Chapter 137
Chapter 137
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 137
Chapter Title: 70. Delivery (1)
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Melon Mask might be an indomitable entrepreneur, but ask if he's a good person, and opinions would be divided. You can tell just by looking at the people around him.
He'd married twice, both times ending in divorce without kids. His early business partners all left him, and even the colleagues who'd written history with him at his peak abandoned him.
There were probably various reasons—conflicts over profit sharing, differences in values, better opportunities elsewhere—but the media always highlighted Melon Mask's personality flaws.
As everyone knows, Melon can't stand not being the protagonist.
He has to be at the center of every stage, soaking up the most attention.
There must have been plenty of friction along the way.
Right now, this Park Gyu was keenly feeling the bad side of Melon Mask that his former partners had experienced.
The moment I saw it, I doubted my own eyes.
Melon, the first in the world to confirm friendship with a mutation?
Unless I'm a god, I can't know every event on Earth, but even giving him the highest ranking, Melon Mask is only third.
First is Cat Mom, who took care of Jackfield and two others. Second is Skeleton, friend of the legendary mutation dog Gold. Melon comes after.
And it was I who first showed Melon the possibility of harmony between mutations and humans.
Yet this shameless bastard was spreading fake news to the world, acting like he was the first to befriend a mutation!
To make matters worse, sycophants desperate to curry favor with Melon Mask were swarming like flies.
...
I didn't do it for anything in return.
I was just one of thousands of Viva members hoping Melon Mask would survive.
But to say there wasn't even a sliver of desire for recognition behind my help would be a lie.
While helping Melon, I wanted to promote Skeleton's name too, carve out a spot as a significant user with major contributions (if not named), and enjoy a fulfilling forum life.
Yet he'd crushed that modest dream in such an ungrateful way.
As I was typing a long post fueled by righteous fury to denounce Melon's scam, a chat window popped up at the bottom of the screen.
It was Viva Bot.
The number suggested it was that same woman from before.
Perfect timing.
I immediately unleashed my grievances in a flurry of fiery typing.
Tap tap tap
It wasn't the word "delivery" that softened me.
Practically, protesting wouldn't change anything, and if Melon and his sloth were giving people hope, that was enough. In this crumbling world, who was first wasn't that important.
Still, delivery in this era felt refreshingly novel.
With logistics collapsed and most infrastructure gone, delivery?
I'd heard from Rebecca that things were bad in America.
The country splintered by states, erosion spreading, army-sized gangs crossing borders, burning cities and towns.
Fortunately, Melon's company was safe from the violence and had stocked warehouses.
Above all, they had unmanned drones called Cygnus for intercontinental delivery.
I didn't know the specs, but with long wings like an albatross, solar panels, leaping to the stratosphere on jet streams, delivering parcels of dreams and hope worldwide.
The only issue: delivery method.
Air-drop.
Iron capsules like aerial bombs with parachutes, dropped literally.
Viva Bot sent the link.
Clicking it opened an old-school shopping mall site.
The site copied Amazon's layout and design from the old world. Items varied: clothes, guns, ammo, dried food, supplements, medicine, fuel, chemicals—even stuff with psychoactive drugs.
Unlike old sites, choices per category were slim, most out of stock.
Melon Mask's company wasn't immune to apocalypse scarcity.
Looking at it, you could feel Melon's ambition.
Especially payments in his own virtual coin. Maybe what he truly aimed for in the apocalypse wasn't just a photo-op with a sloth, but to be king of the apocalypse world.
Distributing high-tech Obelisks cheap to build a global network, monopolize markets and logistics, control the currency.
Overreaching maybe, but that's my take.
No big deal anyway.
Melon's plans seemed dead, trapped in his space bunker.
I opened the bunker door for the first time in a while.
The heavy iron swung open to biting wind and a snow-covered world.
Breath fogging, I surveyed the frozen ground.
Current time: 1:23 PM.
Thermometer: -18°C.
Online they talk hope, but this is our reality.
No need to overthink.
Thinking won't give me power to change the weather.
Right after returning to the bunker, pondering what to order from the mall—
Bzzt—
The K-walkie-talkie crackled.
Public frequency.
Who'd be out in this cold?
Puzzled, I tuned in.
"Fuck! Fuck!"
A young, screaming voice echoed in the silent bunker, one that stuck in memory.
"Fuck! Someone save us! We're freezing to death!"
I remembered. Sergeant Jang's kids.
In the apocalypse, kindness is a luxury.
To give it, you risk your life.
You need to qualify.
Be tough enough to take a backstab after helping.
Plenty died or met worse ends giving kindness from naive "nice guy" impulses. Age, frailty don't matter.
Everyone's the same in the apocalypse.
Skill and experience vary, but with a weapon, anyone can kill me.
I didn't particularly like Sergeant Jang's kids.
I felt some pity, but no intent to take responsibility.
But lately, Park Gyu's stores were honestly plentiful.
Woo Min-hee supplied heaps of food and fuel.
Enough I wouldn't need the wood boiler prepped since summer.
That alone didn't change my stance on ignoring pleas from neighbors.
Melon's broadcast inspired me.
Positive influence.
We'd helped, cheered, seen goodwill lead to good ends.
Maybe helping once was fine?
"To me, that doesn't seem like a great idea."
When I shared plans to help Sergeant Jang's kids, little Defender naturally objected.
"Think about it, Skeleton. Say you help once. You think that'll satisfy them? They'll come begging again."
Defender was spot on.
No room to argue.
"Just helping them survive winter."
"Then take me along and feed me."
"Why you?"
"I told you, there's a creep at our place!"
Still at Defender's.
That Jong-chul guy.
"Ugh, thinking how many times he X-rayed my body with those lecherous eyes gives me chills!"
Defender sis's complaints drew big bro's intervention.
"Jong-chul's heart is pure, even if weak. Not rotten to the bone. Plus, he's a doctor?"
"Doctor? Didn't even go to med school."
"Don't know much else, but he extracts bullets better than real docs."
"I just hate him. Wish he'd leave."
"Ease up. Jong-chul tiptoes around you."
"Why are you so spineless with your squadmates but tough on others? Got dirt from China?"
"Skeleton! Sorry, cutting comms."
Defender hurriedly signed off.
First time seeing the siblings bicker.
They synced like one—vibes, thoughts, presence. But third-wheel Jong-chul sparked deeper conflict.
Still, got some input.
Defender was right.
Help once, expect endless demands.
Even past winter.
Adults get sly; why not kids?
They'd cling forever.
Any good way?
Kids know kids' hearts best, so I asked Suu.
True enough.
"Santa Claus."
Suu said.
"Handle it Santa-style?"
Non-contact delivery.
Sub-zero cold's no big hurdle with precautions.
Cold gear, boots, hot packs on chest, hop on the motorcycle—confidence to go anywhere.
This cold meant no ambush risks.
Not like clashing armies; bandits waiting in this freeze was like charging a battery with toes in icy stream.
"Fuck! Fuck! Please, someone help! We have kids! It's so cold we're dying!"
En route to Sergeant Jang's hideout, the radio broadcast the girl's desperate pleas.
No innocence from when I found them.
Abandoned housing ahead.
Snow-blanketed like everywhere, eerily silent.
Smoke rose from one house.
Wood boiler going.
I hadn't brought fuel anyway.
Trees were plentiful, confirmed before.
Time: pre-dawn night.
Unloaded cargo at the smoking rural house.
Not impressive: surplus food, frozen milk.
Best I could give without harm.
Click—
Phone pic of my kindness, turning to leave—
Sensed presence.
Human.
Irked, hand on pistol, low voice to the door:
"Who's there?"
Door opened; small boy (maybe 10) with tinier sister (8?) peeked fearfully.
Precarious ages to survive, but boy shielding sis was admirable. He eyed me warily.
"What're you doing?"
I pointed silently at the gifts by the door.
He spotted food, lit up.
Nature not bad; thumb to lips, whispered:
"Keep my visit secret. Got it?"
Boy nodded, hugging confused sis.
Our last meeting.
Caught in act, no return.
But hold off.
Odd glint in boy's eyes.
Awake one.
<70. Delivery (1)> End