1. Possession?

Two hours after the entire nation had been possessed into an apocalypse zombie-defense game.

Park Sangchul looked the young man in front of him up and down. Dirt-stained clothes, hair a mess, and a face so boyish that mid-twenties was being generous.

"All right! From this moment on, I'll be taking command! Everyone, please head outside in groups of four and bring back wood and minerals! If you don't move quickly, we all die!"

Sangchul ground his teeth. Some brat whose blood was still wet behind his ears, barking orders at his elders out of nowhere. These days, these little shits don't even know enough to be afraid of their elders.

Too many eyes were on them. Roll over now, and he'd be running errands under that punk for the rest of whatever this was.

"Hey, you little shit! Since when does some snot-nosed brat get to tell people what to do?"

The young man looked at Sangchul.

"You want to put your elders to work, you start with manners—"

The young man pulled a pistol from his pocket and leveled it at Sangchul's face.

"Shut your mouth. Either go outside and gather the materials, or get the hell out. Your call, you kkondae bastard."

"Taehyun. Just get into a good university, and you won't have to worry about a job or a marriage. Not any of it."

I thought that was true. My parents had lived longer than I had, so of course I assumed they already knew everything there was to know about the world. I believed those words with my whole chest, studied like a dog, and in the end clawed my way into a good school.

Political Science and Diplomacy. I'd made it into the best university there was; it seemed only right that I try to do something worthy of it.

Of course, that was a dumb fucking idea.

My head wasn't as good as I'd imagined. Exam after exam, I failed, and hope curdled into despair. Eventually I folded up the dream of becoming a diplomat.

Even so, I'd come out of a decent university. Surely an ordinary company would still take me.

Of course, that was a dumb fucking idea too.

It wasn't as if I'd held out only for the conglomerates. I'd applied to mid-sized firms as well. The mid-sized firms had no answer for me either.

Year two.

"I believe in you. I believe in your mind. Except it's already been two whole years, thoughhh—"

I closed the job board.

"Screw it. I'll play a game."

I turned the computer on and launched the love of my life, Apocalypse Zombie Defense.

KRRSSH—!

"Huh? Why did the monitor just die?"

And then, the next instant, my bare hands were planted on dirt.

"......What?"

I stood, brushing soil off my palms. No desk. No monitor. In their place, total strangers stood around me, staring at one another with lost, stupid faces.

"What... what the fuck?"

"Wh... who are you? Where is this? Why isn't this my house? I was home. I was definitely home."

What the hell was this situation? Familiar, though. The kind of thing I'd seen in games, web novels, movies.

Don't tell me I've been possessed.

That was when it hit — a woman's scream from a few steps off, and a man shouting over it. I turned toward the noise.

One man was shoving away another who had latched onto him. The woman beside them screamed and stumbled backward. A bizarre little scene. There was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠woman right there. Why cling to the man?

"Let go! You bastard!"

I got a look at the face of the one hanging off him, and the reason landed. Cheeks sunk to the bone, no flesh left on them. Eyes with nothing alive behind them.

......That's a zombie. Anybody could see that.

Which meant this place was—

"Aaagh! Fuck! Somebody get this thing—!"

It bit into the man's neck. He jammed its jaw upward and threw his weight back, but the zombie stayed locked on. He twisted, and the thing tore a chunk of flesh free with its teeth and chewed, wet and crunching.

"Ghhh—!"

The man clutched his own throat. Blood ran between his fingers while his other hand shoved the zombie off.

Fuck. I shouldn't be sitting here like an idiot. I need to run... but my legs... they're shaking so hard they won't move.

I folded where I was. My legs trembled like aspen leaves, and I couldn't make them do anything. The zombie kept its mouth gaping even as the man shoved at its face. Afraid his fingers would go next, he yanked his hand back — and the thing lunged for his neck again.

Fuck... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠move. I can't sit here spouting nonsense like some idiot protagonist in a movie.

I punched my own legs, over and over.

"Move!"

Someone slammed hard into my shoulder.

"Ack!"

I went over sideways and caught the ground. Gravel skinned my palm, but there was no time to look at it. People were sprinting past me.

"S-save me...!"

Right beside me, the man dropped to his knees. The zombie threw itself down on top of him.

Only then did my head clear. I planted my hands and shoved myself up. My legs were jelly. The first few steps, I couldn't tell whether I was running or falling.

If this really is that game I used to play...

I had to reach the command post. Now. By the rules, take the core there and the territory became mine. The turrets would come online, and every zombie in the area would be torn to shreds.

I lifted my head as I ran. People were scattering in every direction — one of them shoving another's back as he went, another hauling at the arm of a woman collapsed on the ground.

"Get up! Hurry!"

"Where are we going?! Where!?"

Past them, I hunted for the building, coughing on the dust their feet kicked up and still looking, looking. Across the open ground stood a gray building, turrets posted like sentries on either side of the entrance.

There.

I cut toward the command post and threaded through the people milling in a panic ahead of me. A man right beside me turned my way.

"H-hey, where are you going?"

I didn't have the breath to waste on an answer. I dragged air in through an open mouth. My throat burned, and my thighs felt ready to split, but I still had to make that entrance.

Just take the core. That's all.

Do that, and I'd live. For a while, at least.

"AAAAAGH!"

Someone screamed behind me. I hunched my shoulders and didn't look back. Checking who'd been bitten wouldn't change a thing.

As the entrance drew close, I looked up at the turrets. On a monitor I'd never grasped the scale — each one several times my size. Easily enough gun to scythe dozens of zombies off the field.

I blew past them and into the doorway, turned too sharp, and clipped the frame with my shoulder. I didn't stop. A table and a chalkboard came into view, and beyond them one door, shut tight. The commander's office.

I threw it open. A blue sphere sat on a pedestal.

Please...

The moment my palm met the core, a message rose in front of my eyes.

BRRRT—BRRRT—BRRRT—!

The gunfire hit my eardrums like a fist. I ducked on reflex. This was nothing like hearing it through speakers while I gamed. Not even the same species of sound.

BRRRT—! BRRRRRRT—!

The turrets didn't pause. They just poured it out.

It worked.

I held onto the core and let out a long breath.

I'm alive...

"......First?"

I'd been sure I'd acted like a complete idiot. Apparently I'd still been the fastest one here.

Wait. So I wasn't the only one who got possessed?

Was that why the NPCs had been acting so weirdly rude?

Either way, first commander, with a hidden perk thrown open on top of it. Not the worst hand I could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have drawn.

"Status window!"

Pure cliché, I called it up.

"Show me the perks."

Squad Vision Share?

I read the third line again. It wasn't some insane instakill of an ability, but it was useful. Very useful.

Political science has a famous little gem of a theory called the principal-agent problem. A certified classic. The principal gives the orders. The one who actually carries them out is the agent. And because you can never quite tell whether the agent is doing the job properly or not, every kind of problem follows. Obvious, once you say it out loud.

But what if a commander could see through his squad's own eyes?

Send them for wood, and they're napping in the shade. Send them on recon, and they're parked somewhere killing time. Slack off like that, and you'd know it on the spot.

Nothing to think about.

I took the third option.

"Good."

I closed the status window and looked around the commander's office. A wide desk, a chair, and a supply locker set against one wall. There'd be a pistol and a ballistic vest in there.

I opened it. Sure enough. I pulled the vest on and pocketed the pistol.

Outside, zombies lay strewn across the open ground. Some were missing limbs. Others had been pulped through the torso until you could barely tell what they'd been. The living had clustered near the turrets — some crying where they'd dropped, others patting themselves down for bites. Calmer, more or less. The ones who'd run for it were drifting back, one and two at a time.

"I-if we stay here, are we safe?"

"Who's shooting those guns?"

"I-isn't it that person? He went in alone and came back out fine..."

A few of them pointed at me.

"Yes. I turned them on."

Everyone nearby turned to look at me at once.

"The turrets mean we're safe for the moment. But if we want to keep holding out, we have to put up walls and get the base in order. That takes lumber and minerals."

I raised my voice and swept a look over them.

"All right! From this moment on, I'll be taking command! Everyone, please head outside in groups of four and bring back wood and minerals! If you don't move quickly, we all die!"

A few people glanced at whoever stood beside them. One middle-aged man sitting on the ground did not look pleased. His face was screwed tight, as if he had some grievance chewing at him, and he planted a hand on his knee and stood, huffing so obviously angry that anybody could see it.

"Hey, you little shit! Since when does some snot-nosed brat get to tell people what to do?"

Just like that, a mouthful of abuse, aimed straight at me. There's a word for men like him.

A kkondae. The kind of older man who thinks his years outrank everyone else's survival.

And kkondae, as a rule, crumble before the strong and swagger over the weak.

"You want to put your elders to work, you start with manners—"

Click. I drew the pistol from my pocket and racked the slide.

This bastard is an NPC. This bastard is an NPC.

He stopped talking. The eyes that had been glaring at me were on the muzzle now.

"Shut your mouth. Either go outside and gather the materials, or get the hell out. Your call, you kkondae bastard."

"Y-you've got a BB gun, what do you think you're—"

Bang—!

Instead of answering, I fired.