Chapter 203
Chapter 203
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 203
Chapter Title: 91. Breakdown (1)
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Accidents happen without warning.
The generator had broken down.
I realized it while wrapping up my ordinary daily routine and trying to start the generator to recharge the batteries.
The generator wouldn't turn on.
"……."
When I discovered that the start button—which had never once let me down—was no longer responding, the emotion I felt wasn't fear or panic. It was more like a sense of inevitability, the feeling that this day had finally come.
I'd always known it would break down eventually.
But I'd figured it would hold out for at least five years.
There could be any number of reasons for the premature failure, but it was probably the synthetic fuel I'd been using lately.
They said it burned most like diesel, but no matter how advanced Korea's chemical engineering was, they couldn't make a perfect substitute.
My tough old motorcycle might not complain about a slight change in its drink, but the heart of my bunker might not be so forgiving.
After a brief moment of silence, I snapped to attention and checked the manual in the metal basket next to the generator.
According to it, there were several reasons the engine might not start: a faulty control circuit, starter motor failure, broken preheat resistor, poor fuel injection, and so on.
I flipped to the troubleshooting checklist for failures and went through the self-repair steps one by one as instructed.
"Batteries fine, starter motor good, no coil breaks, nozzle pipe okay……."
The repairs started as the sun set and dragged on past midnight.
I wanted to sleep, but the generator was too important.
If it stopped, I couldn't recharge the batteries. No batteries meant no internet—and no internet meant the end of nearly all my cultural pastimes.
I did have a small generator for impoverished doomsday preppers, but that was just a stopgap.
It couldn't even dream of powering the AC, let alone the motion detectors and security systems I'd installed throughout my territory.
Above all, for me to survive long-term in this territory, its heart had to keep beating.
Clank clank.
Clang! Clang!
I downed two caffeine capsules and pulled an all-nighter.
It was night, but the work was so grueling that sweat poured off me like rain. Finally, I found the culprit.
The problem was with a part called the shutdown solenoid.
The manual said it controlled fuel inflow to the generator via electrical signals, handling shutdowns—but it wasn't responding to signals.
Figuring out if it was the control circuit or the solenoid itself took a long time.
I inspected it directly, read the manual, and referenced the included repair videos.
It was around dawn when I confirmed the part itself was faulty.
"Whew."
I hadn't slept a wink, let alone eaten properly.
I climbed down the ladder to the food storage at the very bottom of the bunker sections.
I'd stopped using the freezer since last year, but the mini-fridge still ran off the battery power.
I chugged some chilled corn silk tea I'd made myself, grabbed a pack of Femicon from the fridge, and climbed back up to the main bunker.
I eat at the table—or more precisely, in front of the computer.
I didn't used to have that habit, but living this way—beating loneliness with the internet—had made it second nature.
I dissolved the Femicon in lukewarm water and forced it down with some liquid.
Honestly, it didn't taste good.
I just ate it.
Today was for protein and fats.
For dessert, I scooped a spoonful of jam I'd made last year.
After a short break, I headed to the garage to hunt for the part.
I had at least three spares for every consumable in my generator.
Including three shutdown solenoids.
But.
"Huh?"
They didn't match the specs.
How was that possible?
I checked the manual.
No match.
I remembered the salesman's attitude when I bought the generator.
When I said I wanted spares for storage, he recited his company's superior A/S capabilities like a recording and insisted I didn't need them.
When I kept pushing, he sighed, made me wait thirty minutes, and brought out some exchange parts—which now seemed like the wrong ones.
"……Ha."
Anger surged to my head, but there was nothing I could do about it.
Getting mad at someone who might've died in the war wasn't smart.
The silver lining was that my generator was from the most popular company in Korea.
When choosing, my top priorities were the specs I wanted, followed by popularity.
Popular meant parts would be easier to find.
But I wouldn't be trading with people.
Even I had zero knowledge or interest in this stuff before setting up my generator.
How many people in Korea would know about maintaining diesel generators mainly used in SMEs with around a hundred employees? The answer was obvious: not many.
Few people knew how to handle machinery, and even fewer would stock parts for factory-scale generators, not small portable ones.
My plan was scavenging, Defender's specialty—and one he enjoyed.
My generator model was common in industrial parks, the kind SMEs with about a hundred workers ran often.
Scavengers had ransacked everywhere in the first one or two years of war, grabbing anything valuable.
But they went for portable, immediately usable personal items.
No matter how aggressive, they wouldn't touch heavy factory machinery.
Taking it apart was one thing; finding a buyer was another.
My spot was a bit remote, but true to the capital region that swallowed half Korea's population, there were several industrial complexes within a day's trip.
I planned to scout one or two.
Bzzzzt—
While picking complexes on the computer, the lights went out.
The batteries had finally died.
I pulled out the portable generator from the garage, fired it up, and charged the essentials.
Vroom— Vroom—
Starting a small generator was a pain.
Skilled folks could do it easily, but I was still a newbie at it.
After yanking the starter cord countless times, I got it running.
Vrooooom—
It seemed simple, but it wasn't.
Without power, nothing lit up my bunker.
I'd recently smoothed things over with Kim Daram, reopened the main bunker entrance I'd buried under dirt—so if I left the door open, some light might leak in. But that was just the entrance; no power turned my bunker into a tomb.
While the small generator ran, I picked my scouting spots.
Two places.
One was a nearby small complex. Scavengers had been all over it, but it was easy to reach.
The other was farther, southwest of my territory—former Gold Pack land.
A pristine zone untouched by scavengers.
I geared up: guns, equipment, food.
Today's rations were MREs Rebecca had shared with me before.
I wondered how Su and Rebecca were doing.
Thinking of the mother and daughter for a moment, I mounted my motorcycle and headed to the first site.
Beep- Beep- Beep-
I always brought the Geiger counter when scouting around my territory.
Radiation was long gone, but just in case.
The industrial complex looked rough.
It seemed intact from afar, but the nuke's aftermath had scorched the insides.
The Geiger said it was safe to enter, but the factories looked like they'd never had anything worth taking from the start.
I found a few discolored generators, checked for the part I needed, tested with a circuit tester.
"……Tch."
Dead.
All of them, dead.
No surprise; it wasn't far from ground zero. Electrical gear wouldn't survive.
I'd gotten off easy with the nuke, so I'd underestimated it.
Without prep, it was apocalyptic devastation.
China, with its vast land but dense population, got hit hardest—worse than Taiwan, which took a direct shower of nukes.
Taiwan and China were ghost countries now, but anyway, nothing here.
I gave up quick and headed to the next spot.
The Gold territory candidate had been off-limits since right after the war.
Strictly speaking, that forbidden zone was a minor miracle of coincidences.
The Gold Pack were untouchable mutations, sure—but the area lacked strategic value. It wasn't a battlefield, not on major city routes from Seoul, a bit too far.
Not worth the effort to clear.
So it became a beast paradise, and life's reproductive power was impressive.
Animals everywhere.
Familiar ones like roe deer and wild boars, plus feral dogs, cats—even a herd of wild horses.
The horses grazing calmly had long legs and balanced builds; probably ex-racehorses.
No idea how they survived that brutal winter when people were dying, but nature's vitality, I guess.
The giant dogs that roamed these plains were gone.
Gold was dead, its pups followed the pack elsewhere.
With an overwhelming, ruthless hunter around, no room left for mutation dogs.
The complex I wanted was near a Chinese army remnant outpost.
Not quite controlled territory, but patrol range.
Dragon's abandoned bunker was close by.
The bent, rusting sign confirmed I'd hit the right place.
Factory buildings of various shapes loomed in the distance.
This was today's main target.
Knowing about the nearby Chinese outpost, I parked the motorcycle far off, hid it, and approached on foot.
No signs of factory operation.
No human or monster traces either.
But caution never hurt.
Unlike old downtowns, industrial zones were laid out in neat grids: straight roads, parceled lots sold or leased to companies.
Straight roads were great for driving, but for a gunman, they meant wide-open fields of fire.
Moving carelessly here was suicidal.
Instead of poking into every building like a dumb scavenger, I searched by expanding my sensory territory.
First building reached.
Even beyond Gold land, the factory looked looted at least twice.
Trash everywhere, broken windows, machinery smashed by hand.
Scavengers hit dorms, cafeterias, offices hardest.
Production areas were in better shape.
No parts for my model.
Expensive German generators, worthless now—short-circuited post-war, fire damage.
Sprinklers worked early on, so no big blaze.
Strikeout, but I'd secured a safe zone here.
At the entrance, I scanned surroundings.
Focusing on sniper spots far off and cover for the next move.
Hunters like us mimicking soldiers might seem ridiculous, but constant civilian potshots made it habit.
In known turf, fine—but unknown hostile areas demanded extra care.
Bang—
The gunshot rang as I searched the fourth factory and moved to the next.
A bullet whistled past my head, ricocheted off the wall.
I instantly gauged the shooter's position and hugged the concrete wall I'd already half-used as cover.
"……."
Incredible marksmanship.
A slight miss, and I'd be a corpse on the ground.
Luck helped save me, but mostly my habit of eyeing sniper spots and using cover while moving.
The anxious sniper spotted my momentary gap and fired—and missed.
Thus, an unwanted fight began.
First: assess enemy strength.
Not easy under unilateral fire, but not impossible.
Gauge from follow-ups and movement.
My gut said no large ambush.
Squad size at most—a small group.
I bolted full speed to the safe zone—the cleared factory.
No follow-up shots, but that didn't end the fight.
Two choices: head back, hit another complex—or neutralize the sniper.
The latter.
The generator tied to my territory's survival.
Machinery here was intact so far.
Too much to lose by bailing.
From the window, using broken glass and a mirror, I pinpointed the sniper.
Two possible spots. Both workable.
Click—
I watched the mirror reflection, waiting for enemy shadow.
Whiiiirrr—
A drone's wings hummed on the wind.
Small drone.
It approached the building, circled outside.
What to do.
Shoot it down?
Easy.
But use it?
Whiiiirrr—
The drone entered the building.
It buzzed corners, hunting my position.
But it wouldn't find me.
"……."
I was on the iron stairs to the roof.
Drone cams point forward, slightly down, or straight down—rarely up.
They're for monitoring below, after all.
Whiiiirrr—
Unless wide-angle from afar, the pilot wouldn't spot me.
Sure enough, it left without finding me—and soon a figure appeared on the street.
Chinese army.
A woman.