Our board’s renowned user, Defender, had not posted a “verification” in quite some time.

    While I knew the backstory—how he had moved to a quieter, more isolated place and was under the constant threat of a sniper who never posted on the board—his decreased activity didn’t seem strange to me. But the other users felt differently.

    Anonymous458: Why hasn’t Defender posted a verification lately?

    Anonymous1131: Yeah, I’ve heard about him, but I’ve never seen him post since I joined.

    mmmmmmmmm: He’s a dud. Who even falls for that these days? All the weaklings are already dead.

    Anonymous782: I’m new here, but Defender was pretty famous on Failnet.

    Users criticized his lack of recent accomplishments, questioning whether he still deserved his status as a notable user.

    Anonymous: What is a Defender without verification? Just another nobody on the board!

    In my view, the very fact that such conversations were happening was undeniable evidence that our collective mindset had grown diseased.

    In a world overflowing with death and tragedy, emotions had dulled, and the world itself looked different to us.

    It may sound obvious, but hardly anyone among us was shocked by the sight of a corpse anymore.

    At most, it might prompt a furrowed brow.

    No one hesitated to pull the trigger when facing someone who sought to kill them.

    And it wouldn’t surprise me if there were those among us who wouldn’t hesitate to aim their guns at a vulnerable person, especially if that person had something valuable—or was an attractive woman.

    Even I have felt those impulses more than once.

    Somewhere along the line, just like how the term “raider” had disappeared, we too had become no different from the raiders we once despised.

    Well, even I had noticed that Defender’s activity had significantly decreased lately.

    Sometimes, I found myself missing his—or his sister’s—sarcastic remarks.

    Defender’s return to posting on the board came after I’d spent the day tending my small vegetable patch and had just returned home.

    Defender: Verification.

    The photo Defender posted showed a man in his early twenties.

    His thumbs were bound with cable ties, and duct tape was wrapped tightly around his eyes. He was forcibly seated on an old, worn chair.

    Unlike Defender’s previous verifications, this time the man in the photo was alive.

    This was unprecedented.

    Until now, Defender had only ever posted photos of people he had killed—never of someone still breathing.

    It felt like something out of the ordinary was happening.

    As if to answer that unspoken question, Defender posted another message:

    Defender: Justice Min. Come out.

    Don’t send me messages. Post on the board where everyone can see.

    Begging for your life, bargaining—it’s all fine. Asking me to kill you would be even better.

    You have one hour.

    If you don’t respond within that hour, you’ll get to see your corpse verified alongside your brother.

    “...”

    People said Defender had changed.

    Some even speculated that he had only been able to thrive in the early days because people were weaker back then. It sounded like a plausible argument.

    But I didn’t agree.

    The Defender I knew was, for lack of a better word, a fully formed individual from the start.

    Unlike others, whose perspectives and morals shifted with the times, Defender had always held steadfastly to his own principles and lived by them.

    As his username suggested, he was a Defender—a protector.

    Of himself, his family, and his territory.

    And anything that threatened those was eliminated.

    He simply “verified” his defense.

    Now, Defender had posted another verification.

    It was clear the board would be thrown into turmoil.

    But who would ultimately be swept away by that storm was something no one could predict.

    *

    Another key player in this situation, JUSTICE_MIN, was someone likely known only to Defender and me.

    He had never posted on the board before.

    A search for his account yielded nothing either.

    Though he had been a registered member since before the war, he was nothing more than a void—a nonentity.

    So, when Defender mentioned him, the board’s users were filled with intense curiosity and confusion.

    RKKArA: Who is Justice Min?

    Anonymous458: Exactly. Total nobody.

    Foxgames: Who could it be?

    Anonymous1131: I don’t know who they are, but this is interesting.

    gijayangban: Someone with no activity history.

    Unlike the other users, I had direct contact with Defender.

    “Defender.”

    I reached out to him first.

    “Yes, Skelton.”

    His sister answered.

    “What’s going on?”

    “Hold on. I’ll connect you to my brother.”@@@@

    Her voice was unusually cold and businesslike.

    I could guess why.

    They currently had a hostage, and Defender was facing off in real time against someone trying to kill them.

    She was probably operating multiple drones to support her brother’s position.

    “Hey, Skelton,” Defender said as he joined the call.

    “That time I got shot—it wasn’t just bad luck. I’d been tracking that bastard for a while. That day, I was following a lead and let my guard down, which is why I got shot.”

    Defender might come as a pair, but they were never three—let alone three men.

    Time was ticking.

    There were 20 minutes left until the deadline Defender had set for Justice Min to respond.

    If nothing happened, the hostage was as good as dead.

    “Rebecca, are you watching?”

    “Yeah.”

    Standing beside her, I glanced at the monitor she was staring at.

    Finding it cramped, she powered on a second monitor.

    The same screen from her laptop appeared there.

    “What the hell is this?” I asked.

    “Dual monitors,” Rebecca replied in her native accent.

    “That’s a thing?”

    “Are you stupid, Skelton?”

    “...”

    Rebecca’s rebuke aside, I focused on the secondary monitor.

    As we bickered, gunshots echoed in the distance.

    Sue came down from the rooftop with her rifle and surveillance equipment.

    “The people pulled a woman out of the car and killed the man.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Then they took the woman.”

    To Sue, this might’ve been just another observation. But for someone, somewhere, it was a tragic moment.

    And Sue relayed it without a hint of emotion.

    She’d grown used to it.

    It made sense—she’d seen more tragedies than I had, perched high above while I remained underground.

    “Skelton, anything happening with Defender?”

    “No, not yet.”

    Sue sat beside me, staring at the same monitor I was watching.

    Rebecca, meanwhile, furiously typed on her laptop, using a dictionary to look up unfamiliar Korean terms as she tried to piece together what was happening on the board.

    My thoughts drifted.

    Defender had mentioned that Justice Min wasn’t working alone—they were part of a capable, mid-sized group.

    One that Defender himself seemed wary of.

    Why hadn’t he asked for my help this time?

    Maybe he wanted to handle it on his own.

    After all, I’d made a similar decision when fighting Kim Pil-sung’s group—I didn’t summon Defender back then because I didn’t want to endanger him.

    Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of regret.

    As I stood to leave, Rebecca called out.

    “Skelton!”

    “What?”

    “Look.”

    A new post had appeared on the board.

    Defender: Additional Verification.

    Rebecca clicked on it without hesitation.

    A single photo loaded.

    “Are you okay, Sue?”

    I didn’t cover Sue’s eyes.

    It wasn’t my place to coddle her, and in this world, such gestures felt hollow.

    “I’m fine,” she said, unfazed.

    The photo showed three corpses.

    Unlike his earlier posts, where Defender had covered the victims’ faces, this time, every detail was visible.

    The twisted expressions of pain and terror were on full display.

    In the background, the bound hostage still sat in the chair.

    Defender: Five minutes left.

    The board was eerily silent.

    No mocking replies, no panicked reactions—just an oppressive stillness.

    “This is Defender,” I muttered to myself.

    The final minute approached.

    At 4:02 PM, a new post appeared.

    JUSTICE_MIN: I’m sorry. I apologize.

    Justice Min had finally shown himself, with bitter words of regret.

    But just moments after his post, another appeared.

    Defender: Verification.