Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Premonition
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It had been a while since I'd picked up a TV broadcast.
The president was apparently about to make an official statement.
I didn't listen properly.
The sewer pipe was clogged, so I had to keep going in and out of the bunker to clear it.
I didn't need to listen closely anyway.
"The government relocating to Jeju Island is not true."
It was bullshit from the get-go.
I left the TV on and started working on the pipe.
The main culprit clogging the pipe was leaves and trash piled up around the sewage outlet.
Trash was one thing, but where the hell had the leaves drifted in from?
"The recent frequent takeoffs of military aircraft are not to move government assets to Jeju Island, but due to threats from Japan. Three days ago, the Japanese Self-Defense Force Navy sank a humanitarian refugee ship carrying 150 South Korean citizens that had departed from Busan, without warning shots..."
I caught bits of the broadcast as I went back and forth between the bunker and outside.
The sewer pipe and the bunker were quite a distance apart.
A small stream ran around the low hill where the main bunker was located, but with low flow and too many prying eyes, I'd installed the sewage outlet farther away near the river.
It had turned out to be a smart decision in the end, but it was a pain at times like this.
"While it's true that some government assets were moved to Jeju Island, this was handled unilaterally by Lee Sang-hun, director of the Information Strategy Bureau of the National Crisis Committee..."
I considered turning off the TV there, but who knew when I'd get another broadcast like this, so I left it on and resumed work.
I installed a wire mesh over the outlet for reinforcement and ran some water through it.
Clean as could be.
While I was at it, I cleaned the septic tank too.
It involved sucking up the sludge settled at the bottom with a hose and pump and sending it elsewhere.
Even as the pump slurped up my waste, I listened to the broadcast in snippets.
"The government will release its stockpiles within three days to begin unrestricted rations, and will also conduct emergency free health checks for children and youths. Contrary to some media reports and rumors, our government holds three years' worth of stockpiles for major consumer goods, including food and medical supplies..."
I'd considered just dumping straight into the stream without a separate septic tank, but human shit smells brutal, and if sediment builds up around the outlet, it basically announces there's someone living here. So I'd gotten help from my mentor, John_nenon, to install it.
Of course, I regretted it every cleaning time, but once I got through the tough bit, it was a wise choice.
My bunker wasn't a temporary shelter—it was where I'd live until I died.
"Ah! Shit!"
Some shit water splashed onto my mouth.
I spat out a curse and headed back to the bunker, where a warm voice greeted me.
"Our government will forever stand with its people."
I turned off the broadcast at that line.
No point wasting electricity, and nothing more worth hearing.
Still, I got something out of it.
Three days.
At least three days of quiet.
Though it felt like nothing but bad vibes.
Day one.
I patrolled around the bunker, checking its condition.
I focused on inspecting the claymore line connecting the main bunker to the decoy bunker, testing each one individually.
No duds, but the camouflage had worn off in two spots.
I could've brushed it off as minor, but in a crisis, that tiny difference could mean life or death.
I meticulously recamouflaged the claymores, then added new explosives in front of the secret entrance from the decoy bunker to the main one.
Not strong enough to blow the door off, but enough to sweep away any intruders loitering inside like before, with just the push of a button.
Behind the secret door, I set up death traps and cover only I could use, preparing for the worst.
In the afternoon, I processed the meat I'd prepped in the dehydrator into preserved rations.
What I was making was something called pemmican: dry the meat thoroughly, grind it fine in a blender, mix with dried cranberries, and bind with fat.
Decent shelf life and packed with nutrition, they say.
I had no immediate plans to eat it.
As preserved food, it couldn't beat canned goods in efficiency, and my tastes were a bit picky.
It was insurance for if the freezers or generator failed.
But as the Colonel Choi incident showed, things don't always go as planned.
Who knew when a second or third Colonel Choi might invade my turf?
Winter was coming soon, but better safe than sorry.
With the three-day buffer, I watched some videos and gave it a shot. Thanks to the chef's skilled touch, it was surprisingly edible.
But without the preservation angle, I wouldn't recommend it.
Way too salty.
So I squeezed out time to post it on the community.
No likes, but the fresh content drew a decent number of comments.
Even Human Hunter, who was uncharacteristically idle, chimed in.
The moment I saw that, my face stiffened.
"?"
What the hell was this guy's deal?
No way... he was one of those guys.
The kind who likes men...
Unfriend him? Nah, that might bring our reunion sooner. Better hold off.
With a faint chill, I stored thirty-six servings of pemmican in a cool spot, loaded with plenty of preservatives.
Day two. I circled the decoy bunker, maintaining firing lanes.
For each gun port and cover point, I aimed with live weapons, preemptively clearing anything an enemy might use for cover.
I'd done this before the war, but the environment had changed a lot since then.
Especially those damn stubborn weeds.
I spent the day hacking them down with a sickle, reshaping my territory into my own.
For all this grueling work, my stance hadn't changed: combat was the last resort.
I was alone, facing endless enemies.
And the enemies were getting stronger—a risk factor.
When a country collapses, soldiers turn into the most dangerous group, as seen in India and China.
Doubt there were many soldier seats on planes to Jeju.
Kim Daram said as much.
Not many spots for soldiers on Jeju.
Right on cue, a transport plane roared overhead.
I wondered if Kim Daram was on it.
Seemed about time for her to go.
That night, after soaking in a hot bath to melt away the day's fatigue and chugging preserved milk, I logged into the community.
The top user lately was that reporter.
Living in Seoul, delivering real-time updates on the crumbling city—how could he not be popular?
...
Sure enough, the hot posts felt like the reporter's personal board now.
Like John_nenon in his prime.
One of that reporter's posts hit me hard.
The airport was swarmed with people.
Desperate to board planes.
Military and police blocking them, but some breached the runway, blocking transports and begging to be taken aboard. Angry batons rained down.
No deaths, but blood from cracked skulls pooling on the gray-white concrete—it reminded me of a monster killing my comrade and bathing in the blood.
Third day after the president's address.
Under sunny rays, I laid out blankets and a folding table to inspect weapons and ammo, sharpening axe blades.
A peaceful, quiet day.
The community's vibe matched my lazy haze.
Calm before the storm.
Everyone sharing mundane daily life, but eyes on Seoul.
There was a minor commotion midway.
Human Hunter posted a hand pic.
Long, pale fingers—pretty enough, but the sturdy build and bulging veins screamed healthy adult male.
My hunch was right.
Human Hunter was a guy.
All the talk of female silhouettes went dead quiet once he proved it.
Only one diehard user kept up the weak argument.
No one backed her.
Even the mighty Human Hunter seemed to hit a snag.
The guy who'd silently posted cynical facts and kill confirms was airing trouble on the main board, uncharacteristically.
I clicked it.
-Seeking 5.56mm rounds. More the better. Got plenty of canned goods, batteries, clothes, oil, etc. (No meds). Trade via DM.
P.S. Worried about me 'cause I kill a lot? I don't touch board users.
Makes sense—he'd burn through ammo killing that many.
Even his trades screamed unconventional thinking in this mess.
But this guy was my internet buddy.
"...Ha."
He wasn't a real threat to me.
High combat ability, sure, but that's it.
In the wild with variables, prep and luck would decide, but in a controlled scenario, I'd rarely lose.
Just... didn't vibe.
Everyone's got that one movie genre they hate.
Mine's horror.
Life's horror enough—no need.
Human Hunter was like a horror flick.
And he kept popping up.
His words and actions so far suggested he wasn't a liar.
What to do?
Maybe the answer was set from the start.
Defender and I were cut from the same cloth.
His requested meetup spot was unexpected: an amusement park near Yongin.
Direct hit from chemical munitions during the war—thoroughly abandoned. Meet nearby.
Not thrilled.
That area's a gray zone, no government control for ages.
Nearby, territorial monsters—not wanderers, settlers. Safe if you stay away, but the vacuum drew all sorts of criminals.
No reported mutations, but random gunshots scare me most on trips.
Meeting Defender jacked up that risk.
Had to hesitate.
No reply for a bit, then he messaged.
Risky, but better me going.
Didn't want to reveal my turf.
Human Hunter might bluff, but my spot wasn't easy to find.
We messaged back and forth, plotting the meetup.
High-risk zone, so we mapped routes in 100m increments.
That wrapped the last normal day before the storm.
The next day, everyone awaited the reporter's next finger update.
I refreshed blankly, a weird mix of tension and anticipation.
...
...
My peaceful heart's home, as always.
Afternoon hit, and the reporter finally posted.
The result blew past everyone's expectations.
Government kept its word.
Distributing food as promised, supplying meds and such.
Half relief, half emptiness. I stretched.
We'd crested the hurdle somehow.
A transport roared over the bunker.
Maybe air out the bedding for once.
As I sorted bedding, the K-walkie-talkie suddenly blared a sharp tone.
Personal ID: DARAM
Kim Daram.
"..."
Someone said bad hunches always come true because people don't count the good ones.
But how often do people even get to count good hunches?
A life where you could count good hunches...
"Senior. How's the bunker? Room for three, including me?"
...might just be a happy one.