The Bag That Demands a Deliverer
“Doesn’t matter who I’m looking for, it’s not Hoot.”
“Whatever happened to Hoot?”
“Don’t know.”
Silence. The man asked again.
“Did you touch the bag’s fingerprint recognition panel?”
He already knew I had. So he must have called the police. I don’t know what he used, but.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll warn you: you’d better not touch that part again. Wrapping the whole thing in cloth would be even better.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a bomb in the bag. One more touch from anyone who isn’t the owner and it goes off. The area within fifty meters will be gone clean.”
A moment ago the heavy briefcase had looked like ordinary paperwork. Now it looked like the ultimate high-speed one-way ticket out of this world.
“Smarter than I thought.”
“…What?”
“Dying of thirst, getting shot, tripping over a rusty nail stuck in my sole, crawling until I collapse from hunger, getting bitten by a zombie and groaning until I die and somehow wake up to keep walking… versus a clean explosion. Don’t you agree?”
Even among the dozens of endings I’d seen, that was the cleanest. Of course I didn’t want to die. Without a guarantee that death led to Heaven or even just a better reality, why bother?
“Yeah, dying flashy in the Human Non-Protected Zone is the way to go for a thief. Fyi, no matter how hard you try to open it, and no matter what detonation code I enter from this side, it’ll still blow. Still, I want to talk about hope for a second. When was the last time you used a tissue?”
“...What?”
“Bathroom? You ever stare down at your crotch because you’re worried a zombie might bite your balls off?”
“What about people like us—regular humans or infected loot scum? We track the prey for two or three days, get sleepy, then slit their throats in their sleep.”
“Comfortable sleep? You remember what that even is? Right now my body’s still intact, so I’ll survive. But I can’t live like that forever. Ever think about living somewhere comfortable?”
“No need. Safer is better than comfortable any day.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
“Then I’ll give you permanent residence rights inside a Human Protected Zone, plus a week’s worth of clean water and properly processed food for you and your crew.”
“Even if you’re infected? No problem. Anyone with residence rights gets treatment too. You won’t stay in the dorms, but you’ll get proper care in the isolation ward.”
Isolation ward? That’s just a chicken coop.
“…Really? Doesn’t matter if you’re a criminal or whatever?”
“Easy to erase the record. If you can’t erase it, we’ll just write a new story. And honestly, everyone’s too busy eating and surviving to care who killed whom or who scammed whom. They’re barely holding onto their own lives.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t free, right?”
“Of course not. This is a trade. You already guessed it. We need that bag badly. If we could, we’d have sent someone to fetch it from the Human Non-Protected Zone ourselves. But the government’s rules are strict. Zero exceptions on quarantine rules. We have to follow law and order, so we can’t enter the zone. But you can bring the bag to us.”
“Simple. We want the bag, you want rest. We both get what we need. Good deal, right?”
“Yeah. ‘Bag received. Rest in peace. Boom.’ That counts as rest, right? Wait. Hold on.
“You said this thing has a bomb, right? You want me to deliver a bomb?”
“Not just a bomb. There are other things inside. I figured you’d notice. A bomb is just the final fallback when there’s something even more valuable to protect.
“Sometimes one line of truth is more destructive than a hundred tons of explosives.”
The deal made zero sense.
If this bag was that important, why would anyone waste time wandering around the Human Non-Protected Zone?
If the info inside was worth a bomb and a tracker, why would they need to lure a complete street nobody like me with such a sweet offer?
“If it’s that precious, how did it end up here?”
The guy answered as if the whole thing was nothing.
“We’ve been tracking it too. Can’t say more. Don’t overthink it. Just focus on our deal. Oh, one more thing.”
“What?”
“Officially the government is neither approving nor denying it, but secretly, behind closed doors, they’re recruiting first-round antibody clinical trial participants. Very small numbers, completely off the books.
“Normally new drugs go through Pre-Clinical testing on animals, then human trials. But this time, because it’s so important, we’re jumping straight to humans.
“We only have enough sample material to make a few doses. Nobody knows if it works. Even the experts think it’s either useless or actively bad.
“But still… if there’s even a miracle, at least we have to be ready.
“That’s why powerful politicians, military brass, and billionaires are lining up. They’re throwing power and money at the people they care about.”
“So?”
“I’ll put your name and your crew’s names on the pre-list. Not the final list, but you’ll be on the pre-list.”
Antibodies.
The development roadmap had always mentioned antibodies. But in every previous version, antibodies never actually appeared.
Even if they showed up in this update, the developers had said, “Developing antibodies in a zombie apocalypse is final-content-only. Extremely difficult, long, and painful mission.” So whatever they made would probably be completely worthless.
Of course there were antibody and cure items in the user-created mode. But even while half-asleep installing the mod, I never touched those items.
So the antibodies he’s talking about are either a bluff or completely fake. If anything, it’s better if they do nothing at all.
But the conditions are too perfect for fooling someone who doesn’t know the truth.
You can live comfortably, get infected treated, and even get antibody shots. It’s the kind of story that would make anyone abandoned in the Human Non-Protected Zone jump at it.
They already know exactly what the people here want most. That’s why they’re using that desperation to manipulate us.
One bag delivered, and the fairness feels completely off.
This bastard… isn’t he?
“Still not sleeping, right?”
“Nope. Just spaced out for a second. You’re really giving me this?”
“Totally understand. Hard to believe, I know. It sounds too good. But I and we are the kind of people who have that kind of power.
“For example… how about a temporary identity card that lets you walk around the Human Non-Protected Zone legally?
“By principle no one should be in the Non-Protected Zone, but every government department has its own headaches. If a government agency grants permission, they’re pretty flexible.
“So show them that, and no cop, soldier, or quarantine officer will blow up your head on the next checkpoint.
“Of course this only works at close range. Long-range shooting does nothing. I’ll send it via text message.”
Temporary identity card. Familiar name.
In the game I used to pass through the Control Zone all the time. Even though the world was ruined, the zone ran on its own system, so electricity and water were still there, and there were plenty of high-end goods lying around.
The problem was that while the Control Zone itself was common, getting inside required an ID or security card. A temporary ID only let you enter the first floor. Higher-grade cards let you go deeper.
But even the temporary ID was rare—only one every twenty minutes. Proper security cards were almost fantasy, sold on the black market for huge prices.
And this guy is offering me exactly that temporary ID right now. No reason to refuse. Just…
“It’s a little inconvenient. This phone is locked with a password. That’s why I can talk to you.”
“Oh? Then I’ll hang up for a sec. Before that, what’s your name?”
My character name had always been the same. Easy to say, no matter if I was Korean or foreign.
“Yohan. And yours?”
“Hans. Call me that.”
The call ended. The screen flashed “Initializing…” Then “Welcome.”
Format complete. Still “Connecting… Call Dropped.”
The phone rang again. The other side’s number was clearly displayed.
“If you need anything, call this number. I already sent a message. Check it.”
Ding.
A bright notification tone.
---
**TEMPORARY PASS**
Name: Yohan
This person is performing duties for the National Gendarmerie. Please cooperate with their requests. Valid until midnight April 30th. Signed: Virginia Helford, 8th National Gendarmerie Commander, Elza Independent Democratic Republic
---
It was a well-made fake.
It looked legit. Barcode was even stamped on it, and the format was trying hard to match. Anyone who didn’t know better would have fallen for it.
Of course it was fake.
Real temporary IDs included birth date and gender. This thing was overflowing with malice—anyone who just looked at it in the Control Zone barcode slot without thinking would get shot by an automated turret and die.
I knew because during my newbie days I fell for the trap and died without realizing.
This guy was definitely a con artist.
The same went for the bag. Maybe it wasn’t just a bomb. A con artist would value it as precious, but wouldn’t want to touch it himself. If something needed someone else’s hands, especially in a zombie apocalypse, what exactly was it?
“Where should I go with this bag?”
“Naturally, the nearest Human Protected Zone. We’ll meet you there. According to the map, Hampton City’s outskirts are closest. Know where that is? Can you get there?”
My suspicion had hardened into certainty. So that’s how it was. Bastard. Trying to trick someone.
“Of course I know. North, about four days by road. When the roads were still usable. I don’t know how long it’ll take. Once you arrive, contact me. Until then, turn off the phone and save the battery.”
“Take care, Yohan. Waiting for your call.”
The line went dead.
“Good.”
I shouldered the bag first. Meals could wait. It was already afternoon. I needed to find a safe place before sunset.
Not just the bag. This thing had a tracking device on a small radio tower and was worth more than a bomb.
Something that should never exist in this world. But from another angle, that was exactly why it was so attractive to someone. I could sell it for a fortune.
“I wonder if I can find a buyer.”
I loaded the bag into the front basket of the bike. A briefcase’s weight was easy to carry.
The pink backpack with the cartoon bunny on it had to go on my back. As a big adult man, it would draw too much attention, but I couldn’t risk being seen by a zombie without something covering me.
Finally I checked the knife. I scraped it against the front door. The blade was sharp. While I was at it, I chipped off a small piece. I strapped it back to my belt.
Drrrring. I tapped it playfully. Under the slightly chilly April sunlight and clear blue sky, I pedaled away from the house still spewing smoke.
Toward a silence broken by no birdsong.
---