Chapter 154

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Translator: Ryuma

Chapter: 154

Chapter Title: 75. Lovers (1)

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For the first time in ages, I slept deeply.

How long had it been?

I couldn't remember the last time I'd had such sweet rest.

My body and mind both felt light.

I washed my face, gave my hair a quick rinse, and checked the temperature.

Minus 22 degrees Celsius.

It had warmed up a bit.

After some light stretching and a hot cup of coffee, I did my usual patrol around the perimeter, just like always.

Sleet was swirling outside.

No major changes, but I never skipped carefully inspecting every nook and cranny.

I checked inside all the dummy bunkers, then thoroughly searched the container houses and cabins.

Once patrol was done, I headed out for water.

The usual method: break the ice in the stream and load it onto the motorcycle cart.

Today I planned to bathe, so I cut two rectangular slabs of ice and loaded them onto the handcart.

With all chores finished, I pulled up the internet.

Still banned from the board.

But being banned didn't mean I couldn't read posts.

I just couldn't comment or post.

On Failnet, I could post freely and enjoy my old internet life to the fullest.

Slurp—

I scrolled through the daily posts.

Begging threads popped up occasionally, but not as often anymore.

Vivabot had finally made a macro.

He'd resisted because he didn't want to work, but true to his roots as a Melon Mask company employee, he had the basics down. The board's quality had definitely improved compared to before.

Still, it fell short of the pristine era when I wore the armband.

I'd submitted a reflection letter to Vivabot, but who knows if he'd read it.

Lack of sincerity, maybe?

Not being able to post for three days was torture, but after holding the armband once, it felt... refreshing, somehow.

Like a long-clogged heel finally popping free?

Or like achieving a life's milestone.

Having reached the top spot, I felt a newfound leisure in my heart.

"......"

Generosity?

It wasn't a trait I'd associated much with myself, Park Gyu.

A day and a half had passed since Skeleton was ousted from the armband, but haters still trashed me on the board.

Especially those I'd banned—they were grinding their teeth in rage.

No chance.

I'd shown some foolishness, sure, but I was buddies with Vivabot and had messaged Melon Mask too.

I was working hard on my reflection letters, so reinstatement was just around the corner.

Anyway, the board's vibe was unusually buzzing today.

One username I hated kept popping up more than usual.

From the gist, it reminded me of the snowcat raiders Woo Min-hee had warned me about yesterday.

And it seemed Dies Irae was tangled up with them too.

What to do?

Maybe lift the ban just for a sec?

Nothing better to do. I could peek at one post.

I temporarily unbanned Dies Irae.

Sure enough, a hot popular post from him.

I clicked the post.

The photo showed a massive, charred vehicle with 12 black-scorched wheels, sprawled corpses, and the Dies Irae crew standing triumphantly atop them.

Caption below.

Setting aside humanity, you couldn't deny Dies Irae was an experienced, seasoned commander.

Woke at dawn, assessed the threat, ambushed unknown foes, and wiped them out in one go.

Stated flatly, but that choice and judgment weren't for amateurs.

A hack leader would've tried talking first or taken a hit before fighting back.

The post skipped details, but his tactical skills were no joke.

In this era where survivors and raiders alike had leveled up, one-sided victories between armed groups were rare. From weapon choice to ambush spot and command—he'd handled it all.

Dies Irae followed up.

Photo: man with hands bound behind, kneeling. Two prisoners, both hooded with trash bags.

Interrogation summary:

-Light questioning revealed why they were so brutal: didn't want their methods leaked, so no survivors.

All killed. Execution? Tie limbs, pour boiling water, dump in minus 40 field. Boil and freeze, basically.

-Two escaped. Black ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠snowmobile westbound, man and woman, probably unarmed—fled in panic.

One seemed injured. Don't let guard down; shoot snowmobilers on sight.

Tap tap.

I tried commenting.

"......"

Honestly, Dies Irae did something huge this time.

Took out a 20-man pro raider crew, highly trained with good gear.

Tough enough Woo Min-hee warned me.

If they'd gone elsewhere, board buddies would've died miserably.

Maybe even hit me.

Wanted to drop a simple thanks, but banned.

Rebanned Dies Irae, sent Vivabot my reflection.

My 12th reflection.

This much sincerity should earn forgiveness...

Why keep ignoring me? Making me anxious.

Fingers itching now.

Could play on Failnet, but I prefer our board.

Plan B: contact neighbors.

Defender first.

"Hm?"

No answer.

Skipped me yesterday too—what's up?

Instant reply— he's fine.

No Defender, so Rebecca.

Had a question for her.

"What? We didn't vote for you?"

I got 302 votes. Weird, right?

One's mine, 300 from spare alts. Last one unknown, but out of my 5 fixed votes, 4 missing—including theirs.

Great when armbanded, but now ousted? Time to ask.

"It was 302. Thought it'd be 305."

"302? Of course we assumed we did."

"Not necessarily. I suspect you didn't vote for me."

"Why?"

"Why..."

300 rigged, but couldn't say. Organizing thoughts—

Bang!

Gunshot. Outside first, then radio ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠delayed.

Rebecca's side.

"Su?!"

Something happened.

Urgent footsteps, English, then Rebecca back.

"Snowmobile charged straight here; Su fired warning shots."

"Snowmobile?"

"Yeah."

"Switch to Su?"

She did.

"Skelton."

Su's voice. Colder than usual.

"Su."

"Skeleton embarrassing."

"We'll talk later. You saw snowmobile?"

"Yeah. Two riders, heading Skeleton way."

"......Right?"

Not those Dies Irae mentioned, right?

Odds high.

Snowmobiles rare; two people fits.

"No return fire?"

"Nope. Bolted at gunshot."

"Thanks, Su."

"Told Mom not vote Skeleton."

"What?!"

"......Skeleton needs head straight."

"Later."

Cut comms urgently, exited bunker.

Eyes on road from Rebecca's area.

Snow blurred road-snowfield line, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but flat valley.

Checked bunker vents.

Turned heat off dawn, but white smoke still billowed.

7:22 AM. Visible.

Still alive after day/night in cold?

Dies Irae said escape yesterday.

Not easy.

All possibilities open, rifle ready, watched road.

Faint roar soon.

Snowmobile engine.

Even chain-tire bike struggles; snowmobile glided like dolphin.

Scoped.

Black snowmobile, bundled man/woman riding.

No visible arms. No rifle at least.

Crossing my turf, suddenly turned toward me, roared closer.

Saw lingering smoke.

Following that?

What to do.

One rocket, easy repel.

More effort: lure close, kill all.

Or post hunt for rep boost.

Hot reaction? Perfect revival for exiled Skeleton.

"......"

No.

Drop it.

Rigged for armband, but I have lines.

Won't toy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with lives for attention.

Clean kill better.

Set rifle single-shot, aimed as approached—

K-walkie buzzed.

Public freq, very close.

Let audio through.

"My girlfriend's hurt! Please! Just a quick stop! No weapons! Cuff us if you don't trust!

Won't resist! Save my girlfriend, please!"

What to do.

No taste for games.

Enemy? Neutralize. Our way.

But banned now.

Time to spare.

From Dies Irae's turf too.

He's far, nomadic group.

No clash now, but worst foe if ever.

Good chance for intel.

Shed poncho, rifle up, stood on hill.

Snowmobile charged steeply.

*

Man early 20s, woman same.

Man tall but skinny; thick clothes couldn't hide tattoos crawling neck to face. Unarmed.

Woman too.

Blood on her face, decent gash but superficial.

Worse: frostbite signs.

Man's nose tip numb, woman's toes.

Maybe amputate, but not my problem. Gave cheap ointment.

Meal: plain chicken stock soup, no extras.

Venue: disguised container box.

Obviously no house reveal.

Winter-maintained: no drafts, crude vent for fire center.

Watched couple by flames.

They eyed me constantly.

No names asked.

Planned to kill anyway.

Not morals.

Murderers.

Live off killing others.

Might jump me here or hit friends elsewhere.

Their way.

Stared, spoke.

"Where from?"

Even to me, cold voice.

Truer tone.

Indifferent, pressing.

They exchanged looks.

"Gang."

Man smirked.

"Killed people."

Honesty noted, no reaction.

Silence—he continued.

"Quit gang with like-minded buds, had fun roaming. Big L this time. Probably soldiers.

Killed guys on spot, dragged girls to cave."

"Killed all but pretties."

Woman added.

"Fun over, kill 'em soon. Close to one."

Exchanged looks; man eyed me casually.

"Quitting now. Live quiet in city. Sick of this life..."

Early-20s couple clasped hands.

Man rubbed her belly.

"Baby on board."

"Quit gang (to kill and loot others) and had fun roaming"

Recommendations: 74

Granting Skeleton a murder license.

Ah, got it. But you didn't just loot and kill cleanly while hiding info for "fun"

Recommendations: 58

You think you can hope without paying? And assuming baby real, kid innocent—spare if possible, but no waiting till birth in this world. No slack for newborns. Sad, but family go together.