If You Ask Who I Am, It's Only Natural to Answer
“Ugh… grrrgh!”
Arin tried to haul herself up with just one arm, but groaned and let go, regretting not doing even a single chin-up back in the day as she peered down below.
A dizzying drop where people looked like ants, flames roaring red across the bottom, and thick smoke billowing up.
I'll definitely die if I fall, she thought, even as I'll come back to life, but I don't want to go through that process—gripping her slipping hand tighter, she pressed harder against her gut where her intestines were poking out.
“Hang on just a bit—I'll pull you up!”
“I'll help too!”
Meanwhile, the Support Team had pulled themselves together and reached out to grab her, but she was too far—failure. Junwoo, having shaken off his fleeing parents' hands from afar, rushed over and tried using his suit jacket as a rope.
“I brought this—think it'll help?”
That's when the Mayor, who'd been hiding behind the gas mask cabinet, yanked the hose from the indoor fire hydrant and dragged it over to hand it to them.
“Damn it, I trusted you, Mayor! I'll vote for you next election!”
“Sunbae, can civil servants endorse specific candidates?”
“We're not civil servants—we're contract disposables, kid.”
As the group gathered by the window detached the nozzle from the hose, knotted it, and tied it to haul Arin up, a few people approached, surrounding them and shouting.
“People died because of you bastards!”
“What the hell are you—”
“You were gonna hand us over to the monsters! We're watching with our own eyes as you care more about that other monster hanging there than the injured or dead—trying to deny it?!”
“No, this mess happened because you idiots wouldn't listen and went apeshit—what bullshit is this?!”
Ignoring the unreasonable mob, as they prepared to lower the hose, one of the Support Team rookies—who'd gone after the people who'd fled outside the safe zone—raced back and tried slamming the door shut.
“Those idiots ran down to the lower floors!”
Pale hands forced the door crack open, reaching in; the rookie jammed his pistol into the gap and unloaded, then hurled the empty mag-slid-back gun and shoved the door with his whole body.
“Someone help me!”
All that effort processing those hordes of zombies to get here—now unraveling into total chaos. Arin let out a hollow laugh at the sounds and yelled upward.
“Hey, you fucking assholes!!”
Seizing the momentary silence, she released her gut, unbuckled her belt, and tensed her belly that looked ready to spill its contents.
“Up there! Catch!”
Grabbing the belt end where two pistols and a mag were secured, she hurled it upward with everything she had—the recoil made everything inside her abdomen burst out and dangle down.
“Arin-ssi?!”
Junwoo, who'd caught the belt in shock, called out in panic; the Support Team and Mayor couldn't hide their surprise, peering down.
In her fading vision—darkening from the edges amid blood loss and pain—Arin didn't hear them, dropped her tomahawk, and plummeted through the fire smoke to the bottom.
"The world's shit, and there are too many shitty people in it."
At some point, Arin lay on the sand, muttering; beside her, also lying down and gazing at the gray sky with drifting black clouds, Piero responded.
“I hate the world, but I hate sitting in that chair too? And what's the deal with obsessing over that chair anyway?”
“What do I know….”
The pain was gone, but the sensation of guts pulled out lingered, so Arin rubbed her belly and let out a long sigh, closing her eyes.
“Don't kick me out—let me rest here a bit…. I'm really exhausted now….”
Surrendering to the gentle breeze, she emptied her mind and fell asleep fast.
There was no breeze, really—Piero had just fanned her with his spread, needle-like fingers—but Arin didn't know.
With Arin deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, no other movement, Piero quietly stood and entered the white building in the desert's center.
He soon emerged carefully carrying the chair.
Barren wasteland anyway, but he placed it where it looked good to him, tidied the surroundings, then slipped a hand into his clothes, opened his chest, rummaged through mechanical parts, and pulled something out.
A fist-sized, diamond-like gem on Piero's palm—polished, angles shifting or sun position changing not needed, yet the reflected light colors flickered irregularly.
After a dust-blowing gesture, he set it on the chair and waited for Arin to wake.
Hours later, as she stretched and opened her eyes, he turned away as if nothing happened.
“...A gem.”
Eyes open to the blatant chair outside with the gem-like object on it—Arin blurted without thinking, glaring at Piero averting his gaze beside her.
A childish, unnatural scene, like sit and get this.
Footprint trail clear between chair and building, yet Piero dodged eyes like he didn't do it. Arin stared in disbelief, yawned short, and turned away.
“I don't like gems.”
“For decor, figures or plastic models beat gems.”
“You don't know what those are? Oh dear….”
Piero then gestured like a home shopping host, trying to lure her with the pretty, iridescent gem-like thing—rare, not available outside.
Sit now for this plus more, serve him forever as slave, build bigger castle—piling conditions, but as she showed zero interest, he pushed harder, eventually promoting just handing over the object.
“Fine, I'll take it.”
“No need to be that happy—no conditions, just taking it since you begged.”
“Finally coming to your senses?”
Realizing too late the chair was forgotten, now obsessed with just handing over the gem object, Piero froze with an oh shit, then slumped, headbutting the ground.
“...Idiot.”
A promise was a promise; when Piero handed it over, Arin took it with thanks, examined it every way to figure its use, then asked if it was really just decor.
Piero took it back to show usage, raised his other hand, fingers together straight.
Watch closely—holding it before her eyes, Arin nodded, staring—then suddenly felt chest tightness, glanced down.
Piero's arm piercing her chest.
No time to question before pain hit; her already torn, bloodied dress darkened further.
The needle-hand through her chest shattered ribs from inside, ripped out her heart—then, ignoring her writhing in agony without dying, discarded the useless lump on the ground like trash, and lifted the object.
Shriveled lungs and pooling blood where her heart should be.
Forcing the sparkling object in, light passing through; Piero tilted his head, then as it soaked her blood and whirred to life, he pushed her splayed ribs back together, buttoned her dress.
Vessels and nerves connecting to the object, broken bones mending, torn muscle and skin restoring—fighting nonstop pain, Arin finally came to, sweat-soaked, sat up.
Like waiting, Piero spread arms for her reaction—she slammed a fist into his solar plexus, grabbed his wrist, writhed in pain again, then snapped irritably at the clueless clown.
“What the hell is this that you ripped out my heart for?! And why don't I die again?!”
“Good thing? Goooood thiiiing?!”
Grabbing Piero's collar to chew him out, Arin blinked—Piero vanished from right in front of her, the endless desert horizon gone, wrecked banquet hall back.
“This bastard bailed?!”
After fuming awhile, Arin calmed with a long sigh.
Wind slipped through her torn dress—gut and chest ripped, extreme exposure—shivering slightly, she pulled her pink bag around front, took out the tomahawk.
“This is still here—gave away the pistols, so gone?”
Dead-signal phone showed time: hadn't been long since falling outside. Arin scratched her head at the hopelessness of descending 80 floors again, then looked up on a whim.
“Zombies and big guy here seem gone below… anyone above?”
They'd fled down without looking back for escape, but floors existed above the banquet hall.
Maintenance or machine rooms—top floor practically for normals, no reason to go, but Arin's gut said something was up; she climbed the stairs.
Few people came here from start—no zombies met ascending, but recent traces of someone going up.
The soon-reached maintenance room should've been locked tight, but the handle turned easily, welcoming her.
“Oh my, didn't expect a guest all the way up here.”
A woman in neat suit, long straight hair slicked back, thick glasses striking—sat in the room's center chair.
“Uh… Mayor's secretary?”
Arin vaguely recalled her standing quietly behind the Mayor during the banquet speech, probed; the woman nodded affirmatively.
“Oh Gyeong, serving as secretary to the current Mayor. Foreign-style name.”
“I see…?”
“Or ex-secretary now? Wanted her to witness a happy future with clear eyes from the VIP seat, but she's probably off to the future by now.”
“Happy future?”
Confirming the Mayor tied up was true, culprit this secretary—Arin snarked, asking if happy future meant this zombie apocalypse.
“Ah! Curious?”
“Uh… a bit?”
“Of course! Only natural to tell!”
Missing the sarcasm, bright smile, she led Arin inside, grabbed a soda from a staff mini-fridge, handed it over, cleared her throat.
“I'm the Mayor's secretary—and a member of Genesis, the environmental group.”
“Environmental group?”
“Yes! People gathered to pursue universal happy futures and better environmental protection—a group and social club!”
Sounded positive just hearing it—Arin thought definite cult, masked her face.
“And today, we're presenting in this building to promote our goals to many!”
“You're insane.”
“Pardon? Insane…?”
“Th-the scale is insane! Using a whole skyscraper for promo… what a group!”
“Right?! So proud to be part of it and lead this!”
Arin clapped with fake cheer, curiosity growing about this lunatic's words.