The Awls That Pierce Pockets
I started with the most basic question.
"Those corpses — what's the principle that makes them move?"
"The principle? Hmm… how should I put this…"
While the crow deliberated over my first question, Hyeonmin swallowed hard beside me and spoke up.
"C-could it really be like the movies? Something caused by a virus or spores?"
"Huh? No, that's impossible."
She flicked her wing-hands as if assembling an image to show us, then dismissed his theory and pressed on.
"By movies, you mean the audiovisual art humanity created in this world, right? Well, those are fiction, so of course…"
"In this world — and across any number of dimensions beyond the Fantasy Line — microorganisms like that simply can't exist. Because they, too, are organisms that fall within the category of life."
With that, the crow seemed to finish her rough setup. She flipped the display with a snap, pulled up a paint program, and continued her explanation.
"To create a zombie — or what the Greater Dimension classifies as a Necro form — you first need a trace of the soul."
"And that is?"
"Also called a fragment of reason. The currency stored in Master's mark and that young lady's mark — Tar — is the materialized form of it."
Chaeyeon rounded her eyes and stared down at the back of her hand. I narrowed mine and said,
"So what you're telling me is that zombies move on the leftover scraps of a person after they die?"
"Uh… 'scraps' is a bit harsh. But you're not wrong. To put it more bluntly…"
You could call them the lingering shards of desire left behind in the flesh after death.
Ssshk— skritch—
Drawings sketched themselves across the paint canvas, fleshing out the explanation.
"You know the three primary drives, right? Among them, appetite is usually the strongest. That's why most Necros move for appetite alone. They live to eat, and eating is how they gain power."
As she spoke, the crow rendered a needlessly adorable two-head-tall zombie chomping away on some guy — chomp chomp. Except the weapon it was holding and the clothes it was wearing looked an awful lot like someone I knew.
"Is that supposed to be me?"
"Of course not! Anyway, you understand, right? That last part about the principle wasn't empty talk. Starved zombies are that much weaker. Zombies that eat three solid meals a day are that much livelier."
At those words, the difference finally clicked — between the half-dead zombies I'd met so far and the ones that had come tearing after me at full sprint.
"What about the other drives, then?"
"Hmm?"
"There've got to be people whose strongest drive isn't appetite. They're the three primary drives. Sexual desire. The need for sleep."
"Mm… extremely rare, but they do exist."
The bald pervert from that morning surfaced in my mind unbidden.
Ah, fuck — I really shouldn't think about the lower half of that.
I scowled at the nauseating memory. Chaeyeon and Soeun's faces soured too, the same bastard clearly occurring to them.
"So what happens in those cases? Sexual desire, fine — but does the sleep drive just mean they sleep all day?"
"Yes. Exactly."
"…"
On the canvas, a fat zombie appeared, snoring away. Everyone stared at it with the same dumbfounded expression. The crow shoved her face in from the side of the paint window and issued a warning.
"Master. This type is several times more dangerous than an ordinary Necro. Every Necro grows stronger through the relief and satisfaction of its desire."
"The one I just drew is getting stronger every single second."
"…No, does that even make sense? Isn't that a balance-breaker?"
Not that I had any right to talk, honestly.
"Well. When you consider that the reason Necros exist is to bring about the end of the world… not really?"
She gave a little shrug, wiped the canvas blank again, and looked back at me.
"Alright — next question? Ask me anything you want to know!"
The night was long enough for it, after all.
I threw a few more zombie-related questions after that.
When I asked whether the bald zombie I'd met was one of those cases steeped in sexual desire, the crow shut it down.
"No. Ordinary Necro types, no matter what their desire is, can't exert influence over other zombies. There are only two cases where that's possible — and what Master ran into was probably an Original."
"Original? What Original. You're saying that thing was the prototype for zombies?"
"Yep. Exactly as the name suggests. The kin summoned from another dimension by the person Master calls Mira… pfft. But they're nothing special. Not compared to the special type Master already took down."
She wasn't wrong — compared to that orangutan bastard, it really hadn't been much. But that was only in terms of raw physical power. Weren't its other abilities something to watch out for?
"Controlling other zombies still seems like something worth being careful about, doesn't it?"
"Controlling them? Nah, not really. Originals only look that way because they have reason. Compared to an Alpha type…"
"Alpha? Oh, right. You mentioned those."
"…I wasn't supposed to say that."
"What? Why."
The crow fidgeted her fingers, looking troubled, then answered with a sidelong glance.
"Special types — mutant Necros — are critically important to the progression of the apocalypse, so the information is locked. More precisely, it's a trade commodity."
"What. So you sell it for money? You didn't with the orangutan."
"That was only possible because Master had already faced the thing and fully identified it. But Alpha types are different, so…"
"…Let's say I've already met this Alpha or whatever. Just tell me a little more."
"No! Even for Master, that's enough! Please leave Alpha-type information alone."
I stared at the crow as she avoided my eyes, then gave a flat nod of acceptance.
"Fine. Whatever. I wasn't interested anyway. Like you said — free info I would've had to pay for. Net gain."
"…Do you really have to frame it like that?"
Whether she glared daggers at me or not, I glanced at the others still sitting there blankly, unable to keep up, then bit into the chocolate bar in my hand.
"Show me the shop now. Looked complicated as hell earlier. The kids'll be using it too, so walk us through it carefully."
This was the main event, after all.
"Whoaa…"
Jonghun let out a bizarre little moan of wonder and stared blankly at the screen.
It had only been three days since the civilization humanity had built lost its electricity and left nothing but a hollow shell behind — but three days was more than enough for a modern person to ache for the electronics they could no longer use.
And for Jonghun, who'd been halfway addicted to begin with, the website filling the screen in front of him hit even harder.
"Khkh… yeah… this is the feeling… that tacky aesthetic like someone ripped the neon signs off a Korean shopping street and slapped them on a webpage…"
"Tacky? What does tacky mean, Master?"
"It means cheap and provincial."
"Ch-cheap and provincial?! How dare you insult my refined sense of style!"
Something about being recognized across the Greater Dimension for this and that…
But to me and the others, the website just looked like a bastard mash-up of half a dozen portals.
"Just open the store already. And do not show them that goddamn Revelation Board."
"Ugh… cheap and provincial… cheap and provincial…"
She kept muttering under her breath, but she did as I said — pressed the biggest button in the center and opened the shop window.
Jonghun walked forward like a man entranced, hand clapped over his mouth as if a whole new world had opened. He reached out to stroke a bizarre assault rifle tagged with a special-discount mark like something off a shopping mall homepage — except of course he couldn't actually touch it. The beam just blocked his hand from view.
"…What on earth are you doing, oppa…!"
Jiyun, face flushed red with embarrassment, dragged him back by the collar and bowed to me over and over.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. This idiot has some weird hobbies…"
"Nah. It's fine. You've got to have hobbies like that to make life worth living. Park Jonghun — get over here and sit down."
"Yes, Hyung-nim!"
The second I spoke he came scrambling over and glued himself to the sofa beside me. I pointed at the rifle.
"What kind of gun is that. Worth buying, you think?"
"Uuuum… if we're talking value, in the current situation anything that isn't an airsoft gun would be good, but…"
With a serious expression I'd never seen on him before, he scrubbed at the beard that had grown in along his jaw and stared hard at the strangely alien, blood-colored rifle.
I'd been ground into the dirt until I cried bloody tears at a frontline outpost just a few months ago myself, so I tried to place the weapon too — but no matter how I looked at it, something felt off.
What is this? The more I look, the cheaper it feels.
While I floated a question mark beside him, Jonghun clutched his head and glared at the rifle like he wanted to murder it. The crow watched with open amusement, then opened her beak.
"It's only natural you can't place it. This wasn't made by the humanity of this world — it's an A-Type, born in the post-apocalypse version."
"…A-Type?"
"I'll start by explaining the item types in this shop. Nice and carefully, just as Master ordered."
Of course, free version only.
The crow, thrilled at the prospect of running her beak, licked it with a sultry little flourish — not her lips, her beak — and loaded her tongue for the lecture.
I gave her a look gone completely flat, said nothing, and bit into my chocolate bar.