Missing
“Have you seen a guy with artificial muscles and his crew? The one with the especially thick thighs.”
Ah, damn it. I knew they wouldn’t just let me walk past.
The big guy grabbed me as I tried to slip by, and the moment he spoke, the other two stopped dead and turned back around.
Dragging this out wouldn’t do me any favors, but covering an easily verified truth with a straight-up lie would only invite suspicion. Better to twist the truth just enough than invent something to dodge the moment.
“Oh, that fucking muscle-zombie bastard? He was with you guys?”
One of the big guy’s eyebrows shot up as I turned and spat the words. The other two flinched at their shoulders like the description hit something. What kind of reaction was that? Didn’t feel like anger or wariness, exactly.
“Zombie?”
“Yeah, zombie. I ducked into that apartment to scavenge whatever I could grab, and the bastard came flying out of the fourth floor. Nearly got me killed.”
Their eyes moved from my face to the axe strapped to my left arm. The thick black zombie blood mixed with still-fresh red stains backed up every word.
“Was it just him? What about the bag?”
How far were these assholes going to dig? Did they want me to describe the color of his underwear too? Not that I’d looked, or cared. When I let the silence stretch instead of answering right away, we just stood there staring each other down.
“…”
“…Alright. Sorry for prying so hard. We’ve got our own reasons. Just answer that and we’ll leave you alone.”
They blinked first. With their numbers they could’ve easily leaned on me, so the sudden deference still smelled wrong—but it didn’t feel aimed at me personally, so I gave them something.
“No bag. Took me long enough just putting that one down. I scraped together what I could from the lower floors and called it good. No idea about anyone else. Maybe they’re among the zombies I already dealt with. Or not.”
If they still tried to check for a bag after all that, I was ready to bolt. I’d already slipped in the implication that I hadn’t seen a single living soul inside the building besides zombies. Anyone with half a brain would catch it.
“Fine. Understood. We won’t keep you.”
Whether he actually bought it or just noticed me casually adjusting my grip on the axe, the big guy nodded like he’d gotten the message. The others looked ready to push further, but he jerked his chin at them and turned toward the apartment.
“Hyung, why’d you just let him go?”
“…”
After the run-in with Axe Hand, the three of them stepped into the apartment. The guy on the right asked the question. They’d come as Gym faction muscle to track the group that had cleaned out their warehouse and run. Why free the one guy who might actually know something?
“We could’ve just grabbed him and checked if we needed to. What’s so scary about one guy that you go all soft?”
The big man they called hyung frowned at his younger brother’s words. He was about to answer when the man in the cap on his left kicked the younger one hard in the side.
Thud!
“Ah!”
“You crazy bastard. We’re here to find people, not play bandit.”
“Yeah, but—”
Rare anger from the capped man made the younger one flinch, but he still didn’t get it and kept pressing.
“He’s alone. Three of us could take him, at least—”
Looking thoroughly done, the capped man peppered the younger one’s ass with more kicks while he talked.
“Take him and what? Pin him down and ask where the supplies are? What if we fuck it up and he runs, or one of us gets hurt? Three of us jumping a guy with an axe—yeah, that’ll go great, you fucking idiot. And… haah…”
He took a breath, pressing his fingers hard into the bridge of his nose like he was trying to crush the irritation.
“Axe Hand especially—you don’t want to make an enemy of that guy. Once he holds a grudge he comes at you no matter what. On top of that, Big Brother likes him. You start shit for no reason and get your ass reamed for it—you ready for that?”
“Big Brother likes him? First I’ve heard.”
“There’s something there. I don’t know the details, but our side’s been trying to recruit him. Quiet for now, but…”
“Kang Hyeonseok.”
The big man who’d been listening in silence finally spoke the name under his breath. It belonged to one of the people they were hunting.
“Yeah?”
“If Kang Hyeonseok turned zombie, could you take him alone?”
The most capable, well-liked man in the Gym—former baseball player with artificial muscles packed into every limb. Hard to picture him as a zombie, but if he was…
“…You believe that guy, hyung? What if he was lying?”
“Doesn’t seem like the type to lie about something we could verify just by going upstairs. Not if he didn’t want extra suspicion.”
“Well, yeah, but still…”
They fidgeted with the machetes at their belts. Kang Hyeonseok himself was strong, but the people he’d led out weren’t much of a threat. Three was the right number for him. One-on-one against a zombified version, though… that was another story.
“We can check right now. Stay sharp. Draw your blades.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, hyung.”
They climbed the stairs, drawing the keenly sharpened machetes as they went.
“Fuck, that was tense.”
Even so, three-on-one would’ve been rough—especially with knives on their hips. If they’d jumped me I was ready to run like hell, but thankfully they backed off. Saved me another ten-klick fun run like last time.
“It’s me.”
“Yeah, Siwoo.”
I confirmed my identity with the middle-aged guy watching from the second-floor window of the building that led up to the Rooftop Market. Honestly, the axe on the left arm and the coat that looked like a rag pile were enough for anyone to recognize me. Convenient most days—until you did something noticeable and the rumor mill spun up instantly.
“Oh right—people from the Church came by today.”
“The Church? Why? It’s not trading season yet.”
The guy fell into step with me on the stairs and tossed it out casually. The Rooftop Market ran regular trade cycles with other groups. They produced the most food, and everyone needed to eat, so goods moved both ways—but a Church visit shouldn’t be due yet.
“Not trade. Something serious, looks like. About Baek’s place, I think…”
“Baek-ajumma…”
A personal visit from another faction instead of a scheduled trade sat wrong. With no formal leader, Baek-ajumma was the closest thing the rooftop group had. Beyond her there was only the old hardware-store guy, or Hocheol-hyung when it came to machines.
“As long as trade’s fine I don’t care, but—”
“I’m just saying in case. Mood’s heavy. Don’t go poking Baek’s household for no reason.”
“Who’s poking anyone?”
He laughed and needled me some more. I couldn’t even snap back properly—just matched the laugh and kept climbing.
Creeeak—
The door still squealed the same as always. The second I stepped through I felt exactly what he’d meant: the Rooftop Market was restless. No shouting, no clashing steel, but the air was a powder keg waiting for a spark. And I was walking straight toward it.
Instead of Baek-ajumma’s usual bar table, the tent beside it had been opened. Baek-ajumma and the hardware-store grandpa sat on a sofa. Facing them stood a man and a woman, and the man was a face I knew well.
“What the—Yohan-hyung?”
“Siwoo?”
We traded names in mutual recognition for half a second before Baek-ajumma, looking thoroughly displeased, slammed her hand down on the table in front of the sofa.
“Cheon Siwoo. Wait outside. We’re talking.”
“Tch. Fine.”
I obediently went out and sat at the bar table. Nearby kids whispered while staring, but nothing sharp enough to bother me, so I just glared out over the ruined city beyond the rooftop.
“We’ll be going, then.”
After a long wait—long enough that I’d started lightly scraping the table with the axe—the woman who’d been with Yohan-hyung came out of the tent. When I looked over, Yohan-hyung caught my eye, gave a small nod, then mimed smoking with his fingers to his lips and walked off.
“…So what’s it this time?”
“That’s my line, ajumma.”
After the two left, ajumma came out of the tent, sat across from me, and took a few deep breaths like she was trying to cool off. Then she shot me a look that could kill and shook her head at my reply.
“None of your business. It’s personal.”
“Personal enough that the Church’s top guy comes in person?”
That made her pause. She stared at the ceiling, tapping the table with a fingertip, then scraping it with a nail—clearly turning something over hard—before looking at me again.
“…You know him?”
“Yeah, some. We’ve known each other a while. Not complete strangers. Close enough, I guess.”
She eyed me like she still didn’t fully trust it, but we’d known each other long enough that she finally let out a heavy breath and started talking.
“My son… they say he might be dead.”
The words hit hard enough that I blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“You had a son? You never once mentioned that.”
“You little shit—”
“What? I thought you only had a daughter. You never said a word, and you never said he was with the Church either!”
She barked at me to shut up and listen, then smoothed her bangs back with one hand, scrubbed her face a few times like a dry wash, steadied her breathing, and explained.
“My son and I… we didn’t get along. Cut ties completely. After everything went to hell there was no way to contact him, so I figured he was already dead. Never imagined he’d been at the Church.”
A full year—half of it with the Rooftop Market established and trading with plenty of groups—and they’d never crossed paths. Strange. The thought crossed my mind that maybe the son had known and deliberately steered clear.
“Then… haah… he went out to secure supplies and never came back. Took several people with him. Fourth day now.”
“Four days…”
Unless they were the type of lunatics who abandoned a solid base to camp out in the open for fun, four days exposed meant dead from a survivor’s point of view. Crossing into another district was possible in theory, but the roads that could manage it weren’t in any shape for travel.
“Just checking—this son of yours didn’t have artificial muscles or anything, right?”
“What? No. I never saw him after contact cut off, but before that he hadn’t gotten any implants. Just a regular office worker. Most people don’t.”
I finally relaxed a little, propped my chin on the arm resting on the table. Hearing her description, the muscle-bound zombie I’d killed today had been so freshly turned that a cold worry had crawled up my spine—but her answer let me breathe easier for now.
“Nothing major. Just that the zombie I put down today was one of those. Of the ones I handled, he was the only one that looked recently turned.”
“…Alright. If that’s all…”
Truth was, a lingering unease still sat in my gut about the mutilated corpses back in the apartment. I’d ask Yohan-hyung about those later.
For now I cut the conversation short, giving Baek-ajumma space she clearly needed, traded the water I’d brought for some vegetables, and left.
“Hyung.”
“Been a while.”
I came down from the Rooftop Market and found Yohan-hyung not far away, sitting on a wrecked car with a cigarette in his mouth. A woman sat beside him, smoking too.
“Want one?”
“No, I’m good. But…”
The woman held a cigarette out to me with easy familiarity. I waved it off. Helmet still on—maybe she just wanted a look at my face? I let the sentence trail off while glancing between her and Yohan-hyung with a clear who’s this? energy. He gave a short laugh and answered simply.
“Girlfriend. Somehow it just… happened.”
“Huh.”
I let out a dry laugh at the word. Sure, babies get born even in war, but Yohan-hyung? I never saw that coming. He wasn’t a real man of the cloth, but still—there was a vibe. Atmosphere. Looking at him now, though—sharp eyes, long hair tied back tight, battered priest’s robes, leaning against a junked car while smoking—he actually looked pretty cool. And hell, when I thought about it, the romance made perfect sense.
“Call me Hayun. Should I call you Axe Hand?”
“Siwoo. Cheon Siwoo. Seriously, why does everyone keep calling me that?”
“See? The way he flips out when you say it is hilarious.”
The two of them laughed at my expense for a moment. Then Yohan-hyung’s smile faded. He flicked the spent butt to the ground and opened the real conversation.
“People are going out… and vanishing.”