I Became an Apocalyptic "Physical" Therapist (1) — The Number One

The Number One

They say the universe accepts annihilation only as numbers.

Is that too abstract?

It shouldn't be.

You just died.

There are many kinds of death. Natural death, accidents, horrifying deaths, peaceful deaths, sudden deaths. But no matter which way you die, your death is a one.

The number one.

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is how the universe sees every extinction. No—how it processes every extinction.

And so, even as countless numbers are sold off as food every year, even as the ones who resist them die in droves, the universe registers the phenomenon as nothing more than digits on a ledger.

To see everything as numbers is a terrifyingly sad thing.

My existence is a one.

Your existence is a one.

The planet Earth is a one, too.

The reason I'm laying all this out, point by point, is the planet I used to live on. Earth, in other words, could not escape that same category.

Yes. Earth was on the verge of being sold.

No idea. Who ends up buying Earth in the end?

The factions that seized power in the wake of the apocalypse. The inner circle. Neo-Mason sold it.

I don't know that either. What the details were behind closed doors.

Massive numbers of Earthlings get sold off every year. Shipped to war zones, or assembled into rations. Canned food, that is.

Me? I suppose you could say I belong to the organization that opposed the decision to sell Earth. We call ourselves the Resistance, or the Liberation Army. The other side calls us rebels.

I'd love to answer that I do something great, but great isn't really the word. The people around me do call it great, though. Not many have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠survived from before the apocalypse to now.

So what do I do?

I'm an engineer with the Resistance. Being called an engineer makes it sound impressive, but the reality is nothing special. If you put it in terms of the pre-apocalypse era...

A mechanic at an auto shop?

"More work dumping itself on us again. What a shitty life. At this rate I won't even get to die working—no, I'll die from working!"

Machines on the verge of the scrap heap were pouring in once more. The fact that this kind of junk was arriving at this particular timing told me exactly one thing.

The operation had failed.

The Resistance had failed to retake Earth, and we would have to endure and prepare through another long stretch of time.

How many died this time?

I looked out from the ruined building. A devastated Earth, without a single blade of green to be seen.

And in the sky of Earth, now a planet glowing black, one phrase hung there, always.

It was written in a transcendental language—a phrase that any sentient being would receive with the same meaning, whether or not they knew the script, whether or not they knew the tongue.

Three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Day and night, without rest, that phrase hung in the sky.

Now and then, something extra got appended to it.

Something about a discount.

I wonder if it'll change to "barely any rebels left" soon. Or maybe "rebels on the verge of extinction"?

I was taking a short break, staring up at the sky, when I spotted a familiar figure approaching.

Helen.

A commander of the Resistance.

Red hair cut short. Her skin was as pale as the women of northern Europe, and her features, by contrast, were fine and restrained—a face that blended East and West beautifully. She was tall and slender enough to pass for a model, and on top of that she had a glamorous figure. Helen had the kind of presence you couldn't miss even from far away.

Our eyes met, so she'd probably call me 'Grandpa' now. Not that Helen calling me Grandpa meant I looked like an old man. I still had the appearance of a man in his thirties. She called me that simply because I'd survived so long.

Or maybe it was a dig—a roundabout way of saying that surviving long was all I had going for me.

"Grandpa!"

I turned toward her cheerful voice. It wasn't a voice I welcomed unreservedly. She always used that tone when she was bringing a mountain of work with her.

But what could I do? When the top tells you to get bent, you get bent.

I already knew I'd have to do whatever it was. Still, out of a sliver of hope for an escape, I didn't answer.

"Grandpaaa!"

"Bus Grandpa!"

She called me 'Bus Grandpa' because I'd once built a weapon out of an abandoned bus.

"What is it this time? And stop calling me Bus. That's workplace harassment too, you know."

"Right. Bus Grandpa."

"I said it's harassment?"

"Want to fight? If I win, I stop calling you that."

"Damn it... how the hell am I supposed to beat you?"

"Then keep being Grandpa."

Helen's expression went cold in an instant. Her pupils dilated, and her eyes turned into a predator's.

What could I do? You bow your head, that's what.

"Yes, ma'am..."

"Good. Bus Grandpa."

"Can't we at least drop the 'Bus' part?"

"But it's a term of respect? Named after Respect himself?"

"Fine. Respect... I'll take it."

"By the way, why are you pulling your hat down over your eyes like that? You're hiding your handsome face."

"Quit busting my balls. The age gap between us is a canyon."

"Right? So is the rank gap."

"..."

"So what's going on? Are you sick or something?"

"Craniotomy."

"Cranio-what? A dog?"

"No. Craniotomy. Cra-ni-ot-o-my. I opened up my skull."

"Why? Trying to switch over to a combat build while you're at it?"

"Like that's a thing you can just ask for? It's not exactly something you can choose."

"Then why?"

"I've lived too long. When my memories start going, my brain goes with them. So I have to open it up periodically and swap out the dead tissue. Call it the curse of being born in the Blue Planet era."

It really was a strange thing. When memory dies, the brain dies too. And a dying brain means the self is drifting, little by little, toward extinction.

This phenomenon appeared in humans who had lived far too long, and the only treatment was to open the skull, remove the dead brain matter, and transplant fresh tissue. And the longer your life stretched on, the shorter that cycle became.

Of course, in the early days the treatment came with plenty of side effects. The worst were memory loss along with the surgery and abnormalities in emotion or function—though those had all but disappeared by now.

The one remaining side effect was that every surgery left you feeling like you'd been born anew.

Was that really a downside? Sounded more like a perk.

"I see. So that's what it was."

"I've told you this before, plenty of times."

"I wasn't paying attention."

"You're busy, so I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get it. You're here about fixing the stuff back there, right? While I work overtime? Popping painkillers the whole way through?"

"No. You won't need to do that anymore."

"No need?"

"Yeah. We're finished."

"Finished?"

"Yeah. As in doomed."

With that, Helen suddenly pulled me into an embrace. It was only a light hug, but I was drawn in like iron to a magnet.

She might have looked like an ordinary human, but she was the Resistance's greatest weapon—one of the human beings believed to stand closest to the Transcendental Species. Struggling would have been pointless. If Helen put her mind to it, she could tear me apart like jerky.

"You know what? I always thought it would be fine."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, out of nowhere? And what favor is this, that you'd go so far as to hug me?"

"That obvious, huh?"

Helen smiled brightly and looked straight at me. She was beautiful, I'd give her that.

"Yeah. Blazingly obvious. Could you let go? I can't get out of this on my own strength."

"Okay."

Helen released me.

"So where does the situation stand? I'm bottom of the ladder—I don't know the process and I don't want to. Give me the conclusion first. Do I need an euthanasia patch right now? I've got a good one saved up. It's strawberry-flavored."

"It's not that."

"Then what? How badly did the operation get wrecked that you're laying all this groundwork first?"

"Badly. Which is why you have to go to the past."

"The past?"

"Yeah. The past."

"You're joking, right?"

"You haven't heard the rumors? That the higher-ups have been to the past and back."

"I heard the rumors, but who believes that? It's not summer-camp ghost stories season. What is this, a club?"

"It might sound absurd."

"It sounds plenty absurd. But you're saying it's not a joke."

"Correct. It's not a joke."

My eyes met Helen's. She was smiling, but I could tell she wasn't joking.

"We've already traveled to the past several times. And we made progress."

"That's..."

"That's the only reason the Resistance as it stands exists. Not that it's about to disappear."

"So you need someone to go again?"

"Yes. This is the last chance."

"The last chance... and you pick me? Why? Are you mind-controlled or something?"

If the Resistance's supreme weapon, Helen herself, had fallen under mental domination, that would have been a catastrophic problem.

"I'm not. My mind is perfectly sound."

"Then why send me? I'm not a combat type. Tinkering with machines is the whole extent of my Gift. Someone like me heading out there—how long could I even hold out? Through the early phase? Is getting through that all you need?"

"No. You have to survive. All the way to the end. Until the time I'm born."

"Are you kidding me? You really aren't mind-controlled? No wait—you're not Helen at all, are you?"

"I am. I'm telling you, it's me."

"Then why me?"

"Because everyone else is dead."

"You could go yourself. That would boost the odds way higher, wouldn't it?"

"I've already been."

"..."

"You're the last one. There's no choice but you. So first, find the 'Hammer.' Use it to find the arrangements we've laid down over the years, and survive. Surviving comes first."

"Arrangements?"

"Yes. They'll help. But... even if that fails, survival comes first. You have to survive. Otherwise it's truly over. Whatever happens, survive. Make Turnon's Warhammer your top priority."

"And Neo-Mason? Do I get to deal with them too?"

"Yes. They're the ones who sold out Earth. Sold out humanity."

"..."

"Wittgen is Neo-Mason too."

Wittgen had been one of the Resistance commanders. The man hailed as humanity's greatest magician. Unlike Helen, who was born after the end, he was one of the 'Last Humans'—born before the apocalypse and still alive today.

I was a Last Human too, but Wittgen and I were different in a lot of ways. I hadn't survived to now on skill, the way he had. I'd survived on dumb luck.

"Wittgen? No way. That can't be true."

"He betrayed us at the very end. That's all you need to know."

"..."

"Go now."

"You're sure there's really no one else? I'm alive right now on pure luck, you know that, right?"

"Even if it's luck, luck will have to do."

Helen stepped closer and pressed a deep kiss to my mouth. Only then did I see it clearly—the world reflected in Helen's eyes was in the process of annihilation.

Then she touched my forehead with her index finger, and my surroundings began to blur.

"That I liked you—I meant it. I just never got the chance to say it."

"...!"

Helen's bright smile.

I tried to answer, but I couldn't. My body was rising off the ground as if floating, and the whole world was spinning around me.

And then I could see the sky of Earth, properly, one last time.

The inscription overhead had changed.

Gong Won-goo was having a lucid dream.

A lucid dream. A dream in which you know you're dreaming.

Periodically, he dreamed of the scenes from just before his regression. And he knew exactly what scene would come next.

Everything he had been through. Returning to the eve of the apocalypse, acquiring Turnon's Warhammer just as Helen had told him, growing at breakneck speed and climbing above the other survivors—scene after scene rolled past.

Brutal, desperate times, so savage that if someone ordered him to go back and do it all again, he'd shake his head until his neck gave out.

The early apocalypse, when half of humanity vanished.

Won-goo watched those scenes in silence, enduring them.

Why did this long dream repeat on a cycle? Only recently had the lucid dream begun to show signs of ending. He now knew where it would stop. From the point where the dream began winding down, he found he could move a little more freely.

Four years had passed since the end of the world.

Those who survived the early apocalypse were called survivors. They believed they had mostly adapted to the world of the apocalypse by now, but Won-goo thought a little differently.

This son-of-a-bitch apocalypse was only just getting started.

"Hyeong-niiim."

"Hyeong-niiim."

"Hyeong-nim. It's time to get up, sir."

Only when the familiar voice reached him did Won-goo open his eyes. And he realized he'd had another one of those vivid dreams.

Son of a bitch—I should've just stayed dead back then.

Every time he woke from that recurring dream, the first thing that surfaced was a curse. Followed by the booming voice of Lee Hyun-sung, built like a bear.

Won-goo liked to call him Kkakdugi. Kimchi radish.

"Hyeong..."

"I'm up."

"Did you hack one up, sir?"

"Yeah. Kkakdugi. Did it rain overnight?"

"It didn't, Hyeong-nim."

At Lee Hyun-sung's clipped answer, Won-goo let out a long sigh and looked around. The interior of the trailer camper. The vehicle was big to begin with, but the inside was far more spacious than it looked from outside. Being inside a vehicle gave it a cramped feel, sure, but it was more than enough room for people to live in.

"Haa... I think we picked the wrong guy for weather duty."

"Agreed, Hyeong-nim."

"Ugh. So we have to go buy water now? How much have we got left?"

"Enough for three days, Hyeong-nim."

"So if it doesn't come today, we're going shopping. Right?"

"Correct, Hyeong-nim."

"What was the weather guy's name again?"

"Geum Chul-soo, Hyeong-nim."

"Cheul-soo. Geum Chul-soo. A name made for pulling out—cheol-su. What do you think? Sounds like it's time for his therapy session, doesn't it?"

"In my judgment, we've already been more than patient with him, Hyeong-nim."

"Right. Then call him in. And have him bring cigarettes on the way."

"The cigarettes are right here, Hyeong-nim."

Lee Hyun-sung, as if he'd been waiting for exactly that, produced a pack and set it on the bed.

"Good man. Thanks, as always."

"It's nothing, Hyeong-nim."

"Mister. You do actually know how to read the weather, right?"

Won-goo was smoking a cigarette while the weather coordinator, Geum Chul-soo, fidgeted in place.

"I do! My Gift really is weather forecasting. It's usually dead accurate, it's just... every once in a while..."

A Gift was the ability each survivor awakened when the world ended. Everyone's Gift was different, and it could never be changed. The foundation everything else was built on, so to speak.

THUD!

Something slammed against the trailer from outside, and Geum Chul-soo jolted in terror. Won-goo didn't so much as twitch.

"Ignore it and focus. We parked here specifically so they could come swarming."

"Yes, sir..."

"Nobody doubts that you have a weather-reading Gift, Chul-soo. Trust is a necessary thing. But you're making it very hard to keep that trust, since the rain isn't coming. It was supposed to come yesterday, no?"

"Well, you see..."

"Am I wrong? Did I mishear the date? I distinctly remember you saying this time was really, truly the last?"

"That's right, sir..."

"Either way, we can't wait for you forever. If no rain comes today, you'll have to make a choice. The Fishing Ground—or Sapiens. Ttugi."

"Yes, Hyeong-nim."

"Are the Fishers recruiting right now, or what?"

"I heard they're not, sir."

"Then it's Sapiens. No rain means we go to Sapiens. We've cut you a hell of a lot of slack as it is."

"It'll come today! It's absolutely coming today!"

Geum Chul-soo blurted out desperately.

"I'm only telling you so you know where things stand. You got a full explanation that this isn't some volunteer charity gig, didn't you? Forgotten already?"

"No, sir! I remember!"

"Then you'd better get ready. We're still being pretty humane about this, aren't we? We're not even charging interest. Any other outfit would've tallied up every loss and billed you for the lot. Our industry will forgive a lot of sins, but a swindler isn't one of them."

"Yes, sir..."

"Just keep all that in mind. Today's the deadline."

When his eyes met Won-goo's, Geum Chul-soo shook even harder.

Sapiens, or the Fishing Ground. In this godforsaken world, whichever you chose, hell was guaranteed.

"Everybody got their gear packed?!"

Won-goo shouted.

"Yes, sir!"

"Then let's get to work. Ttugi, open the door."

"Yes, Hyeong-nim."

The trailer's door swung open, and a horde of red monkeys threw themselves at it as if they'd been waiting all along.

Bloodfans. Red monkeys, red as blood. Monsters that tore living humans apart and ate them.

And yet to survivors who had been ground through the apocalypse's wringer, they were barely worth calling trash mobs.

The crew wiped out the Bloodfan pack without so much as a scratch.

"Director, would you like some water?"

Won-goo nodded, flopped down onto the heap of Bloodfan corpses, then popped right back up. Something was twitching beneath him.

"Hey! Check them properly! This one's still alive!"

"Sorry, Hyeong-nim! I'll be thorough from now on!"

"No reward ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for hard work, huh. None at all. We run ourselves ragged like this and even topping up living expenses is a squeeze. Wouldn't you say, Jo Mu-sa?"

"Aw, come on. Our agency's the envy of everyone around here. We're getting by, aren't we?"

"True enough. Getting by is what matters."

Won-goo took a swig of water and pulled out a cigarette.

"Jo Mu-sa. Where were you from again?"

"Seoul, sir."

"So was I. Then you must've seen the dragon, huh?"

"The dragon, sir?"

"The day the world flipped over. Word was a dragon showed up in Seoul?"

"Oh! Right, yes. I saw it. Something the size of a building, flying around? Then my memory cuts out after that. What about you, Director?"

"I wasn't in Seoul that day. Everyone who was there tells the story the same way."

"Is that so?"

"Let's wrap it up. Rain's not coming. I can feel it."

The rain never came. Geum Chul-soo was sent to Sapiens.