Chapter 139
Chapter 139
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 139
Chapter Title: 71. Last Words
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Recently, leaving last words behind has become a trend in our online world.
The reason is obvious if you just step outside for a moment.
Current temperature: minus 22 degrees Celsius.
The old saying of three days of cold followed by four days of thaw is long gone. A brutal freeze below minus 15 degrees has gripped the world for a full month now, locking everything in ice.
It all started with Monster Park, the masterpiece online game from Fox Games.
It wasn't my cup of tea, so I quit pretty quickly, but countless players were still hooked, using it to escape reality. Even as the cold hit, it stayed wildly popular. Monster Park has this hidden gimmick called a graveyard.
If a player stays logged in for a week without doing anything, their character turns into a graveyard object.
At first, graves were rare, popping up here and there. But starting from the week the cold set in, they exploded in number. Now, you can find them everywhere. Just step into the lobby—the entrance to Monster Park—and you'll see how serious it is.
The lobby itself has turned into a massive cemetery.
Each grave lets you read a self-introduction written by the deceased in life.
A run-of-the-mill self-intro you could find anywhere. But once this grave feature went viral, Monster Park players—especially those from PaleNet—raced to turn their self-intros into makeshift last wills.
I saw a few of those "last words."
Each one has its own story, its own tale.
Not a single one is unimportant, but some graves have really captured people's attention.
The most famous is the one belonging to a celebrity from before the war.
She'd gone into hiding after the war started, only to leave behind a pathetic little grave in the end.
I'd heard the name and even seen movies she starred in—she was that big.
Other random famous graves got buzz too, but one caught my eye.
Unlike the average player who froze to death in the lobby, the Bandit King's grave stood proudly in the middle of a mid-level hunting ground.
A dangerous zone no beginner could reach, thanks to aggressive monsters.
In that treacherous spot, the Bandit King left behind last words that were quite different from the others—fitting his name, in a way.
The Bandit King's link led to a PaleNet post.
A title-less thread on a quiet board, with several photos attached. Piles of canned goods, fuel, brand-new-looking clothes in various colors, bullets... and the slender arm of a tattooed woman, probably the photographer.
By my standards, Park Gyu, it's just average stock. But for people scraping by on rations in Incheon's refugee camps, it's enough to kill for.
PaleNet users abandoned their dying board and flooded ours, buzzing about the Bandit King's treasure.
In this hellish situation, the Bandit King's haul is more than enough for survival—it's luxurious. Anyone not tempted would be the weird one.
Helpfully, the Bandit King included the location at the end of the link.
And that address... it looked familiar.
Our neighborhood. Specifically, not far from the company I briefly worked at before the war to make ends meet.
Now... Rebecca's territory, right?
A bit of a distance from the sniper mom-and-daughter's zone, but anyone coming from big cities like Incheon or Seoul would have to pass through it.
What to do.
It's close, distance-wise.
Less risky since it's the sniper duo's turf.
The outdoor temp hovers around minus 20, but with gear better than what Amundsen had exploring the North Pole a century ago, it's no big deal for me.
What really got me moving? The treasure spot requires passing through Rebecca's and her daughter's area.
Once the weather breaks, refugees and raiders will swarm for it.
If something bad happens to Rebecca's crew—who'll be leaving come spring—it wouldn't sit right with my mental health.
Plus, cooped up in the bunker all winter, my body's aching. Gearing up with weapons and cold protection, I hopped on the motorcycle.
Vrooooom—
First stop: Rebecca's territory.
"Huh, SKELTON? What's up all sudden? Thanks."
Handed her a canister of fuel and asked about the address in question.
"Southwest? Yeah, there were a few buildings. Lots of people lived there. One-rooms? Yeah! Tons of one-rooms."
When I asked if people were there, Rebecca shook her head firmly.
"Never seen a living soul there."
"No one's living there. Everyone left before the war."
Soo backed her up.
They'd been ruthless with patrols early on, so no reason to doubt the duo now that things are laxer.
"No survivors..."
But the Bandit King's address has an exact lot number.
Two possibilities: He holed up indoors for three years like I'm a Skeleton, or he lied.
The latter seems more likely, but the trip's started.
To keep refugees from swarming like flies, I need to check it out.
Soo wants to tag along.
"This is our turf."
Rode with Soo to the spot.
Toppled streetlights and mangled signs blocked the ruined road.
We cleared a lamppost together while checking the address.
Close by.
True to Rebecca's word, one-room apartment buildings formed a small complex, looming eerily beyond abandoned fields.
"No one's here for real. Mom and I checked everywhere."
"Yeah?"
"Yup!"
"What'd you find?"
"Empty places? Or corpses? Didn't see any bodies. Mom told me not to go in. But it stank. Really bad."
The entrance to the one-room zone had a smashed-up convenience store. A cat that must've frozen this winter lay on its side, eyes closed.
"This cat."
Soo squatted by it, inspecting the dead feline.
"It was here last time too."
Good it didn't mutate.
Mutation rates aren't that high anyway.
No hard data, but about two or three per hundred animals.
If higher, Korea would've been overrun like Australia.
Tossed the cat carcass out of sight and hunted the address.
Sure enough, a one-room building.
But something's off.
The photo's backdrop looked like at least a mid-to-large apartment. Easily over 50 pyeong.
The top floor of one-rooms often has the owner's unit, so maybe. But the address ends with 301—room 301, probably.
One-room buildings top out at five floors; third can't be the owner's.
The building had old metal or plastic address plates.
Beyond trash of unknown age and abandoned cars, half-shattered glass doors revealed the matching address.
Bethel One-Room
Looked at Soo.
"I've been here."
Unlike her mom, Soo caught on quick.
"The place that smelled like bodies."
The air was knife-cold, but opening the door unleashed a musty stench like an ancient tomb.
Most windows and doors pried open by the duo.
Windows shattered, doors jimmied with crowbars.
Some doors even had bullet holes.
Trudging through trash, dust, and snowdrifts from broken windows, we climbed to the fourth floor.
Six one-rooms per floor.
All doors open—except one.
Soo said,
"That's it. Where the body's at."
"When'd you check this side?"
"Over two years ago."
My suspicions solidified as I opened 301's door.
Freezer-cold room.
On the bed, a half-mummified corpse stained the mattress dark red.
Double-checked the address.
Spot on.
This is the Bandit King's revealed hideout.
Snapped evidence pics for proof, scanned the room.
Sparse.
A few clothes, pill packets. Half-open fridge revealed mold-eaten chicken leftovers, hardened like the corpse.
Delivery wrapper dated two weeks pre-war, around when optimists and doomsayers clashed fiercely.
Notebook by the body.
-Interview: Geoje Gohyeon Sampoong Bldg 3F, by 11 AM
Check Mugunghwa line!
-Gas station: 5 AM to 2 AM, 10k/hr.
-Mom's bday Nov 2, at least call!
-Check hospital bill loan
Mundane notes on jobs, interviews, hospital, life. Crude sketches of women interspersed.
Easy to see: job-hunting guy with health issues.
Corner ID photo, soaked in corpse ooze, showed he was early-mid 20s. Also explained the entrance cat—his.
Faded Polaroid of him with the cat tucked in the pages.
His trail ends around the chicken delivery.
War destroyed the world, but not for him. He'd seen ruin before it came.
"SKELTON. How'd he die? Suicide?"
Soo, waiting outside, asked with frosty breath.
"...Natural causes."
"Ah."
Clicked final evidence shots and left.
One thing's clear: No Bandit King treasure.
SKELTON: (SKELTON Report) Braving the midwinter cold to hunt the Bandit King's treasure!
Effort deserves reward—common sense.
Plus, a warm gesture to save fools chasing it from freezing en route. Since Bandit King was big in Monster Park, my post got unusually heavy traffic.
Unfortunately, my killer report didn't hit the hot posts.
Precisely because Live! Apocalypse! kicked off right then, burying my thread out of sight.
Dongtanmom, pushing her mysterious vibe, brought back NahmNahm Show with killer action, wowing everyone.
"...So it's all about the lives, huh."
Sipping coffee, watching the live, when—
Ding~
Comment alert.
On my SKELTON report? With the live on, hot post potential's moot, but I clicked through anyway.
"Hm?"
Monster Park? Now?
Glanced at the live.
Some player tearing across the sea on what looks like a private yacht.
Thrilling, but the anonymous request felt off. Opened another tab, logged into Monster Park.
Tap tap
/m ProPoochinaMania It's SKELTON, what's up?
Sent via Monster Park command.
ProPoochinaMania requested chat pronto.
Intuition hit.
This guy's the culprit behind the buzz.
ProPoochinaMania admitted it straight up.
Asked why the lie, why leak a dead man's one-room address.
In clunky Monster Park, emotions are imagination's domain.
Not the imaginative type, but in the brief silence, I swear I heard his sigh.
"..."
Figured as much.
Shared my take on the corpse.
His brother died pre-war, at latest.
Heavy decay makes it iffy, but laid straight with hands clasped—peaceful end.
Skipped the moldy chicken, job hunts, illness stuff.
Logged out, back to the live.
Doll-masked woman in bikini flaunted her body vulgarly in a kiddie pool.
Found ProPoochinaMania's grave less than ten days later.
Fox Games, overwhelmed by lobby graves, made Memorial Park and relocated them en masse, listing names. His was there.
One player froze in the harsh cold without even a clichéd last word.
That day, Monster Park added 372 new graves.
End of 71. Last Words