Slave No. 1

In a corner of the employee storage room at the back of the hardware store, I tinkered away for a good while, fiddling with the thing. "This should do it, right?" I tested it by pressing the muzzle against a shelf and pulling the trigger. Takang-. With the sharp crack of gunpowder igniting, the nail punched lightly through the metal plate.

I aimed at the corpse of what had been a store employee lying nearby and pulled the trigger again. Takang-. Puk-. Unlike the electric version before, it flew with real force, easily piercing the skull. "Whew-." I blew away the wispy smoke rising from the barrel and looked down at my new weapon with satisfaction. A powder-actuated nail gun—now modified, of course. I fired a few more rounds after that, getting a solid feel for it.

Just point it at the head and pull the trigger. Compared to a real gun, the power dropped off sharply even at short range, and accuracy was spotty. But the punch from a single click was more than enough to drop a zombie. Might not hold up later, but for now, this would do. I even rigged up a strap so I could sling it over my shoulder.

Then I pressed the nail gun against the lock on a secured shelf. Ttang-, and the lock shattered. Opening the shelf door, I let out a low whistle at what I saw. "Whoa, no need to skimp here." Boxes of blank rounds and powder cartridges filled the shelves—easily thousands of them. I crammed them all into my bag, grabbed every last nail for the gun too, and headed out of the warehouse.

By now, infection was spreading here too; people lay collapsed here and there. "Cough, cough-." "Ugh... urk...." "Honey, honey!?" "Anyone, if your phone works, call 119..." "Guh, ugh...!" Plop-. Some were already vomiting blood, fully turned into zombies. Roughly 3 or 4 out of every 10 were infected. No visible wounds on them, of course—they hadn't been bitten by zombies but infected by the virus floating in the air.

So about 30-40% non-immunes, then. The novel hadn't fully spilled all the beans, but that's what it said about the virus. Non-immunes with no resistance to airborne infection. Primary immunes resistant to air but vulnerable to bites or blood contact. Secondary immunes resistant to direct infection too... though the novel just teased that without showing any yet. Whatever came later would prove it out, but as the guy possessed right now, that was ancient history to me. No point dwelling; time to focus on the present.

It's spreading faster than I thought. The hardware store was on the city outskirts, so this was mild; downtown would've already finished its airborne wave, with most clueless primary immunes wiped out too. Hell, it was barely 30 minutes in. Make that 10, and this place would be the same. No time to dawdle. With my weapon secured, it was prime time to start farming for real.

First up: the EXP lying on the floor. Click-. I slammed nails and cartridges into the nail gun magazine, drew my axe with the other hand. "Thanks for the meal." Takang-. Takang-. Takang-. Crack, takang.... The nail gun and axe fell silent in the hardware store only after a long while.

...Jeong Da-jeong...

Locked in the convenience store warehouse for hours now, Jeong Da-jeong felt like she was losing her mind. It had been just another day. Stocking the fridge as usual, waiting for her shift handover with the manager. Then a car crash echoed from the road outside, and one of the customers inside collapsed.

Another tried CPR, the manager stomped around cursing that 119 wasn't picking up... "...! Uuugh...!" Crack, drip-. The CPR guy spewed blood from his mouth, and the collapsed one... Chomp, chomp. It chewed off its own tongue and rose.

.....

...After that, it was a blur. Probably the risen customer attacked others, the manager tried to stop it and got bitten by the tongue guy... When she came to, she and the manager had barricaded the warehouse door, panting hard. The customers—or whatever they were—pounded furiously but eventually gave up. They just prowled the store, slamming into the glass doors, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠refusing to leave.

Innocent new customers wandered in sometimes... only adding to the horde. Two, then three more inside... hours passed. [Service unavailable in this area]. Phones that had at least said "network congested" went fully dead.

Around then, the manager—who'd been wheezing nonstop—lost consciousness. "M-M-Manager...?" Trembling, she held a hand to his nose. No breath. He hadn't lost that much blood, and she'd stanched it fine... Staring at the dead manager, Jeong Da-jeong barely stifled her sobs. "Eup... hup...."

She clamped her mouth shut to keep from crying out, lest the zombies swarm the door again. That's when it happened. "This place looks fine." Someone pushed open the convenience store door.

"Gruk...?" "Grrruk-!" The zombies whipped around. Peeking through a fridge gap, Da-jeong squeezed her eyes shut. But instead of screams, she heard explosions. Cracking her eyes, she saw... A gun...?

Takang-. Takang-. He fired the nail gun with machine-like precision, clearing the zombies in seconds. Takang-. Clack, clack-. "Ah, right. Reload."

He'd dropped four, but as many remained. Thud, thud-. "Grraa..." "Gek. Grraa." They closed in fast in the cramped store. "Ah..." She knew guns weren't infinite; all she could picture was him getting torn apart like the others.

The apocalypse she'd endured offered no resistance—at least from her view. Shing-. In a flash, he drew machete and axe from his belt, grinning. "Come on, you fucks."

Crunch-. He skewered the front one's head with the machete. Splak-. Caved in the left one's skull with the axe. Thud, kicked another frontal zombie while yanking his weapons free.

"Double kill!" Crack, splat-. He smashed down on the two coming from the right. "Grroo…" Splat-. Finished the last one—kicked down, rising—with another axe blow.

The zombies that had trapped her for hours? Cleared in seconds. Da-jeong's eyes widened impossibly at Cheongun's feat. Maybe that's why she missed the manager slowly rising beside her. "...Gr...ruk..." "...!"

Too late; the thing that was her manager pinned her. Slap-. Slap-. "Grraa. Grraaa-!" She shoved desperately, but its teeth loomed closer. Ah... so this is how I die.

As she braced to squeeze her eyes shut... Bam-. Crash-. The door flew open, knocking the manager off. Crunch-. Cheongun followed, splitting its head. He spun, axe raised to her—then froze. "Oh?" His eyes narrowed.

"Ah... uh.. uhh... ah..." The dripping axe blade halted before her; she trembled in panic. Ignoring it, he grabbed her chin, inspecting her face. "Hmm. Hmmm-."

Like appraising merchandise, he peered close, then spoke. "Hey. Open your status window." "Y-Yes...?" "Don't know how? Think it in your head. Say you want to show it to me." "Th-That... um..." "Do it."

She flinched. And in Cheongun's view, the translucent status window popped up.

"Not even a known character, kinda meh." Frowning slightly at her status, Cheongun lowered his hand and grabbed her breast. Squish-. "Ah...!" Squish, squish-. "Wh-What... are you..." "Shut up. Deciding whether to save ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠or kill ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you."

Terrified by his sharp tone, she could only pitifully watch as he kneaded her tit. Squish, squish-. "...Eut... uh..." "Open your mouth once more and you're dead." "..." Squish, knead-. "Eh, pack mule for now. Dump her if she sucks." After groping long enough, he pulled away with his verdict. "Okay. Slave No. 1, jackpot."

Thud-. An empty duffel bag hit the floor before her. Bewildered, she looked up; he jerked his chin at the gore-strewn store outside—zombie blood and corpses everywhere—while lighting a cigarette. "What're you waiting for? Pack it." "Y-Yes...?" "Food, dumb bitch. Don't you speak Korean?"

Jeong Da-jeong realized how naive her earlier thoughts had been, staring at the terrifying glare. Cheongun wasn't some white knight on horseback who'd saved her from zombies...

"Keep freezing up and I'll kill you." ...He was a villain scarier than the zombies themselves.