Chapter 12. Gallery (2)
Clatter—thud.
In one corner of car 2's cargo hold, worn boxes that the drones had diligently gathered piled up like a mountain, just like ants stockpiling food. It was time to unpack them one by one.
"Alright, let's see what we've got..."
First off, weapons were turning up in droves.
They looked pretty worthless at a glance, but when I appraised them, each had its own perks. The longsword made its victim bleed longer, and the bat—bent from heavy use—would snap back to shape if dipped in hot water.
Of course, compared to the vicious toothed flail in my armory or the combat drones, they were just toys. But for regular survivors facing monsters with bare fists, these were lifelines.
"If I certify them as items, they'll sell better."
I cracked open the rest of the boxes. Beyond weapons, nothing much worth selling turned up. Lots of junk I'd try hawking, but if it didn't move, the vending machine would take it.
Besides these, I had prime goods from convenience stores and scavenging: cigarettes, soju, whiskey, mixed coffee packs—luxury vices.
"Hmm."
I didn't smoke. Beer once in a blue moon was my limit; strong whiskey wasn't my thing. But I knew their value in this world. To folks withering away, chased by zombie hordes day by day, nicotine, booze, and caffeine were rarer than mana stones.
With shorts, games, novels, music, OTT—all that dopamine gone—their worth had skyrocketed.
Finally, my biggest seller: water. The train's purification system meant no worries there. Hell, I could shower like it was nothing.
"...This I can sell cheap."
I bottled drinkable water and set it front and center. Cigarettes, booze, weapons, water. Apocalypse's big four, all lined up.
Prep done. I sank into the sofa, eyeing my smartphone clock. Heart pounding like I was ticket-hunting for a K-pop concert, that weird tension buzzing.
The Survivor Gallery was already chaos.
And then, the moment arrived.
12:00 PM. The second the clock ticked over, my phone's gallery screen flashed. Where tabs like notices, info, and Q&A had sat, a new one appeared: Exchange.
Trembling fingers tapped it. I'd expected empty, but posts flooded in instantly. Three in the first minute.
Pure pandemonium. Buyers outnumbered sellers overwhelmingly. Textbook supply shortage.
I grinned and uploaded my prepped photos.
- Payment: Mana stones, skillbooks, monster drops
- First come, first served. Haggle if you have a reason.
Hit post, and—
Ding! Ding!
Notifications exploded. I worked through them in order, accepting mana stone and drop offers first.
Completing a trade revealed the mechanic. Whoosh. A rift tore open in midair, sucking in my item—then another spat out theirs.
"Ah... so that's how it works?"
Not my place to say, but damn, what a skill.
Scroll down, and new posts popped like notifications. Felt less like a market, more like quests.
"Hmm, could hunt these down if they pop up."
If the right request hit, why not fetch it? Felt like collection quests.
"Lots of water beggars..."
"This one's the selfie guy from before..."
Familiar nicks everywhere—I'd haunted the gallery nightly. Folks cursing the changed world, posting survival logs. Nameless, but they felt like neighbors.
"...Water's plentiful anyway."
I sighed, glancing at the train. Clean water overflowed inside—enough for showers galore. Yet they wagered everything for a sip.
"Water's on the house."
I shelved the merchant mindset. Just for water. No loss in building goodwill.
For desperate pleas, I spam-accepted without question.
2L Bottled Water (1) ↔ Wolf Pelt
2L Bottled Water (6) ↔ Kid's Thank-You Note
2L Bottled Water (3) ↔ Lowest-Grade Mana Stone
Rifts buzzed open. Bottles vanished; junk piled into my hold. Profit? Zilch.
But...
"...Cute."
The kid's scribbly thank-you note? Pure apocalypse gold—pride you rarely felt. Real accomplishment buzz.
Not just that.
Board flooded with praise.
"Kinda embarrassing... But Thomas?"
Thomas, TrainSeat, Choochoo—my distorted choochoo nicknames everywhere. Didn't hate it.
"...Gotta ask 'em to chill on the mentions."
I burrowed into the sofa, smiling warmly. Profits from other stuff. Kindness pays.
"Lots wanting meds too. Guess I could use some..."
Potions aside, basics for colds or headaches? Smart stock.
Grabbed the flail from the armory, slung it over my shoulder. Hoisted a big hiking backpack, tasked drones with a cart.
Drones could snag meds, but gallery demand? Drone delivery wouldn't cut it.
"Gotta sweep 'em myself."
Expand inventory. Whirr—clunk. Solid partners flanked me.
"Let's roll."
Train doors parted; we hit Incheon's gray streets. Target: pharmacy 300m off the tracks in a strip mall. Common as dirt—right nearby when we stopped.
Streets quiet-ish. Stray low-grade monsters? Combat drones silenced 'em—thwip, thwip. I strolled like it was a walk in the park.
Secure.
"...Clear?"
Pharmacy's glass door shattered, interior pitch-black. I signaled at the entrance.
"Scout first."
Drones parked the cart. Shoom— recon drone zipped in; combat drone lit the way overhead.
Soon, recon buzzed out, lasering spots.
"There, huh?"
Whirr. Nod.
Convenience stores, pharmacies—monsters lurked like they knew we'd come.
"Okay, you take those three."
Left drones to guard, headed one way.
Corner by the counter, a ghoul-like thing with pallid skin crouched. Gripped my weapon, strode in.
"Grrr...!"
It staggered up, spotting me. Glassy eyes, drooling—junkie vibe.
"Whoa, scary mug."
I kicked off the floor, leaped. High ceiling a blessin'. Soared over its head, smashed down midair.
Crunch!
Skull caved easy.
"Kieeeek!"
Other three charged—but backup had my six. Thwip, thwip-thwip! Drones nailed knees, shoulders. Toppled, they ate the follow-ups.
"Time to shop."
Over in under a minute. Kicked ghouls aside, unzipped backpack.
Shelves stocked intact. Hands flew.
"Antibiotics, check. Painkillers, digestives, bandages, antiseptics..."
Shoveled everything: Tylenol, aspirin basics to prescription heavies. No docs needed now. Unsure ones? Gallery could ID.
Sort later. Stuffed till backpack burst. Drones loaded the cart.
"Whew, cleaned 'em out."
Empty shelves behind, we exited the pharmacy.