My bunker is secluded and quiet, but it’s not an uninhabited island. Occasionally, things wander into the vicinity.

    The first type is scavengers.

    Unlike raiders, scavengers target abandoned belongings, combing through ruins and collecting anything they can carry.

    A group of about twenty scavengers once arrived in my area on a green bus.

    They focused their search on the air force base but strayed near my hideout.

    After briefly inspecting the industrial waste piled around my territory, they argued among themselves and returned to the air force base.

    The second type is nomads.

    These are people who’ve left Seoul in search of a new home. Unlike scavengers, they’re more interested in real estate than material goods.

    It’s rare for nomads to wander near my bunker.

    Who would want to live in a desolate wasteland littered with burial mounds?

    Sometimes, it’s not humans that pay a visit.

    Mutations.

    Animals infected with the mutation factor retain their pre-infection habits and behaviors. A pack of mutated dogs once came to my area.

    True to their canine roots, they traveled as a pack.

    Each mutated dog was the size of a lion.

    They weren’t easy opponents.

    With jaws strong enough to crush concrete, the speed to chase down a moving car, and resilience that made them immune to several rifle rounds, they were formidable.

    As with all packs, there was an alpha.

    The one that visited my territory was known as Gold, a mutation with golden, gleaming fur.

    Cunning and ruthless, Gold was such a menace that even the city of Seoul had put a bounty on it, but no one had managed to hunt it down.

    I had no intention of trying, either.

    Though dangerous, the pack was practically an honorary guard for my home. Why bother?

    While the mutated dogs prowled around my bunker, I stayed hidden inside, waiting for them to pass.

    Mutations, after all, don’t come without drawbacks.

    Mutated dogs have a significantly weaker sense of smell compared to before their transformation.

    They followed the faint traces of human and household scents but couldn’t pinpoint my location.

    The immediate crisis passed, but they left a disgusting amount of waste around my bunker.

    For three days, while they lingered above, I survived on nothing but purified water and biscuits—a miserable experience.

    Occasionally, zombies would show up too.

    Zombies are human corpses turned mutants, behaving just as you’d imagine: mindless, traveling in hordes, and turning anything they encounter into one of their own.

    Unlike mutated dogs, which lose some of their sense of smell, zombies gain an enhanced olfactory ability.

    They were undoubtedly drawn by the delicious aromas of my cooking.

    But what could they do?

    My bunker’s entrance was hidden and protected by reinforced alloys.

    Unable to reach me, they lingered near the ventilation shaft before moving on to a nearby town in search of easier prey.

    That night, gunfire echoed continuously, indicating that they had stumbled upon the town ruled by the crazy sniper who lived down the hill.

    The above scenarios were rare occurrences. Most of my days were peaceful and leisurely.

    I would sunbathe with the radio and walkie-talkie on, grill barbecue, or sometimes, daringly, roll up my pants to catch bullfrogs and minnows in a nearby stream.

    News from the north described constant battles against monsters and mutations pouring in from the ruined North Korea. From the south, stories of municipalities struggling to survive with dwindling resources and no government support trickled in.

    To me, it all felt like a distant world.

    Everything here was peaceful and beautiful.

    Under the scorching sun, I hung out my laundry and let it dry in the sunlight. Then I lay on the ground, staring at the sky.

    Resting my head on my arms, watching the clouds drift by, I felt like a sage.

    For roughly a year and a half after the war began, I enjoyed this tranquility.

    But nothing lasts forever.

    In the hazy days of late spring, drones began appearing in the sky.

    Quadcopters, named for their four rotors, these drones answered the question of why I didn’t use convenient solar power.

    Government agencies searching for mutations, monsters, or criminals.Raiders hunting for prey.

    And I had more than enough reasons to kill them.

    But I held back.

    This is my territory.

    To truly claim an area as your own, you must know everything about it.

    And I knew.

    The road they were traveling was in the hunting ground of the mutated dog pack led by Gold.

    The injured humans, hobbling along at a snail’s pace, were the perfect prey for Gold and his pack.

    Soon enough, the golden-furred mutated dogs began to emerge one by one from the southern expanse, drawn by the scent of blood.

    With their gleaming gold coats and fearsome stature, Gold and his pack announced their presence with a terrifying roar—a sound somewhere between a wolf’s howl and a bear’s growl.

    “Aaaahhhh!”

    “A monster! It’s a monster!”

    The raiders couldn’t even distinguish between a mutation and a monster. Their fate was sealed.

    Tat-tat-tat-tat!

    The raiders fired their guns, but the mutated dogs, each the size of a bull, evaded the bullets or charged through with their muscular bodies.

    Humans were reduced to nothing more than prey for these monstrous dogs.

    The air filled with the sound of agonized screams and the crunching of bones, but even those sounds soon faded into silence.

    An entire group of raiders wiped out in an instant.

    I wondered if Dongtanmom’s spirit was watching this unfold.

    If they were, what expression would they wear?

    Would it be a bright, victorious smile?

    But then again, the human world...

    It’s never that simple.

    *

    Dongtanmom: Cuckoo!

    Dongtanmom was alive!

    The same person who, not long ago, had written a desperate farewell post was now cheerfully chirping “Cuckoo!” as if nothing had happened.

    Users who had been worried about him flooded the comments section, seething with anger.

    Anonymous848: "Wait, what? Was this just a prank?"

    Kyle_Dos: "Wow, pulling stunts like this here? Are you even human?"

    Anonymous458: "Hey, this isn’t some marketplace. Pulling this kind of crap is unacceptable. Apologize to everyone before I block you."

    SKELTON: "I’m really mad right now!"

    Under mounting pressure, Dongtanmom posted an apology.

    Dongtanmom: "I’m sorry. I had a depressive episode and accidentally wrote a post that wasn’t entirely true~"

    Even after this, Dongtanmom continued his habitual pranks. A textbook “boy who cried wolf,” the only reason he hadn’t pulled stunts like this before was that he didn’t know how to configure his satellite antenna.

    But all things must come to an end.

    Dongtanmom: "This time, I’m serious! No jokes! I’m in danger! Actually, I’m not in Dongtan—I’m in Gwanggyo. There are five people outside! Please, anyone nearby, help me! Just make some noise—fireworks, anything. I’m begging you!"

    This time, he even uploaded photos.

    The first picture showed the blurry silhouettes of five people captured by a grainy CCTV camera.

    The second depicted the interior of a trashed bunker, with thick black smoke billowing from duct pipes leading to the ventilation shaft.

    The third was a mountain of boxes labeled “TNT.”

    That was Dongtanmom’s last post.

    But was it another lie?

    Most users, myself included, assumed it was just another one of his chronic outbursts of falsehoods.

    The “TNT” written on instant noodle boxes with a marker was simply too obvious a tell.

    The truth remained uncertain.

    Because our wise human hunter had chimed in.

    Defender: "There was a massive explosion near Gwanggyo. Must’ve been 10 tons of TNT-level power. Did Dongtanmom, that lying bastard, finally kick the bucket?"

    One thing became clear—our friendly human hunter lived near Gwanggyo.

    Note to self: Stay far, far away from there.