I'm Not Exactly a Newbie (1)
Gray Forest.
Whoever named it did a damn good job.
I mulled it over as I hopped over piles of collapsed buildings—whether they'd crumbled from the relentless march of time or because some ability user had torn through them like tissue paper.
"Every convenience store's been picked clean. Nothing worth taking."
It was close to the Swamp Zone, so maybe that explained it.
To scavenge anything worthwhile, I'd probably have to hit up stores farther out.
Not that I'd bother digging through a place shuttered for over ten years when there were fresher spots nearby...
I tore my eyes from the convenience store and glanced across the street at the chicken joint. One of those once-hyper-famous franchise chickens that jacked up prices and got roasted online for it.
Staring at the skeletal husk of what used to be a thriving spot hammered home just how close this world had come to total apocalypse.
Chicken hadn't vanished entirely from the earth, but it might as well have outside Seoul. A luxury dish for the capital elite.
Should I count my blessings for living in the Seoul Republic, or curse it?
"God, I want some Pa-dak..."
Muttering nonsense, I pressed on. Now and then I'd cross paths with other hunters, but we'd just nod and go our separate ways.
Hunters scrapped all the time, sure—but not every encounter turned into a brawl. Starting shit out of nowhere in this world was straight-up insane.
For starters, if your opponent was a special-class ability user, messing with them meant joining the skeletons littering the ground—family reunion style. Picking fights blind was suicide.
And even if you survived and dragged your ass back to the Swamp Zone, no guarantees you'd stay alive.
Plenty of psychos stirred up trouble anyway... but even newbie hunters knew it wasn't smart. That's why Namsan Fortress stayed quieter than you'd expect.
Not silent, though.
Gunshots. Shouts. Some unholy screech echoing from god-knows-where.
I fished a marble-sized steel ball from my pocket and palmed it.
No gun? This was my desperate backup plan.
It'd serve as my ace in the hole for a while.
Recalling how I'd tested it with a final shot on the Guard Captain, I balanced the ball on my thumb.
Compress with max force to stabilize it, angle it toward the target, then release the attraction force...
The steel ball rocketed off my thumbnail with a sharp whistle.
Too fast for the naked eye to track.
Followed by a crack—something shattering.
Good enough.
If it could gouge concrete that deep with one finger's worth of push, punching holes in a regular human wouldn't be hard.
Range was short, yeah...
But I had counters for distant attacks now, so it'd do.
Practice run: I layered repulsion force over my clothes.
It took focus—still awkward—but it'd stop pistol rounds, even if rifle fire might punch through.
Man, I missed real Quaker power.
At disaster-class level, I wouldn't even bother hunting. I could join some organization, climb the ranks on ability alone, live easy. Or raid high-end spots, snag valuables, flip 'em for profit.
Scratch that—from the jump—
"If you're gonna possess me, couldn't you pick somewhere peaceful?"
An academy story? Nah, those were hell too. Fantasy world? Also hell.
Did no possession spot come with paradise?
Should've dumped my 5,700 characters into a chill novel I liked.
At least I'd start with the source material memorized.
Chewing complaints like gum, I wove between ruined buildings.
Original story had a five-story with a Dotteria on top.
Recent episode—still fresh in my mind.
I unfolded my map and marked it with the overpriced pen I'd splurged on.
Jotting chicken joints, eateries, convenience stores—boom, navigable map.
My drawing sucked, but as long as I could read it...
How long had I been mapping as I walked?
I spotted a familiar-yet-unfamiliar sign from afar.
Dotteria.
Once Korea's most ubiquitous fast food chain... now just a faded relic.
War bankrupt the company flat.
Probably took the local chicken spots down too.
I shook off memories of the bustling scene from not even a month before possession.
No point longing for unreachable places—left nothing but sorrow. Time to play resident and scrape by.
Hesitate, and it'd snag your ankle.
Shoving aside the nostalgia, I stood before the Dotteria sign and scanned around.
The once-glossy red logo had bled to a washed-out pallor, time's cruel fade. Entrance smashed long ago—someone'd beat me here.
Short hike from base? Expected.
I slipped inside cautiously.
Surprisingly clean interior.
Chairs and tables probably hauled off for use elsewhere. Hunters fighting to the death over fast-food furniture? I snorted.
World gone mad, but still funny.
"Eh, promo models fetch good prices these days..."
No one's making 'em anymore. 3D printers survived, but wasting them on toys? Insane.
Though in this mad world, crazies existed. Original had some rich nut buy old modeling data on HDDs or USBs, print it out, exhibit like art.
Otaku figs in a gallery show. Loon.
Damn, kinda jealous now.
Me, sifting dust-choked ruins for scraps. Him, hobbying in half-ruined apocalypse.
Sigh. Whatever. Focus on the job.
I crept through the inner door to the hallway.
Building scarred with cracks and breaks, teetering like it'd collapse any second—but original said years till it did. Safe for now.
Straight to the emergency stairs.
...What the hell wrecked these?
Sunlight pouring from above—top-down cave-in. Path down totally blocked.
Stairs would've been easiest. Elevator shaft it is. Or hunt another stairwell.
Check elevator first.
I pivoted without regret.
Luckily, close to stairs. One shaft open, one closed.
Open one: pitch-black void instead of a car.
Stuck up top... or plummeted.
Too much hassle to check.
Climb all the way? Easy up, but time-waster.
Ability drain for repeats would tank my stamina first.
Couldn't afford that yet—still needed heavy focus to wield powers.
To save energy and hit goals, risk the descent?
"...Eh, it'll work out."
No choice anyway—miss this target's loot, I'm screwed.
Other valuables in original? Locations vague, too far.
Options nil.
I dropped the full-body repulsion, summoned attraction force.
Amped gravity pulling me down—like freefall in an elevator.
Finer control would nix the nausea, but not yet. Grit teeth.
"Down we go."
Wall-crawling a bottomless pit of dark.
Better than bullet hell, but creepy as fuck.
Per original, down there...
Exhale. Don't think.
I started down the elevator shaft, feet planted vertical on the wall.