The Poison We Seek
The villa, which I hadn't visited in a long time, was spotlessly clean. Five households had gone untouched by me, and three of them were empty. Whether the residents had ventured outside and died or simply moved to another city, I couldn't tell. Even the house that still showed signs of life…
Click. "Door's open, whoa!"
The moment Park Yanggun forced the lock, a zombie inside lunged forward, drooling. Its emaciated body charged with a frenzy that bordered on madness, arms outstretched.
"Graaah!"
It felt like watching a starving man throw himself at a bowl of rice. We were long past the point of being startled by such things. Park Yanggun drew his gun and fired without hesitation. The gunshot echoed through the villa, and at point-blank range the bullet punched straight into the zombie's forehead. As it crumpled, a hammer and hatchet swept past its crown—thrown by me and Jeon Dohyeong.
We assessed the situation with cold detachment. This was the last house, and its resident had clearly been infected and turned. Jeon Dohyeong muttered under his breath.
"We really did take over an entire villa."
"Damn. Who needs to be a landlord? Deacon Kwon—wait, Kim Dain. Should we pretend we're the owners and let people in? Charge rent in food instead of money?"
I stared blankly down at the zombie and shook my head.
"We'll worry about that later. First, let's check what resources are left inside."
My voice came out faintly bitter. There were still more people than zombies, yet they turned or died so easily. Owning the villa brought no joy. It had always been destined to become mine in the end. What weighed on me was how they had met their end.
If I don't want to end up like that, I'd better be careful.
Virus. Zombies. I repeated the rules of survival to myself and slowly looked around the house. Rooms filled with trash. Furniture overturned as if a zombie had rampaged through. Park Yanggun, true to his thieving nature, pried open wardrobes and crooked drawers in search of bankbooks, seals, and gold or silver. Jeon Dohyeong and I hunted for food and other supplies.
How long had we been sifting through what felt like a landfill? After a while, Park Yanggun clicked his tongue.
"Nothing. Cleaned out."
"Not a single thing worth taking."
There really wasn't. Only plastic convenience-store containers remained, and even the food waste had been scraped clean by the zombie. The former resident clearly hadn't been the type to stock up. Opening the treasure chest had yielded nothing but the chest itself. Still, even an empty box had its uses.
"We'll have to be satisfied with having cleaned out the villa."
"Then let's each take a house and live separately."
We decided to split up. With the I-Virus's long incubation period, sharing a single space felt too risky. Sleeping, eating—any time we had to remove our masks, it was safer to be isolated.
Day 50 of the zombie outbreak. The number of zombies had already surpassed a million, and the daily increase of tens of thousands no longer registered. For the first time in a while, I sat at the computer and browsed the internet to see how the world was faring— infection counts, government responses, news, public reactions.
"The government still seems to be functioning…"
Tap, tap, tap. I drummed my fingers on the desk, lost in thought. The bright monitor displayed the strongest evidence of that.
I-Virus can't break K-soldier spirit!
Even now, the conscription system was still in place. Apparently, diagnostic kits that had been prioritized for the military were now being sent to training camps first…
Isn't that just madness?
Accepting new recruits while a zombie virus was spreading? Or were they desperately trying to replace soldiers lost to the virus? Would they even call up the reserves? Not that I'd go if they did.
I scrolled through more news. Administrative functions and organizations kept barely alive by prioritizing supplies to civil servants and the military. Safe zones built using self-diagnosis kits. Front lines dug like trenches to protect key national facilities and infrastructure with everything they had. They were working hard, in their own way—though their response was gentler because they still treated zombies as people and citizens.
The reactions aren't good.
I read the hateful comments. The mood had completely shifted from the early days of the outbreak. Maybe it was the waves and the ruined lives. Citizens who felt the crisis demanded the zombies be shot dead in savage replies. People whose families had turned or tested positive pushed back, and the comment sections descended into chaos. Would you still say that if you or your family got infected?
I ignored the fighting and focused on my own question.
"The military's being too defensive. Why?"
Was it simply too difficult to defend and maintain the safe zones, key facilities, and front lines? Had the virus spread that badly through the ranks? Or was it still because zombies were people and citizens?
I frowned deeply and tried to think seriously, but my thoughts soon drifted into speculation and fantasy. I didn't have enough information.
Reasons they're not fighting the zombies…
Zombies were patients. Did that mean some people might recover naturally? Could the human immune system overcome the I-Virus? Were they waiting for that moment? Holding out until a vaccine or cure was developed? Searching for people with antibodies?
My imagination took flight. Thoughts raced in every direction.
A war against the virus. War?
Surely they believed that even if they were pushed back for now, as long as they held the defense, they wouldn't lose. Long-term defeat and victory?
In that instant, an idea flashed through my mind without context. An inspiration that might help my future plans. I barely managed to catch hold of it.
What was the most powerful spirit humans possessed? The willingness to die together—the spirit of mutual destruction.
"The virus… is less dangerous than humans."
What if the I-Virus evolved to contaminate water and air? Humans could do that too. We could do it even more viciously. We had nuclear bombs, the ability to blow up nuclear power plants, all kinds of pollutants, wastewater, and biochemical weapons. What if it evolved to infect birds and beasts? Humans had steel birds—nuclear missiles. If humans who had lost hope truly went mad, the virus could never win. They would turn the land into a place where no host could survive.
My thoughts twisted and tangled before rushing toward a single conclusion.
"I really do need to become more poisonous…"
Whether zombie or human, I had to carry a venom so potent no one would dare approach. Venom was humanity's true weapon.
I glanced out the window. In the bright daylight, humans roamed the streets. At night, zombies would run through them. If I wanted to make even a temporary base safer…
The thought slipped out as words.
"Can't we get our hands on some fentanyl?"
Like rat poison—let the hungry zombies eat it and die. I heard 2mg was enough to kill. Wasn't this far more useful than letting it go into people's mouths?
Then the chairman's face suddenly came to mind. He wore an awkward smile. Not perfect, but human. I sighed.
Chairman. You were human after all.
A virus that could never triumph against human malice. At best, mutual destruction was its only victory. Even the chairman had limits and made mistakes.
"You want drugs? I don't deal with people who do drugs."
"Figures. Your head's messed up."
The two marauders eyed me suspiciously. I waved my hands frantically, indignant.
"Not for me! I want to feed it to the zombies. Like cockroach poison."
"Then why are you asking for fentanyl?"
The suspicion didn't fade. Their eyes scanned my room as if they were certain I was hiding something illicit. I explained calmly.
"I don't know how to get cyanide. I don't even know where it's sold."
"But you know about fentanyl?"
"No, I don't! There were just so many drug cases in the news. I figured even if the world ended, addicts would still be addicts, so someone would have some."
I'd only seen it on the news, but it really did feel absurdly easy to obtain now. The most accessible poison in the current situation. And the lethal dose was tiny.
Park Yanggun slapped the floor.
"Don't get involved with those kinds of people. No one who touches drugs ends up okay. Just get pufferfish toxin or something instead."
"Pufferfish?"
How were we supposed to get pufferfish? And long-term trading would be difficult too. I stared at Park Yanggun with wide eyes. He snapped irritably.
"How many pufferfish restaurants are in this city? Start by checking those!"
"What about antifreeze? I think I heard somewhere that it's poisonous."
They really were marauders. Coming up with ideas I never would have thought of on my own. I smiled contentedly and nodded.
"Then I'll head out while it's still light."
Power was out only 25 percent of the day, but zombies claimed half of it. Humans ruled the city by day, zombies by night. It was as if an invisible boundary divided their time.
I walked through streets that a zombie wave had recently swept through. Corpses scattered everywhere. Roads still stained with blood. The shadow of ruin hung over the entire city.
They can't even collect the bodies anymore.
In areas still controlled by vigilantes or groups, the corpses were neatly gathered, but they couldn't be buried or burned. The piles of bodies looked like garbage dumps. What was worse, the people walking the streets passed by with the same dull indifference as always. This inhuman scene was the true apocalypse. A world where death was commonplace, where morality and spirit had worn away until only the primitive remained.
I checked my hammer and pistol.
Was it a mistake to come out alone? Even if there are no zombies during the day, people are far more dangerous.
I kept my eyes wide open, watching every direction. Others were doing the same. They carried crudely modified, welded, and painted weapons, their expressions grim. In this era, weapons had become a person's defining feature more than their clothes. Masks, caps, helmets, leather jackets, jeans—the apocalypse uniform made everyone look the same.
With my nerves on edge, I headed for the nearest sushi restaurant that also served pufferfish.
"…This is grim."
Several zombie corpses lay in front of the restaurant. As I passed, I glanced at them. Every single one had its carotid artery cleanly and precisely severed. Cut with a sashimi knife?
I swallowed hard and stepped inside. The bell jingled, and a crisp voice called out.
"Welcome!"
The restaurant was empty because of quarantine policies, like an omakase counter. A man with a fierce face looked at me. He held a sharp kitchen knife in one hand, and his exposed forearms were covered in tattoos of various fish. He looked more like someone who would carve up people than fish.
When I stood there awkwardly, the man gave an awkward smile and covered the tattoos with one hand.
"Ah, these. I just like fish. This one's a mullet, this one's salmon, this one's tuna. Oh, right. You're here to pick up an order, correct? May I see your number?"
"No. I'd like to order now."
"You know we don't allow dining in, right?"
"I know."
I slipped into a seat at the far end. He seemed like a difficult person.
"What would you like to order? Luckily, we got fresh fish in today."
Logistics hadn't been completely cut off yet, apparently. I got straight to the point.
"Pufferfish toxin."
"If it's pufferfish, it takes time to prepare… Toxin?"
The man turned back around. The knife in his hand gleamed as if ready to stab someone. The smile he'd worn for customers vanished completely.
"We don't sell toxin."