Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Typhoon
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Before the war began, doomsday preppers were outcasts shunned by society.
Even setting aside their mindset, they embodied few virtues the world would endorse.
So-called psychoanalysts claimed that at the root of a prepper's thinking lay grandiosity, egoism, and resignation.
Well, everything except the grandiosity rang true enough.
I had no intention of denying it.
After all, those very thoughts had led me to rack up debt, dig a bunker, and butter up Old Man Kim.
But not just anyone can be a doomsday prepper.
For starters, you have to be ruthless.
You need a thick skin that lets you shrug off the deaths of strangers without batting an eye.
Not quite the inhumanity of a human hunter who kills without a word, but a total lack of empathy for others' suffering.
Because when the world ends, tens of millions will come crawling out of the woodwork, desperate and pitiful—and if you try to help every one, you'll end up just like them.
In my mind, the ideal prepper is a cold observer.
Someone who ignores everything around them—whether it's chaos nearby, hundreds dying, or heartbreaking tales—and lives solely for themselves.
That kind of person deserves to be a legend.
Why else do they call the last humans legendary?
Unfortunately, I fell a bit short of legendary material.
*
I got word of it coming the day after checking out the International Residence.
I'd scrounged up another place to crash for the night and swung by the National Crisis Committee out of habit, only to stumble on some priceless intel.
That's the main reason I keep ties to the city—info like this.
A computer terminal in the National Crisis Committee lobby was pulling real-time updates from their internal network.
"Kraken type, huh..."
I'd tangled with one back in China.
Think living skyscraper.
It shrugged off every known firearm with its sheer bulk like natural armor, smashing through the Kill Zone and crumbling defenses.
But it wasn't invincible, and by my standards, not even that dangerous.
Low intelligence, simple patterns—easy to counter, and if you left it alone, it'd dissipate on its own.
People call hunters—especially saviors—the monsters' natural predators, but really, the planet itself is their deadliest foe.
These otherworldly beasts start breaking down from unknown causes the moment they cross a Rift, losing life force until they crumble to particles and vanish.
The bigger and stronger they are, the faster it happens.
Sure, there are exceptions, but this one's the dissipating kind.
If I had to compare, it's like a typhoon.
It ravages human territory, destroying all life in its path, but eventually loses steam and fades away on its own.
Just like how intel agencies track monster paths, predict trajectories, and prep for damage—same deal.
And this typhoon's path runs right through my turf.
Chilling thought.
If I hadn't known and holed up in the bunker clueless, I'd have been some monster flick extra, partying oblivious until "Huh?"—then poof, deleted.
Wonder how I'd bite it.
Knowing me, probably mid-post on the community.
Lately, I've gone from community star to persona non grata—kinda bugs me...
Feels like I've got less traction than that human hunter.
At least I haven't been blocked much?
No word from Kim Daram, disappointingly.
Makes sense.
She doesn't even know exactly where I live, and she's swamped anyway.
While lingering at the National Crisis Committee lobby, I spotted her stepping into an elevator with stone-faced soldiers, hunter-turned-bureaucrats, and politicians, all moving at a brisk clip.
Still, deep down, I wished she'd dropped a simple heads-up.
*
Bang!
Gunfire echoed from afar.
First raid I'd ever witnessed firsthand.
Not that I was the target.
It happened way up ahead in the convoy.
But the whole line ground to a halt, creating the absurd sight of a traffic jam in the apocalypse.
Cops and soldiers blocked the road, telling everyone to wait it out.
Three hours later, it wrapped up—but we'd burned precious time.
Along the way, I saw bodies strewn on the pavement.
No respect, no blankets—staring blankly at the sky with eyes wide open. Raiders? Victims? No clue.
*
I bolted straight back to the bunker to prep.
I'd already moved some of Old Man Kim's seedlings indoors, grabbed tent gear, food, water.
For observation: binoculars with night vision and a cheap drone.
The star prep was the four-wheel-drive buggy dormant in the underground garage.
Mobility was key against that thing.
Best to keep distance; worst case, evac before its dual death rays overlapped into a kill zone.
I dumped a full can of sealed, preserved gasoline into it without mercy and launched the drone.
No major threats nearby.
The Gold Pack to the south was dicey, but I wasn't heading that way.
I parked on the low hill above my bunker and waited.
Still a bit before the monster arrived.
At first, my mind was blank.
After a pause, I mapped its projected spawn and evasion routes.
Didn't take long.
Working construction, I'd simulated every scenario around here in my head.
Even colossal spawns were in bounds.
Then I zoned out again, sipping coffee, watching time tick.
A couple hours left.
Should show soon.
But the K-walkie was weirdly quiet.
No alerts for a typhoon-level disaster?
What gives?
8:30 PM now.
Per National Crisis Committee intel, it should've passed Seoul's outskirts by then.
Military freqs silent still?
Broadcast stations hit?
"..."
Not my problem anyway.
I'm a prepper.
As long as I survive whatever—no matter what happens around me—that's it.
World-savers are on the front lines.
I'm good just watching the world burn my way.
That was my path, my conviction.
But as time dragged, it started cracking.
First to flood my mind: our community's merry band.
I dashed to the bunker and logged in.
My online pals carried on like normal, oblivious or not to the typhoon inbound.
They probably didn't know about the monster yet.
Or anyone who saw it was already gone.
I searched.
Messaged him.
No reply.
Posted on the board.
Nothing.
10 minutes. 20.
Dead?
Swept away in the bunker, clueless, vanished without a trace?
Another comrade gone.
Just an online connection—no name, no face—but it feels real.
No more likes, views, replies from him in my future.
"..."
I pondered.
Yeah, I've got grudges against this world.
Resent God, the system, humanity itself.
But does that mean I have to watch them die?
The wool-felt doll taking up half a room stares at me.
What would Anonymous 337, its maker, think on a day like this?
The nameless woman who exploded raising a killer monster?
This laptop's owner?
Some are still alive.
That brutally cold Christmas night, the girl's voice still echoes vividly in my heart.
"..."
I'm no hero, no savior.
No qualifications, no power.
My ideal self: cold observer.
Has to be.
But just for today? Maybe okay.
Not special, but typhoon day's gotta count.
That whim moved me.
I don't want to lose these folks.
...
...
"Shit! It was good-faith spam!"
So I spammed.
Thought that'd do it, but my whim demanded more.
"This is SKELTON. This is SKELTON. Anyone receiving this transmission, respond immediately, regardless of who you are. I repeat: This is SKELTON! SKELTON!"
The sniper family.
Wanna save them too.
Hate the mom, but the kid's different.
"One hour out: colossal monster inbound. Kraken type. Building-sized, fires murder beams that can wipe everything alive in a 2km radius."
Wanna hear her voice next Christmas too.
Tell her Merry Christmas.
With my voice, not keyboard.
Even with walkie static.
Simple wish.
Okay, other motives too.
No reply, so I drove straight to sniper turf.
Time tight, cut through Gold Pack territory.
Sure enough, mutation dogs slobbering, chasing.
"Gaming laptop mutts?"
Outran 'em with gunfire and speed, reached sniper zone—greeted by sharp cracks.
Bang!
Bullet punched dirt at my feet, kicking up dust.
Into the walkie:
"Can't hear me? We're all fucked?"
No answer.
Again:
"Gonna let your daughter die too?"
That worked.
Sniper and her girl emerged from the dark.
"SKELTON!"
The girl beamed, waving wildly.
"Car?"
Sniper shook her head.
"Gasoline. Bad."
"Get in."
Didn't expect instant compliance.
Figured I'd have to convince.
But she hopped in easy.
"See?"
She buckled up, mumbling in broken Korean.
"What?"
"Monster."
Good reason she listened.
"Hold tight."
We peeled out, far from her zone.
From a low hill overlooking, we witnessed the colossal horror invading our turf.
A building on legs desecrated the earth, trampling, spewing net-like death rays that erased life without trace.
Its life-only murder beam just grazed my bunker hill.
Wouldn't have died clean if there.
Sliced in half, maybe?
Battle-hardened sniper was just a terrified sheep before this world-denying abomination.
I stared, then:
"Hold up there."
"Wat?"
"Photo. Snap."
"Why?"
"Got a printer at home. I'll print it."
Dogshit era, but memories matter, right?
Perfectly timed: as I snapped, the typhoon ravaging our land began dissipating.
The earth-shaker, life-burner, engulfed in light, crumbled to sparkling particles.
Against the pitch-black wasteland, scattering like windblown gold leaf—the colors and shapes were eerily beautiful.
"...Pretty."
The girl murmured, entranced; her mom gripped her hand, both watching the world and the otherworldly blend.
Snap
One photo saved to folder.
*
My pic stirred mild waves in the community.
Collected nice comments, a few likes.
Lots calling the girl cute.
Some asked what it was; respected sniper family's privacy, no answer.
Sadly, my intel didn't help our crew much.
No one on the path.
Keystone—who I thought dead—lived.
This jerk blocked me?!
Whatever.
The guy I want blocking me didn't.
Nah, he's warming up to me now.
That level? Tolerable.
Human hunter messaged me—with a photo.
Shot from behind: me in the buggy with sniper mom and kid.
"...Hah."