Before the war, I once heard a story about a serial killer in India who was captured after murdering an astonishing 102 people.

    He was an uneducated man from the lower class, someone who could not comprehend the hellish reality unfolding around him but somehow figured out how to survive on his own.

    The survival method he discovered closely resembled the laws of the wild nature he so loved.

    Killing indiscriminately, looting, and then killing and looting again in an endless cycle of carnage and pillaging.

    They say his crimes included rape, torture, and desecration of corpses, though the man shouted in court that these accusations were fabricated.

    During his final statement, he reportedly said this to the judges:

    "Is it wrong for me to choose to be someone’s enemy, rather than waiting to make someone my enemy?"

    *

    It has been quite some time since the war began.

    Perhaps our complacency grows like spoiled food or aging bodies, a natural consequence of time.

    Defender was shot on his way home.

    A stray bullet.

    Something I’d only imagined happening in the distance suddenly became a reality close to me.

    According to Defender’s sister, his life wasn’t in immediate danger, but they were locked in an intense standoff with an unknown enemy, separated by a wall.

    “I’ll prepare and set out. Hold them off until I get there.”

    Rushing without preparation is as good as not going at all.

    I meticulously packed everything I might need: medical supplies, tools, weapons, and protective gear.

    I rarely wear bulletproof vests or helmets—they’re heavy, uncomfortable, and not particularly effective. But in situations like this, even a little psychological comfort is worth it.

    For transportation, I chose a motorcycle.

    Vroooom—

    I maneuvered down the steep northern slope, almost like a circus act, crossed a stream, and merged onto the road.

    Stopping briefly, I surveyed the scenery.

    It looked different than before.

    “....”

    If I had to describe it, it reminded me of the sights right after the war started.

    I couldn’t pinpoint when exactly the fear of stray bullets had faded. At some point, I had grown lax in my vigilance, sinking into complacency, assuming I wouldn’t get hit even if gunfire broke out nearby.

    But in truth, anyone can get shot at any moment.

    Even I, Park Gyu, could absurdly take a stray bullet while walking down the road, ending up as a skeleton in a ditch or a drainage canal.

    It’s unlikely, but who knows? A zombified Park Gyu might have wandered the wilderness, embarking on a journey to find new friends.

    “....”

    In the distance, I saw pockmarked craters.

    They were remnants of artillery shelling from the Chinese military.

    I had entered Defender’s territory.

    This was where things got serious.

    Vroooom—

    With a roar, the motorcycle sped across the abandoned fields.

    “Skelton!”

    Before long, I heard Defender’s sister’s voice.

    “Skelton, is that you? Raise your right hand if it is.”

    “I raised it.”

    “No, that’s your left hand! Raise your right hand. Yes, good boy.”

    She must’ve pinpointed my location using a drone.

    I couldn’t see the drone, but it must’ve been somewhere overhead. Likely a small reconnaissance drone, weighing less than a kilogram but capable of soaring up to six kilometers.

    “Where’s Defender?”

    “Hold on, I’ll send a sparrow your way.”

    Moments later, a black dot appeared in the western sky, hurtling toward me.

    When I saw the drone, I instinctively stopped the motorcycle and aimed my gun at it.

    “Cease fire! It’s our drone!”

    “This is your drone?”

    A bitter smile crept onto my lips.

    “Yes, it’s a sparrow.”

    A sparrow, my ass.

    It was a Chinese-made suicide drone.

    That same model had killed fanatics, and fanatics had used it to kill Chinese soldiers. I’d even heard about another group that got caught in a swarm of these drones, leaving no trace of their bodies behind.

    “Follow it.”

    The suicide drone led me toward Defender.

    On the way, Defender’s sister fell silent, so I had to ask her questions directly.

    “What’s the enemy’s number, location, and weapons?”

    “What’s Defender’s condition?”

    “Why isn’t Defender responding on the comms?”

    She answered my barrage of questions hesitantly, her psychological state visibly shaky, but there was a deeper reason for her behavior.

    “Ah!”

    When she suddenly shouted, I asked why.

    “I forgot to charge one of the batteries. I dropped it!”

    Apparently, she had deployed all her drones.

    Every single one, to protect her brother.

    It’s a common mistake—overwhelming force projection when a loved one is in danger.

    I spoke to her calmly.

    “How many did you deploy?”

    “All of them. About 12?”

    “...Put all but the essential ones away.”

    “Why?”

    “They’re getting in the way.”

    “...Fine.”

    Reluctantly, she complied with my request. If she hadn’t seen my combat skills before, she might not have listened.

    Although she tends to act scatterbrained and gets overshadowed by her brother, it’s clear from her actions that Da-jeong has a sharp edge to her personality.

    In the distance, beyond fields pocked with shell craters, a red-roofed building came into view.

    It used to be a cafe?.

    The cafe? was named Lucky Day.

    The fact that it remained standing after so many shells had fallen seemed to justify its name, though now it harbored bad luck inside—Defender and perhaps one or two attackers in a tense standoff.@@@@

    Defender wasn’t using his comms because the enemy was so close that even a whisper could give away his position.

    But I saw hope.

    The fact that the standoff had dragged on in such a small building meant the attackers didn’t have a decisive way to overpower Defender.

    A sudden ambush was probably their best tactic.

    “This is Skelton. I’m entering the building.”

    A combat drone circled above me.

    “There’s nothing in sight,” Defender’s sister reported.

    It’s likely Defender was still alive because of her presence.

    Ultimately, even low-level Awakened are just people.

    At least those who can’t cause tremors are closer to humans than monsters.

    Which means they can be hunted the same way humans hunt each other.

    “Defender! Did you get a good look at them?”

    Shouting from behind the concrete wall, I broke my usual calm demeanor.

    There was no response.

    I shouted again.

    “What do they look like? And what should we do if we catch them?”

    I hoped Defender would pick up on my intent.

    After a moment:

    “We kill them! Tear them apart while they’re still alive!”

    Defender met my expectations.

    This was psychological warfare.

    “I’m at the entrance!”

    “Securing the second-floor hallway.”

    “Entering the first-floor lobby. Clear.”

    “Securing the staircase to the second floor. Wait, did you hear that? Footsteps—someone’s running upstairs.”

    “I heard it too.”

    We kept speaking loudly, applying pressure through our voices.

    It was the same tactic Cho Sung-yong used.

    This wouldn’t work on a veteran with extensive combat experience, but for a rookie relying on their powers, it would likely be nerve-wracking.

    Defender and I weren’t just any fighters—we were seasoned, old-school hunters.

    The effect became evident quickly.

    “Defender.”

    “Skelton.”

    We regrouped without interference.

    I examined his thigh.

    “You okay?”

    I asked in a low voice.

    Defender nodded, replying just as quietly.

    “I stopped the bleeding.”

    He pointed toward the stairs leading to the roof.

    “They’re up there.”

    It seemed the Defender siblings truly were siblings.

    “They’re not on the roof~ probably crouched below the stairs~.”

    I had no idea why she’d equipped a speaker to the drone, but now she was using it for psychological warfare.

    “You bastard!”

    A sharp voice finally echoed from the stairs.

    Cornered.

    “You’re going to hell, you murderer!”

    The voice was clearly youthful.

    The speaker never got the chance to say more.

    Bang!

    The moment the words ended, a gunshot rang out.

    With a sliding sound, a rifle tumbled down the stairs, hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.

    A trail of blood followed, and then we saw the attacker.

    It was a boy.

    No older than sixteen.

    “Ah.”

    Defender recognized him instantly.

    “The kid from a year ago.”

    He limped closer.

    “Back then, a group of scavengers attacked us. One of the groups had a father and son duo. I only killed the father.”

    “You?”

    I asked with a doubtful expression. Defender grimaced, rubbing his wound.

    “No, the bastard ran toward the tree where his father hung himself.”

    “Ah.”

    “It was a mistake.”

    The word “mistake” failed to convey the gravity of the situation.

    Even so, I accepted his explanation.

    “A fatal mistake.”

    The easiest way to avoid making enemies is to kill anyone who might become one.

    In this wretched world, that’s likely the only surefire method.

    “This kid isn’t Justice Min, is he?”

    “No, definitely not. Justice Min leads a group. This one’s hands and age don’t match.”

    “That makes sense.”

    Not that I had any sympathy for the boy.

    His phone contained photos of him and other men grinning and flashing peace signs in front of a bound, naked woman whose face was beaten beyond recognition.

    As that Indian death row inmate once said, it’s better to become someone’s enemy than to wait for someone to make you theirs.

    In this vicious cycle, Defender had simply become this boy’s enemy.

    Now then.

    “This.”

    I gestured toward Defender’s wound.

    It was on his thigh.

    Though I had surgical tools, this wasn’t an area I could treat.

    “Do you know any doctors?”

    I asked while pulling out antibiotics.

    “There’s one in Incheon.”

    Defender hesitated.

    “But he’s a lunatic.”

    “Is he alive?”

    Defender glanced at the boy’s body.

    “...He’s Awakened.”

    “Awakened?”

    Defender sighed and nodded.

    “He was my classmate.”

    Defender’s usually steady eyes flickered with turmoil.

    Whoever this classmate was, they didn’t seem like an easy opponent.