Three Days Was Enough
Humans. Lords of all creation.
Across Earth's four-and-a-half billion years of history, the second species to conquer the planet after the dinosaurs.
Unlike that first reign, the civilization built not on raw power but on knowledge—and when you really looked at it, knowledge alone was never the pillar holding the whole thing up.
In fact, you could argue there was a capacity even more critical than knowledge to the writing of human history.
Adaptability.
Not merely the body's and the instincts' adjustment to environment, but the patience for survival born of uniquely advanced reason. And imagination.
Whether in scorching deserts or frigid polar wastes, they wrung those capacities from brain and soul and somehow kept living, kept history going.
"Honestly, I wasn't thrilled hearing it put that way. Not that I completely disagree. In the end, I figure luck was what really decided things."
Just like in his own case.
In the end, only the lucky ones found oases and clung to life—or dug frozen carcasses out of those barren polar wastes and produced offspring.
And he, too, was alive and breathing on that one stroke of luck alone.
"But looking at you lot like this, I'm starting to think it was right after all."
It had been barely three days since civilization shattered.
Most people would still be holed up in their hideouts, hiding just to live one second longer—assuming they had food, of course.
But the ones in his hands? How long had it even been since zombies—those lumps of pure absurdity—burst into reality?
They'd gone roaming outside looking for anything useful, then tossed their conscience next to the dead rule of law and raised hell trying to jump some kids.
They didn't even have something as absurd as he did—something that put him on the same level as the zombies, or worse.
They had absolutely nothing, and yet the mere fact that freedom had been handed to them made them lose all sense and pull that stunt. He couldn't look at it rationally.
"No more, no less. Three days was enough. For humanity to adapt all over again. Right?"
"Gaaah… kuh. Kuh."
"Kkuk-kkuk-kkgh…"
Ignoring the filthy hair caught between his fingers, he muttered to himself while gripping one throat in each hand, and their thrashing grew steadily worse.
With survival instincts this strong, maybe that was the driving force that produced the cerebral cortex and created reason—that supreme value—in the first place.
Enough of the bullshit.
He didn't have more time to waste on these bastards. Better extract the info and kill them already.
He released their throats, dusted off his hands, and peeled away the tangled clumps of hair. Damn, that was disgusting.
"Kuheok! Haaaah!"
"Cough. Cough."
He spoke to them as they drooled and focused on working their lungs.
"I'll ask three things and we're done. If anything seems off, I'll just throw you however I feel like. Got it?"
Even if you die, better to die clean. The difference between a clean head-first drop and instant death, or thrashing in agony until the corpses digest you.
"One: where did you come from? Two: if I let you go now, do you have friends you'd bring back? Three: what's that van?"
"Answer within ten seconds. You two discuss and spit it out in order. Ten, nine…"
"Uh. Uhh. Th-that's…"
In voices still rough from being choked, they stammered and urgently exchanged words, then suddenly looked ready to start punching each other.
From the noise they were making, they were doing two-man politics over who had more of a stake in how they'd ended up in this mess.
Well, looking at the situation, it was understandable. No matter how much you wanted to thrash around, you needed some kind of angle for it.
The opponent was a lunatic who got a miss even when stabbed with a knife. They didn't even have a foothold to work with, so of course they were putting on a show.
But that only had a few seconds left.
"Four… three…"
"Th-that's… sir! About the van, what exactly did you want to ask…?"
With his life on the line, the guy was machine-gunning questions, but of course he just kept counting without answering.
Looking at them with eyes that said figure out the obvious topic yourselves, he counted between two and one, and the guy hastily opened his mouth.
"We came from Suwon Detention Center! A few days ago when the zombies appeared, the administration collapsed and…"
"And you jumped at the chance and bolted, right?"
"…Yes."
"Then there must be other convicts you knew from the detention center? Where are they all?"
"…Uh. Th-the other groups, we split from the start, so I don't know exactly where…"
Was this bastard holding out on him or not?
As he frowned and sized him up, the guy freaked out in his own way and stepped back, covering his throat.
"It's true! Really! Their leader killed our hyung, so we couldn't possibly work with them!"
"…Yeah? Fine. I'll believe you for now. Next."
"…What?"
"The van. Talk."
He straightened his crouched legs as he said it, and the guy answered while slowly scooting backward on his back.
"Th… you want to know how it runs?"
"Yeah. I've been busting my ass for days trying to get off my feet. Everything that looked useful wouldn't even start, let alone drive. So what's that thing?"
He looked down at the van beyond the rooftop edge, then turned his eyes back to him.
The hesitant guy opened his mouth.
"I don't know the details either. When we left the detention center we just stole whatever was nearby."
"So you lucked out and hit the jackpot? Like me?"
"…Yes."
Not sure what was like him, but the guy who readily agreed continued.
"It was so sturdy and full of gas that we kept using the car as a house, roaming around. Food we just grabbed whatever caught our eye…"
"There must have been corpses everywhere."
"…Wh-when the three of us stuck together, we could handle a decent number. We've been eating knife-meals for nearly ten-odd years…"
"Then why did such hotshots get cleaned out by some girls and run away?"
"…."
He didn't even snort at the guy's bluster and just moved on. Handle, my ass.
Those corpses were everywhere—one wrong aggro pull and they'd swarm you from all sides in an instant. Wasn't that why he himself had just run for it on day one when going to the pharmacy?
And what? Knife-meals? Ridiculous. Anyway.
"So what's the conclusion? You don't know anything either. That it?"
When he reached to grab the guy's head again, the bastard shook his head so hard he was trembling like a madman. It was pathetic. Who was he playing the pitiful act for?
"There is! There is! Th-there's some weird device attached to the back inside the vehicle. At first I thought it was just decoration! But the form was so high-end it looked alien…"
"…Is that all?"
He looked at him with eyes that said how pathetic, and the guy's words stuck, stammering.
"Then get lost. Now."
Instead of the throat hidden by both hands, he grabbed the lower jaw and squeezed hard. The guy thrashed in horror, but there was no escaping the grip strength of someone who'd been trying to hit ten thousand pull-ups in the three days since the apocalypse.
He'd heard everything he needed. No need to go easy—he applied force, and a forced double-jaw surgery commenced as the guy's jaw made grotesque sounds.
Crack-crack— crunch—
Eventually the bone seemed to pop free; ignoring the loosened grip, he picked the guy up with one hand.
Then he shoved him out over the rooftop railing so that half his upper and lower body hung in midair.
"Still alive, I guess. Definitely lighter than the corpse bastards."
Because of the face fixed in his hand, the guy's pupils dropped straight down to look below, and that gaze stained with terror and confusion left an impression.
He must have lived throwing his weight around until now. And his end came looking as weak as a newborn, held in one hand.
He released his grip and said one thing.
"Just figure out your own posture. Can't be bothered to correct it."
The guy just answered with a dazed expression.
A few minutes later.
He frowned at the loud smacking sounds from the alley side, then stopped.
He'd thrown him as far as possible so he wouldn't have to hear that mukbang soundtrack. Why did he land draped over the back alley? Crosswind?
He turned his head, and from their house balcony—no, the dead house's balcony—Ye-jin held up a sketchbook with big writing for him to see.
Be careful out there! We'll be staying at the upstairs place!
He roughly waved an arm in response, then looked over the van this way and that when a thought suddenly struck him.
Had she been waiting up there this whole time just for him to come out?
He shook his head and checked inside the vehicle. True to being human garbage, they'd used it filthy.
He clicked his tongue once, climbed into the driver's seat, and turned the key—it started right up. So at least that bastard hadn't been lying.
Hope he went to a decent hell.
Vroom—
Then, reversing, he checked that bizarre decoration supposedly in the back. At first he'd dismissed the "alien high-end" talk as nonsense, but the guy had a point with that description.
Several gears meshed and turned in a regular rhythm. The process was detailed to a completely unnecessary degree.
Something that looked like it belonged on cutting-edge machinery sitting there as decoration was odd, but of course he just moved on.
The car's owner must have been rolling in money.
He thought.
After roughly parking in a leftover corner by the roadside, he put knife-work into a few corpses that came running at the noise, then mounted his bicycle.
Really, he looked absurdly at the sun already sinking west, then stepped on the pedals.
The speed as he rode with a jingle of the bell was very much to his liking.
Better hurry back before sunset. If anything else happened, he'd just treat it as pure bad luck.
Because the events of today had been that varied. Grumbling like that, he put even more force into the feet working the pedals.