Chapter 173
Chapter 173
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 173
Chapter Title: 83. Rumor (1)
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172
With no reporters or Failnet users in sight, the only information sources I could rely on were our board friends scattered here and there, along with the radio broadcasts aired by the Legion faction.
Three days ago, thunder-like cannon fire began echoing from the north.
Fighter jets had streaked across the distant sky, emitting deafening roars that tore at the ears.
I didn't spot the jets themselves, but the contrails they left behind stretched clearly from south to north.
The board's atmosphere remained calm as ever, but the users—including me—knew better.
Tough times were coming again.
I tidied up around the bunker and checked the facilities.
The generator was still in good shape.
The synthetic fuel and engine oil were compatible too.
Exhaust emissions were even lower than with diesel.
The problem was the smell.
It wasn't like regular fuel—more like the irritating stench unique to chemicals.
A flaw I hadn't noticed when running it on the motorcycle.
The odor didn't spread far, but being so distinctly alien—like cigarette smoke—it could draw attention even from faint traces.
I personally scooped out the makeshift pit we'd used as a toilet all winter.
I wanted to rinse it with water, but we didn't have the luxury for water cleaning.
The ground surface was thawing under spring's warmth, but underground still held winter's chill.
The groundwater intake pipe was half-frozen, filling the tank to only half capacity.
Best to wait for rain and handle the pit cleaning all at once.
Most of my day was now spent on external surveillance, not the internet.
Like Su, endlessly staring at unknown horizons, I scanned every approach to my territory with binoculars and observation gear.
Rebecca, Defender, and Gold's absence affected not just morale but coverage too.
With Rebecca and her daughter around, I'd barely worried about the four-lane highway linking east.
Early in the war, gunfire signaled someone's presence there; later, we exchanged info via radio.
The two-lane road sprawling messily west was Defender's turf.
Strictly speaking, it connected to Gold's area too, but those ferocious folks meant I worried less about it than Rebecca's road.
No roads south.
Unpaved paths linked from west and east roads, but years of weeds and grass had turned them into meadows.
One branch split far east, heading south, but it tied into Gold's territory.
No one approached via that road while Gold held strong.
Things were different now.
I had to monitor a full 360 degrees alone.
People could show up anywhere, anytime.
No time for leisurely browsing.
Even when online, posts were dwindling sharply.
Failnet friends vanishing played a part, but other board buddies sensing crisis and focusing on watch too.
During peak daytime vigilance, the board often went quiet.
Come sunset, daytime watchers returned, unleashing tales.
Personally, I still didn't like Baek Seung-hyeon much, but I had to admit his content creation skills were top-notch.
Not just compelling topics—his timing was impeccable.
I dozed off reading Dongtanmom's story. Never for long.
No alarm needed—eyes snapped open after four hours.
Not age-related.
Anxiety pressing like the surrounding darkness woke me.
In safer times, I ate and drank moderately.
Now, every bite and sip tied directly to survival.
One flu, stomach bug, or waterborne disease, and regardless of experience or training, my survival odds plummeted.
Water: strictly purified same-day via capsules.
Food: canned or freeze-dried, no cooking fire.
Nutrients supplemented by pills.
Caffeine capsules were great pals.
Kept the mind sharp without coffee.
Avoiding exertion was key.
Unnecessary fatigue in unpredictable crises led to fatal errors.
Minimize hard tasks; overprotect against injury risks.
This routine: my life for nearly a year early war.
Sole labor: farming.
Hardy crops like leafy greens and potatoes, scattered in bunker nooks.
Rice fields? Wait and see local vibes.
Sole entertainment besides board: Legion faction broadcasts.
At dusk, soothing music and a pleasant female voice flowed like melody.
"Current temperature: 8°C above zero. Winds calm, waves quiet. Tomorrow's Chuncheon highs: 14°C; lows: 4°C.
National forces conducting power reconnaissance toward Seoul outskirts, largely abandoned by the Awakened puppet government.
Countless Seoul natives lost homes and hometowns, forced into unwanted exile."
As Incheon's chaos intensified, the announcer's criticism sharpened.
Not hooked on content—just nostalgic pre-war music and voice.
I focused on end-of-broadcast hazard info.
"...With thaws, winter-surviving mutations are rampaging. Wonju reports chicken mutation flocks.
They flock and prioritize humans like other mutations. Evacuate to safety and call for help upon sighting."
Mutation activity surging lately.
Spotted multiples before full melt.
Most ignored my turf for distant wastes, but still risky.
Especially flocks.
Yet humans remained top threat.
Early dawn: two trucks arrived at old U.S. base, unloaded armed men and two containers, headed south.
Containers bore red spray-painted marks I recognized.
Roaring big cat family beast.
King's emblem.
My King intel: board user "CrunchRoll."
Brutal thug traits standard for gangsters—no need to belabor.
That King guy seemed persistent.
Month-plus since missing transport plane, yet still pursuing.
Annoying personality confirmed.
Sending drones repeatedly before.
Watching their moves unnerved me.
"Hey! Over here! More!"
Gangsters bustled at U.S. base.
Not hunting—working.
Realized intent, but mind rejected.
Watch longer.
"..."
Sunset revealed truth.
Building a base.
King's thugs constructing evil lair right before my turf.
Unknown neighbors building next to bunker: classic doomsday dilemma, like "Father enters the bag" textbook example.
Variations exist, but armed army-scale gang? Unprecedented.
22 trained soldiers moved in next door.
No women like with prior raiders Defender and I handled; no sloppy guards.
Not impulsive refugees.
Post-transport drones: grasping situation and scouting for new base.
Trucks unloaded, they moved disciplined, fortifying bunker into impregnable fortress.
Half-collapsed tower: King's flag atop watchpost.
Fallen fences: motion sensors installed.
Day and night: vigilant patrols, ironclad security.
No ordinary raiders.
Elite from raider ranks, tight discipline.
Good: distance from U.S. base to mine muffles generator noise, chemical fumes.
But clear weather/moonlit nights: my smoke visible.
Why there?
Prime spot.
Nuke-ground zero early war: deathzone sans hazmat.
Now: U.S.-built A-grade bunker infrastructure.
Airport above tempted King.
Days ago: large transport landed/unloaded there.
Incheon gov intact? They'd hesitate.
Now collapsed: no issue.
Problem: next moves.
Trained troops: once base set, scout/th claim surroundings.
Including my area.
Coexistence? No happy end.
Pre-summer clash or one-sided hunt.
Foe strength tough.
Even with Defender: different league from ragtag raiders/refugees.
Need strong allies; Woo Min-hee unreachable.
"..."
What to do?
Gaze settled on laptop.
Facing unprecedented gang forward base on Viva! Apocalypse! Korean board: three options.
One: questions.
Posted on populous English board via translator.
English replies:
Not helpful.
Coldly, spot-on: egg vs. rock.
No real advice expected.
Ditched questions, to option two: aid request.
One candidate existed.
My pride balked.
Dies_irae69.
Unblocked, checked posts.
Still preaching group survival.
Asking him: pride-shattering.
Worse: darker than King in ways.
Only if no alternatives, must survive.
Not yet.
Third: absurd, but viable reverse.
Use board lurker CrunchRoll, gang boss.
Against him: tradition-proven "rumor."
Tap tap
Click
"..."
Bait cast.
Wait for bite.
Ignore trash.
Await one: Crunch.
Gut said he'd bite.
Infrequent commenter, but scans hot posts; ordered base there—would panic, ask.
No reaction that day.
Slept guarding U.S. base as usual.
Next day: message.
King, Sejong's monarch, bit.
Rumors exist everywhere.
From celeb gossip, stock whispers, conspiracy theories—drawing interest, burning out.
In warzone's info blackout, extreme danger/stress: sensational, despairing rumors proliferate.
China days: tons.
Monsters as intelligent rational servants; leader monsters commanding packs; monsters mimicking humans among us.
Awakened offspring monsters, etc.
My board rumor: tweaked China tale.
Rumors gain traction straddling false/true.
Some debunked; others proven.
Frontline folk's dilemma: can't dismiss.
Now everyone's frontline.
Me, King, Jeju unicorn—no exceptions.
Gangster traits: vaguely known.
Seem callous, killing minions casually—but value people most.
Power from strong gangster numbers, not law/support.
Trained/loyal? Priceless.
King won't risk core men; can't ignore even small rumor.
Bait hooked: deceive.
My rumors shared trait.
Beyond absurd ones: discussed ones feature "professor"-like authority.
Francis Bacon's idol of the theater—ancient fallacy, still scammer staple centuries later.
Thus: M. Cheng prof core/hero of my push.
How convincingly flesh him out: hooks King or I get hooked.
Mused on M. Cheng in dark bunker.
Mid-50s, graying black hair, lean bespectacled East Asian prof.
Cheng surname: Chinese descent.
M: Michael/Morris.
Obviously not "Um."
But briefly pondered Um-M expression.
Major: bioengineering, but mutation/monster authority.
No need fabricate papers/books.
No expertise; no functioning databases.
How add realism?
Eyed Failnet feature: wiki—AntWiki.
Failnet dying sans users, but servers whir in John_nenon's radiation darkroom; board accessible.
Thus AntWiki—pre-war copy—usable.
Still running.
Create M. Cheng entry.
"..."
Tap tap
Done. But not enough for sly King. Messaged Valentine.
Not certain here.
Valentine rarely comments; Incheon-based.
No reply? Pivot plans/excuses.
Luckily, quick response.
Alive.
This skinny glasses guy too.
Eyes oddly stung at nothing; kept typing.
Incheon hellscape confirmed.
One more.
"..."
Legion? Woo Min-hee fate worries.
But if first salvo missed, tenacious woman's odds high.
Believing her alive, to real purpose.
One person precious.
Now grasping meaning.
So many around died/left.
Valentine backdated M. Cheng like most: 3 years ago, pre-war freeze.
Thanked; messaged King/CrunchRoll.
Sent; outside.
Internet key, but can't slack watch with thugs building nearby.
Not all bad: they block randos.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Shot at distant cars to repel; threatened dark mutations away.
Coexist nice, but no.
One leaves to resolve.
Unless I join King.
Watch uneventful.
Thugs guarded, reinforced.
Much time blankly scanning empty wastes.
What for?
People provide tension/fun; them?
Afternoon: light volleyball.
Seemed fun; they enjoyed.
Short-lived.
Post-fun: bored faces to posts/bunkers.
Some did feared: scouting.
5 fully armed thugs probed surroundings.
First patrol: base perimeter only—but expanding soon to mine.
"..."
Hunched, watched.
Five.
Military formation, but 50m first strike mine; unaware, wipe in 10s.
Low odds, but force viable.
Sunset, no more activity: back, check net.
King obsessive?
Multiple messages for brief absence.
Woo Min-hee style.
Last: weird pic.
Full-body bunny mascot sexy pose.
"?"
Why send?
Creeped, replied.
His pattern: reply tomorrow.
Undressed, business, meal, back to PC.
Reply already.
Online now.
Chatty type.
Chats impressions nonstop—100%.
Hooked?
Video?
What?
"..."
Tough thug.
-Author's Note-
Double today!
Kkiyat hohou~!