus emerged from the bunker.

    "Let’s go!"

    He handed something to me.

    "What’s this?"

    It was a gold cross.

    "You came all this way to get me. I figured I should give you something."

    "What’s this between us? Let’s not get sentimental. Don’t freak out when you see the toilet, though."

    "The toilet?"

    "Let’s move."

    As we were preparing to load the most important cargo and leave, something stopped us.

    "Not getting on?"

    IAMJesus was staring at the ground.

    To be specific, at a zombie.

    The one I had split with my axe earlier.

    "What is it?"

    "I don’t know. I just... I suddenly wanted to see its face."

    "Why? Do you know them?"

    "No, just..."

    I got off the motorcycle and flipped the zombie’s body over.

    Under the moonlight, the disfigured face of a middle-aged man, split by my axe, was revealed.

    A nondescript face.

    But suddenly, a flash of recognition struck me—an image from a news segment long ago.

    "Ah."

    I looked at IAMJesus.

    "Your dad?"

    His face was completely expressionless.

    Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed to his knees before the corpse, grasped its cold hand, and buried his face into its chest.

    "...Dad."

    The zombie I had split open with my axe was none other than IAMJesus’s father.

    *

    "And then what happened, Skelton?"

    Su asked eagerly while munching on jelly, her curiosity apparent.

    I stirred the tomato-scented soup simmering in the pot, made from canned goods, and glanced at Rebecca’s back as she scribbled down my words exactly as I recounted them.

    "He went back to the city."

    "The one crawling with zombies? Don’t tell me he went to die?!"

    Su gasped, horrified, but I shook my head.

    "No."

    I reflected on IamJesus’s final moments.

    That man, glowing in the darkness, walked forward with his arms wide open, stepping voluntarily toward the countless undead with their gaping maws directed at him.

    "...He went to save the zombies."

    "Like a messiah?"

    "Probably."

    I allowed myself a bitter smile and pulled the cigarette from my pocket. Its color remained black.

    Which meant he wasn’t my messiah, at least.

    Not that I was looking for one.

    “Maem maem!”

    Su let out a strange noise, swinging a game cartridge and an adult toy in the air.

    Rebecca muttered that he was insane, but I didn’t agree with her.

    Since that day, I’ve occasionally dreamed.

    I don’t remember the contents, but the color in them is always the same.

    Ash gray.