Survival's Core: Securing Supplies
Misunderstood survival boils down to securing supplies. Whenever the weather's good or we have some spare time, we poke around eye-catching buildings for useful stuff like food or daily necessities. It's a habit, like washing my face every morning.
"What'll we find today~? Hope it's riceee~ Something super tasty would be the best~!"
Hope's humming a little tune as we explore yet another abandoned building today. Thanks to her childlike chirping, even this bleak place feels a bit cheerful. Still, that's that, and safety's safety—she could trip. I warn her as she bounces ahead excitedly, and she just drawls back a carefree "Nee~!"
The hallway's littered with big and small debris scattered haphazardly. The rooms are a mess of dust and filthy rubble too. We've combed through plenty of buildings already, but so far, it's all been busts. These were some of the few intact structures left, so I figured something might turn up. Here's hoping this time.
Ah, right—around when we entered this building, the drone expanded again, and now it's hovering by my side. The chat speed's picked up since we got inside too. They're tossing out all sorts of advice and warnings, but I wish they'd say something sensible. Zombies? Monsters? Jokes to kill time? If so, zero out of ten.
"As if. At most, maybe some busted machine shambling around."
I tell them not to worry, but the chat chaos shows no sign of slowing. If anything, they criticize my nonchalance.
Again with the off-putting chats. Part of my mind chases the source of that unease, but I shake my revolver to calm the chat.
"No people around. No signs of any. Even if there were, I've got this."
Easy to use, effective—pretty handy. I rarely need it, so it sometimes feels ornamental, but just having it boosts my courage like magic. The folks beyond the chat seem to feel the same, reacting wildly.
"Guns have always been great conversation starters. Out of ten shots, I hit two or three. That's plenty, right?"
The chat turns hostile again. What's wrong with my skills? In this world, that's more than enough. Hitting machines does nothing anyway, and there's no game to hunt, so knowing how to shoot is fine. I get being scared of raiders or bad humans, but since leaving home, we've traveled far without seeing a soul—or even a corpse. Are there really survivors? A warm, abundant land?
That's why the drone feels even more suspicious to me.
Their words clash with this world's common sense. Terms no one here could know from this ruined land. Phrases that feel alien against our daily desolation. Even if they're watching from somewhere safer and more peaceful, could they chat so casually? Are they really survivors?
I shelve the doubts for now. Overthinking the drone could make me miss food. I brush off the chat lightly while scanning around.
"Unniiii! Unni! Come quick!"
Hope's booming shout sends me rushing over. She's crouched by a battered box in the back of the filthy room, waving me over urgently. I peer inside.
Small boxes fill it halfway. Labeled as preserved food, so probably edibles, though the faded text hides specifics. I crack one open and pull out the contents. Unwrap the packaging—looks like the stick energy bars we usually eat.
"Food, right? Edible?"
Even preserved stuff can be duds. I take a big bite and chew. Sweeter than usual, maybe...
Hope gazes up expectantly, so I flash a thumbs-up.
"Yay!"
She explodes with joy, arms shooting up and shaking, hips wiggling cutely. Her clumsy moves are pure adorableness, drawing a smile from me. The chat's flooded with "cute" too, mirroring my thoughts.
Amid the festivities, some worry about hygiene and expiration dates.
"It's fine."
Instead of lengthy explanations for their nagging, I just reassure them. I get the concerns, but finding food in this world ain't easy. It doesn't grow on trees. Abandoned stocks are finite too. Secure what you can to avoid starving. As long as it's not rotten, no issue. Luckily, no bad reactions yet.
We load our treasure into the Kettenkraft.
"What else? Scout other spots."
Reading the flood of advice, my brow twitches. So weird. How do you know long-ruined facilities? Speaking like they obviously exist. Like they're from another world. I play it cool without showing it.
Chilly evening winds blow. Plenty of buildings to shelter in, so we settle in a decent one.
Bubble bubble. Two cans warm in the boiling water. Once ready, I fish them out carefully, pop the lids, and hand one to Hope first.
"Mmm~ Smells good~"
"Yeah? Eat up."
"You too, unni."
Hope looks blissfully happy chowing down on canned food. The drone, powered up, films her for a while before coming to me.
Why the face? Obvious question. We eat like this daily. Salty, mushy texture. Edible, but compared to what I knew? Pathetic. Coming from my past life with pizza, chicken, gukbap, pork belly—my tongue's ruined for this. Even after years here, it's hard to enjoy. Makes me envy Hope. That pure kid knows no 21st-century feasts. Me? Corrupted soul.
While cleaning up dinner, the drone circles like it's patrolling. Hope toddles after it.
No way that's a normal drone.
I mull its nature, landing on two possibilities. First: Backup of past humans' data in the drone. Unknowable if such tech exists, but explains the chat. But that needs advanced civ—and this world's a wreck. Plus, a broken drone working perfectly? Nah.
Second hypothesis...
"......"
I stare at the drone; it swivels its lens toward me, as if sensing. Approaches like it knows I have something to say.
Perfect question to test.
"What's today's date?"
They all say the same date. My hand grips tighter without thinking. Eyes twitch. That's my past life's era.
Is this real? Possible?
Head spins. Why? Don't chase reasons. Just accept the absurd miracle: fate or whatever. Reincarnation happened; this ain't weirder.
If true, confirms second hypothesis. Explains the chats perfectly, shockingly.
"Listen up from now on. Just my guess, but..."
I slowly explain to the chat what I've pieced together. Skip parallels and complications: The drone bridges time, streaming this ruined world to intact 21st-century civ.
Absurd even saying it. They feel the same? Chat's full of ?! symbols, speed slows.
Before drone powers down, waiting for their take...
......What? "That the setting?" "Worldbuilding clicks now"—they flood with self-convinced acceptance.