When There's No Room Left in Hell (3)

The sun had set, and another night had arrived. But this night was different. Unlike the usual nights where we fell asleep after barely swallowing the fear that there might not even be a future while starving, this time we actually had food. Still, it made sense to prepare before eating. I first climbed up to room 808, locked the door, and dragged furniture over to barricade the entrance. On the way I stopped by room 807—our old place—to grab blankets, pillows, and the cat doll my sister cherished more than anything. Then I headed back.

Because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I’d emptied the backpack beforehand, the doll didn’t slip while I was rope-climbing and the blanket didn’t flutter off toward the mountain like a surrender flag. One worry still gnawed at me, though: the chance that the colossal snake-like monster might crawl its way up the rear of the building. I had no idea if it was actually possible, but the mere possibility meant I had to stay cautious. In that sense, room 708 was perfect for resting. The bed wasn’t in the living room but in a bedroom off the hallway, the windows were intact, and there were curtains. Best of all, the bed was huge. My sister and I had always shared a single bed; the house was sweltering in summer and freezing in winter, so winter was marginally better, but summer nights often had me cursing under my breath. Beyond the practical side, the sheer sense of liberation felt good.

“Oppa, wanna eat first? Or should I do something for you?”

“Go wash up first.”

“It’ll take me forever though…”

“It’s fine. I already snacked a little earlier. Wash up properly. Who knows how long it’ll be before we get another chance to clean ourselves.”

“Okaaay…”

After the brutal day we’d endured, the two of us were determined to rest properly in whatever way we could. We closed the door that separated the living room and kitchen from the hallway and flipped on the lights with the last of the building’s electricity. While my sister was in the bathroom, I pulled up the Synthesis function I’d received as a quest reward and slowly scrolled through the recipes, wondering what I should create.

The list was ridiculously long. It seemed the system only displayed items within arm’s reach and adjusted the recipes accordingly. The moment my sister took the cleaver with her, several options vanished from the menu. Even so, the remaining selection was as varied as the list was long.

Baseball Bat (Stainless Steel Barbed Wire), like the one I’d seen in that drama once. Stainless Steel Hand Axe ×2. If I had more materials I could apparently make multiples. It felt like anything I could imagine was possible so long as the ingredients existed.

The only real limits were materials and intelligence. I figured raising my intelligence might unlock even more options.

I stared at the long list and mulled it over. In fights against zombies, Strength 2 wasn’t enough to kill them in a single blow. With the cleaver I could finish them in one strike, but the moment I switched to a blunt weapon I couldn’t drop them instantly. I could crush a zombie that was already sprawled on the ground in one hit, but standing ones were a different story.

If I’d learned kendo or something it might be different, but without even knowing how to swing properly, this was my limit.

I considered dumping the point I’d earned from the quest into intelligence to see if it would widen the Synthesis options, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Synthesis wouldn’t outshine raw strength or agility.

In the end I decided to hold off on Synthesis. There had to be a reason they’d given me a temporary, one-use skill. Maybe there was a smarter way to use it later. What if raising intelligence added bomb recipes? Then I might actually have a shot at killing the monster on the first floor. It was only a possibility, and I doubted a single bomb would be enough, but if worse came to worst I could always bring the whole building down on its head.

A proper weapon would be nice, but having one wasn’t nearly as important as the future chances to use better materials and make something even stronger. Survival was a long game. I gave up on the idea, and once my sister came out we ate together. Since I couldn’t use the knife that had stabbed and hacked zombies, I pan-fried an entire canned ham, warmed two packs of instant rice in boiling water, and we ate side by side. The salty food after so long was so intense it made my whole body shudder.

We set the ham on the overlapping plastic lids of the instant rice and took turns stabbing or picking pieces with our chopsticks, chewing them whole.

“Oppa, eat more.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t eat that much anyway. Oppa worked really hard today, so this is a prize from Ahyeon!”

She beamed as she scooped more onto my side. Kang Ahyeon complained once that I had no affection for her, then piled on two extra servings before finally finishing her own meal. Thanks to her, it looked like I wouldn’t be going to sleep hungry.

After polishing off the half-bowl she’d given me plus all the ham, night had fully settled in. We lay down together on the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar apartment, turned off the lights, and closed our eyes.

No new quest had appeared yet. My stomach was full, and the longer I lay still the more stray thoughts crept in. I turned to look at my sister. There were far too many suspicious things about her. At first I’d wondered if she was sharing my status window’s stats, but that wasn’t it. She had to hammer the cleaver down multiple times to kill a single zombie. Given that my Strength was only 2, it shouldn’t have taken her that many hits. The blade kept bouncing off their skulls without cracking them. Yet it didn’t seem like the system ignored her completely, either. She was displaying motor skills she’d never possessed before. When we first crossed the veranda I’d been terrified she would fall or lose her balance, but she’d made it across flawlessly.

Everything pointed to one possibility.

Could my sister have a status window too? If so, the way she’d flinched when I prayed suddenly seemed suspicious. But why hadn’t she told me? The reason wasn’t hard to guess. Even I had no idea how to explain any of this to her. And if our systems worked on completely different principles, making each other understand would be even harder. Especially since I hadn’t even known a function called Prayer existed until recently.

“Kang Ahyeon.”

“Yeah?”

She was hugging the cat doll tightly to her chest and clinging to my side. Even on a wide bed she pressed herself against me, staring up with those wide eyes.

“This might sound strange, but…”

Those brown eyes—the exact same shade as mine—gazed at me with pure innocence.

“When you pray… do you ever hear anything weird?”

I watched her pupils ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠closely for a reaction. The me reflected in those large eyes looked unmistakably tense. I didn’t know a smoother way to ask, but I believed we had built enough trust for this. Of course I’d given her nosebleeds countless times, hit her, coldly brushed off her requests for skinship, and ignored her while I was busy with other things. Still, I thought we shared the bond of fellow victims. If our roles were reversed, I believed I would answer her. But—

“Pfft.”

My sister suddenly burst out laughing.

“Oppa, you’re so weird.”

“Weird…?”

“Yeah. Super, super weird!”

She giggled behind the cat doll, eyes curving into neat crescents.

“I’m not the cult leader or anything. Why would I hear voices while praying?”

I know Kang Ahyeon well. Just as well as she knows me. She isn’t the type to openly show her inner thoughts, but I can still tell what she likes, what she hates, and—most importantly—when she’s lying.

She hated the cult leader. She hated praying. She hated our parents. And for some reason she liked me. The words that had just left her mouth were a lie.

I drew in a sharp breath. A chill crawled down my spine. Even as I froze, her wide dark-brown eyes stayed locked on me. The thin smile didn’t reach them. The innocent face beneath it wasn’t expressing real joy, either. Those pure, guileless eyes, the large pupils, the straight nose, the plump, slightly upturned lips, the aegyo-sal that made her lower eyelids droop, the flawless skin without a single blemish—despite all of it, right now my sister felt deeply, dangerously wrong. Like she wasn’t the Ahyeon I knew at all.

Our eyes met. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The pounding of my heart and the cold sweat sliding down my back mixed with her sticky, unblinking gaze that pinned me in place.

Why lie? If she just admitted it and told me what she saw, we could plan together, share strategies, make smarter decisions. Why hide it?

I couldn’t ask. Because just as I knew her, she knew me.

“But why are you asking, oppa?”

She was studying me. Observing how I would react, what I would do next. I took the path she seemed to be steering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠toward.

“Just… the world’s gone to complete shit. The Rapture might actually be real.”

A pathetic excuse. She would have seen through it instantly. But she only tilted her head.

“I see… Then if I hear anything while praying, I’ll tell you. I’ll even throw a tantrum so they take oppa too.”

She answered with a sly little grin.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Can we sleep now? I’m tired… sleepy.”

“Yeah. Let’s sleep.”

Wondering if I’d actually be able to, I closed my eyes without pushing away the arm she wrapped around my waist. Fortunately, exhaustion pulled me under quickly. My body that had been worked to the bone all day needed rest. I was genuinely grateful for that.

*

“Oppa. Oppa.”

“Mmm… what is it…”

“…You need to see it yourself.”

The moment my sister’s urgent shaking woke me, she dragged me straight to the veranda. What could possibly be so important? A rescue helicopter? Before the morning fog in my head could fully turn optimistic, I understood why she’d called me in such a panic.

“…Ah.”

Room 708, where we had slept. Right next door, room 706—the place where we had killed six zombies. On that veranda, the corpses that should have been lying dead were now standing, reaching their rotting hands toward us.