The Culprit Everyone Expected
The path down to ten floors below, where they'd secured as much safety as possible in advance.
Out of concern for any unforeseen dangers, the group descending the stairs exchanged no words at all.
Only the sound of footsteps and ragged breathing filled the air between them.
But the two at the very rear were a little different.
"If you're tired, you can let me down."
"Huff... I'm fine. I go jogging regularly anyway."
Arin, riding on Junwoo's back as they descended the stairs, kept suggesting he put her down out of embarrassment and guilt.
But he brushed it off, saying it was nothing compared to what she'd done for them.
Maybe because they seemed like the only ones of similar age, or perhaps he just liked her—either way, Junwoo whispered softly to Arin on his back the whole way down.
"Honestly, I figured you were around my age, or maybe even younger."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But now... Ah, was that rude?"
"Nah, not really? I don't sweat that stuff."
When she casually mentioned she'd already finished her military service and graduated from a four-year university ages ago, Junwoo did the math in his head and let out a disbelieving chuckle.
'Military's minimum service plus four years of college... that's at least late twenties?!'
There was a slight misunderstanding, but the shock of that truth seemed to clear his hazy mind, the warmth and softness pressing against his back sharpening his focus.
Grinning playfully, he asked,
"So you're not a student after all... Uh, wait, don't tell me you're already married...?"
"I'm single as hell?!"
"Haha!"
Before tackling the next ten floors, the Anomaly Response and Management Agency crew took a moment to check their gear.
They set up signalers again, positioned to draw the monsters descending from above for at least a little while.
Placed far enough from the stairs to lure them inward, set to detonate in sequence.
Gazing down at the elevator shaft where Arin had cleared the zombies, they sneered at the things below.
"If we'd had more time, we could've handled it even safer."
"It's not time—it's gear. If we'd had rifles, we could've wiped them out without breaking a sweat on the way down."
Then, one of them shone a flashlight downward, squinting at the writhing zombies.
"Senior, got a pair of binoculars or something?"
"You think I carry those? Why?"
"Those things down there look weird."
Pointing far below at the zombies stuck in place, he continued uncertainly.
"I thought they were just twitching after falling into that tight space..."
"But?"
"Kinda... fuck... looks like they're merging together."
"...What bullshit is that?"
Dismissing it as a lame joke, the senior peered down anyway, fixing his gaze on the flashlight beam.
It looked like a pile of twisted bodies and shattered limbs, bones jutting out from falls from on high.
But an inexplicable dread lingered.
He wanted a closer look, but the shaft was too dark—the flashlight wasn't enough, and at dozens of meters down, it was all blurry.
"Gimme a cam light. No, a few more."
The senior snapped and shook two or three cam lights to activate them, then dropped them below.
Moments later, the lights landed atop the zombies, illuminating their form.
Twisted bodies and jutting bones piled in one spot.
And the edges where they'd gathered... blurring together.
That was what caught the senior's eye.
"Senior, what do you see?"
The senior said nothing.
Because he'd locked eyes with it.
It—what had been those things—lifted a head formed from countless eyeballs and jawbones embedded together, meeting his gaze.
"...Does this elevator shaft go straight to the safe zone floor?"
"A bit below, I think? Like half a floor?"
"Office space, so... two meters high at most."
The senior, who had grinned even when zombies bared their teeth right in front of him, suddenly hardened his face.
His juniors caught on that things were serious and gathered at the elevator door, peering down.
They recoiled in horror all at once.
"Please tell me the one from upstairs conveniently went down there in the meantime?"
"I'd love that. Fuck..."
"Can we take it down with the ammo we've got?"
"On average, nine rounds from the pistol, seven from the forty-five to drop one on the way here. And now that massive merged fucker with what we've got left?"
The senior shook his head, dragging a hand down his face before turning to the group.
He had no confidence in escorting all these people down, signaling for rescue, and holding out until the team arrived.
He'd never really had it to begin with, but what he'd thought was fifty-fifty now felt like maybe saving one or two—if that.
No, he was at the point of considering abandoning the rescue and just getting intel out.
Sorting his thoughts, the senior abandoned the original goal of guiding evacuation.
Transmitting information came first.
"Arin, come here a sec."
"Yeah? Ready to start again?"
"No, before that—got something to say."
Arin, leaning against the wall chatting idly with sweat-drenched Junwoo who wore a dopey grin, ended the conversation with "be right back" and approached the Support Team.
"You saw the monster up top, right? Looks like zombies merge automatically in tight spaces... or maybe when they're too fucked up to act alone."
"I see... No... Wait, what?"
Rushing to the elevator shaft at those words, Arin confirmed it with her own eyes—her face drained white.
The Support Team senior, who'd seen the same, approached with shared dread and continued.
"S-sorry. I didn't think..."
"Nothing for you to apologize for. No one saw this coming—no one could've."
Comforting her with the truth that he'd assumed it was just some monster the terrorists hid, the senior slid the elevator door shut to block the others' view.
He waved over his team too and whispered,
"Arin, what I'm about to say stays with you."
Pulling a memo pad from his pocket, the senior scribbled furiously: the cake that exploded with shrapnel, the tough-as-hell zombies, the massive flesh lump they formed—everything they'd learned, detailed and fast.
He tore off that page and handed it to her.
"Zombies everywhere, monsters above and below, fire status unknown, no comms, low gear, too many to protect..."
He filled another sheet with the same and continued.
"High chance a lot of us die. Me, my juniors, those civilians— included."
"Yeah..."
"And if anyone's surviving? You're top of the list. No need to say it."
"Right, I always come back... So if I just clear as many zombies as I can..."
"If we had time, yeah. And if we were shameless enough to sacrifice a kid."
Arin looked startled, and the senior gave a bitter smile.
"All us Agency folks try to get used to this shit, but honestly? It's brutal."
He glanced at his juniors.
"As you know, top priority is handling or containing the anomaly. If not, we investigate, gather intel, pass it on to help the next guys."
Pulling his last mag to hand over, he remembered the caliber mismatch and just gave her the pistol instead.
"Your top priority now: gather intel, get out, report to the Agency."
"What about the people?"
"Who are we? Support Team. That's our job—don't worry about it."
"But..."
Then, a noise from the stairwell above.
Thankfully not the monster descending—the sound was faint.
They'd cleared what they could, but not every zombie one by one, so the agitation was about what they'd expected.
For safety, they pulled the group back.
Support Team and Arin aimed pistols at the door, taking positions on either side.
One at the door's opening side reached out with his free hand, grabbed the handle on signal, and yanked.
"...Huh?"
As the door flew open, they nearly squeezed the triggers in barrage but frantically lowered their guns.
Staring in disbelief at the figure beyond.
"Mayor...?"
Her neat gray dress in ruins, hair a mess, high heels clutched in hand after kicking them off, makeup streaked from sweat under her eyes—the Mayor.
The cake she'd presented had signaled the start of this nightmare to everyone, so they'd subconsciously dismissed her as a suspect.
Yet here she stood.
"Anomaly Response and Management Agency... Never liked you folks personally, but right now? Thrilled to see you."
"How...?"
"That's what I'd like to know. One question, though."
Her eyes twisted in rage as she asked if they knew where her damn secretary was.
Stepping inside under everyone's gaze, the Mayor grabbed a cup from the water cooler, downed it in one gulp, and spoke.
"While the Vice Mayor unveiled the cake in my place, I figured I'd rest up and come back at the end. But I blacked out. Thinking back, that champagne my secretary handed me must've been spiked..."
Like the seasoned politician she was, she seemed aware of the suspicion and recounted the banquet without hiding a thing.
She tossed the paper cup straight into the trash and continued from when she woke.
"Came to in an empty office way below the hall, tied up."
"Tied up?"
Instead of answering, she raised her arm—red marks stark on her wrists.
"How'd you get free?"
"Picked up a trick in my younger days. Anyway, I got loose, tried calling for help—no signal. Outside, blood everywhere... Then I heard a boom, peeked out, and there was this filthy huge monster..."
Realizing she'd woken near where they'd set the signalers, they couldn't hold back.
"How'd you get down? Stairs had zombies—them coming down cleared some, but plenty left per floor... And the monster..."
"Elevator shafts have maintenance ladders. Climbed down those."
Unlike the Agency group using the shaft for zombie clearance with numbers in mind, alone she'd figured the zombie-unfriendly path safer if her stamina held.
The Mayor thought the same, descended the ladder, then spotted the cleared stairs and switched.
Found a cam light right before here.
Finishing, she greeted them warmly again and stretched her back with a crack.
"If it'd been the department store floors, I'd have swiped some shoes. Shame."
Rubbing her bloodied feet over her stockings, regretting not grabbing sneakers from the car, she asked their plan.
They briefed her briefly: down to the 80th for helicopter evac.
She let out a groan, then extended a hand.
"Introductions first—what's your name?"
"Numbers one to four. No real names on ops for safety."
"Huh? What about me?"
"Arin's your code name, right?"
"It's my real name."
"Oh... Sorry."