Sowing Discord
It was a rare day off. There was no need to water the crops every single day, and I'd already finished cleaning the streets and making preparations. I holed up in my room and studied the latest trends. I reached out to potential rivals and logged into messengers to gather information—street conditions, survivor group movements, looting tactics. The world was such a mess that rumors ran rampant, but I managed to piece together a decent picture of the city.
“The market's collapsed. The powerful survivor groups are lying low.” The military that had entered the city had apparently withdrawn. There were whispers they were busy salvaging crops on the outskirts, rumors that the market fell because zombies disguised as humans slipped in, and talk that the Scavengers had run into resistance. The only certainty was that the market no longer operated. Schools were the same—anything secondary to immediate survival had collapsed. Other survivor groups seemed to have realized this too and were now focusing solely on staying alive.
“Wait until stockpiles run out. Only move at night when something essential is missing. Trade only between individuals?” I stared at the ceiling, organizing my thoughts. Avoid unnecessary risks. Only act when a shortage threatens survival. It was a solid principle, but it didn't interest me.
I turned my eyes to the notes I'd scribbled. Potential rivals—Elder from the Hope Community, Rider Zero who rubbed me the wrong way, the police friend who'd warned me to be careful. Recent crime methods: “Lure people in under the pretense of trading, then rob them. Lie among corpses and ambush. Drop bricks on passersby from above.” It all felt rather crude. Simple attacks on lone individuals. No viral terrorism, no arson. Still, worth noting. I could adapt them, refine them into something more elegant and lethal.
While I mulled this over, evening arrived. I climbed to the rooftop and looked down over the city. Villa Street sat on relatively high ground, offering a view of the nearby streets and part of the urban sprawl. Some areas remained dark despite the power being on—zones where electrical infrastructure had completely failed. My thoughts darkened with them.
Once the typhoons and monsoon pass, the infrastructure will all go down. The indoor farms will fail too. Maybe I should betray Villa Street sooner rather than later… My thoughts wavered like shadows stumbling through the dark, all in the name of survival.
Summer. A brief downpour had dumped an enormous amount of rain, driving the humidity to oppressive levels. It felt less like sweat and more like sticky moisture clinging to the skin. The heat lingered, creating perfect weather for killing. Perhaps because of the miserable conditions, the people of Villa Street—who had been getting along reasonably well—began fighting over trivial matters.
“Why is my lettuce so small? We were supposed to divide everything equally.”
“I gave everyone the same amount. Why are you nitpicking?”
“Look at it!”
They argued over how the harvested lettuce was distributed. Trades turned heated too.
“You're asking that much for a pack of cigarettes? Are you insane?”
“Don't buy it then. Why the hell are you making a scene?”
“A scene? You—”
People grabbed each other by the collar, faces flushed. Even minor issues that would normally be ignored escalated into major fights. Worst of all, the man who usually mediated seemed to have lost all motivation and didn't intervene, so the conflicts refused to die down.
I stayed hidden in a corner, observing the atmosphere. These people never had much sense of belonging to begin with. They shared almost no common ground, and the time they'd spent struggling together was barely three months at most. They were the type to turn on each other over the smallest things. For all I knew, someone like me was already here, plotting betrayal. After all, wiping everyone out would hand over their resources and the indoor farm.
I need to betray them before they betray me. Trusting people only leads to massive losses when betrayed. There's only one way to prevent that: strike first.
Around that time, the man stepped in weakly. He tapped the wall with an iron pipe, then spoke in a low voice.
“Stop fighting. Let's talk about something important. We're running low on supplies—cigarettes, alcohol, toilet paper. If we're going to trade with other survivors outside, we need to be careful.”
“…Trying to stop us from trading?” someone grumbled irritably.
The man took a deep breath, loosened his grip on the pipe, and explained seriously.
“I'm saying do it as individuals, and do it far from here. If word gets out that we have plenty of food and are running an indoor farm, we'll be attacked. Never mention the indoor farm, and don't sell any crops.”
It was a cautious warning, but I doubted how effective it would be. I glanced at a few people—the smokers and drinkers. No matter how ruined the world became or how hard survival grew, they remained smokers and drinkers. Just like criminal accomplices who ignored danger to commit crimes, they couldn't resist their impulses. Some even looked like they'd gotten ideas, eyes sparkling at the thought of selling lettuce.
A scenario wrote itself in my head in an instant. If this goes well, I could eliminate them one by one. Suspicion, division, conflict. I could gradually reduce their numbers. Maybe even create an opportunity to recruit the paranoid man.
“That's enough. Everyone go back.”
After sending the awkward crowd away first, I approached the man and planted seeds of doubt about the people I'd been watching.
“The ones who ran out of cigarettes and alcohol—they're probably going to sell the lettuce.”
“No way. Even they wouldn't go that far. It would put all of us in danger.”
The man shook his head, caught between suspicion and belief. His mind was wavering. If he'd been in his right mind, he would have suspected immediately, but he was desperately clinging to optimistic hope. Once that belief shattered, his attachment to maintaining the Villa Street group would vanish completely.
With the kind intention of erasing that attachment, I spoke calmly.
“We'll know when we see it. Just in case, why not keep watch?”
“…Fine.”
The man reluctantly agreed. He checked his watch, as if calculating when the next blackout would hit.
“I hear people are meeting secretly to trade during blackouts these days. Let's watch then. …We'll do it for a week.”
I smirked and turned away. A week? No need to wait that long. Today would do. I'd use the new tactic I'd learned—luring people out under the pretense of trading.
So I did some minor groundwork. I created buyers and sellers. I claimed I desperately wanted fresh vegetables and would trade cigarettes, alcohol, or canned goods for them. Borrowing the format of spam messages, I blasted it to as many people as possible, including those in Villa Street. After spending considerable time shouting offers, haggling, and arguing like a real trader, I managed to deceive one of the street's residents. We agreed to exchange a bit of fresh lettuce for cigarettes and alcohol. The time was set for during a blackout when zombies wouldn't be around, at a certain street. Then I did it again—offering to sell lettuce, demanding only alcohol and cigarettes in return. I scattered messages and found someone willing to buy the lettuce.
The blackout came. The man and I went out to the street and hid inside a car. It was positioned well enough to detect anyone leaving the villa. The man drummed anxiously on the steering wheel, lost in thought.
“If they sell fresh lettuce, people will figure out we're farming. Of course that puts us in danger. There's no way they'd do that.”
His voice was barely above a mutter. Even someone riddled with suspicion couldn't function if they couldn't maintain even the bare minimum of trust. So he was forcing himself to believe, like self-brainwashing. I chimed in from beside him.
“I'm sure no one will actually move. They wouldn't deliberately attract zombies or openly put all of us at risk.”
I said I was just watching just in case, that I trusted the street people too. No need to sow suspicion now. The betrayal would happen anyway. It would be most effective when the trust I'd instilled finally crumbled.
The man sighed and rubbed his face repeatedly like someone utterly exhausted.
“I feel like I've lost my way lately. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”
“Everyone's like that. Jobs, goals, dreams, life plans—they've all collapsed, haven't they?”
“That's not what I mean. I still wanted to survive by working together with the people here. Is that even possible?”
Wasn't that too ambitious a goal? When even his own survival was uncertain, trying to turn people with no bonds beyond crime into a sustainable group? In a world facing viruses, zombies, collapsed security, incoming natural disasters, and depleting resources, there were almost no leaders capable of guiding others. No vision or visible purpose could be set. No better future to lead them toward. It was simply a world where everyone was swept up in disaster, floundering. Lives thrashing against problems beyond human control.
I spoke as if comforting him.
“Don't look too far ahead. Just thinking about surviving day by day is already exhausting. We have no choice but to live in the moment.”
“That would put my mind at ease. But… someone's coming.”
His words cut off. We held our breath and looked out the window. Under the faint moonlight, a person from Villa Street was walking by, carrying a metal bat and rustling a plastic bag. The man gritted his teeth and immediately got out of the car, approaching the figure with aggressive, straight-line strides.
“Where are you going? What's that?”
“Ah, you startled me. This?”
I followed the man. The Villa Street resident looked flustered and handed the bag over.
“It's rice that got wet in the rain before. I was going to trade it for toilet paper. We've run out.”
“…Rice? Toilet paper?”
What? Was this not the person? I didn't remember the faces, voices, or names of the Villa Street residents very well. This person didn't seem like the lettuce leaker—they showed a properly cautious survivor attitude.
“I figured trading too much or offering good rice would be risky, so I prepared it like this.”
“Right. …Be careful on your way. There might be robbers.”
The man let out a long sigh of relief and returned the bag, his voice light as if he'd overcome his suspicion and regained his faith. I looked around in panic. This can't be happening. Maybe they were too scared of the streets to come out? Or was this person the one? Were they hiding lettuce in their clothes? Should I search their belongings?
The resident with the rice bag spoke incredulously.
“You're doing this because you thought I'd sell lettuce? No one would sell lettuce. If word got out, it'd be a disaster.”
“I must have been thinking wrong because I'm tired lately. Anyway, have a safe trip.”
Just as the man patted their shoulder lightly, the front door of one villa creaked open. A person stepped out slowly, then stopped upon seeing us. Their movements were clearly suspicious. Was it this person?
The resident with the rice bag swung their bat.
“Are you going to trade too? Hey, if you're heading out, let's go together. Two people are safer, right?”
“No, that's—”
So it was them. I glanced at the man beside me. He had frozen like a statue, then began walking slowly. Without a word, he reached out and snatched the bag the person was trying to hide.
“What are you doing? No, what—”
After staring at the bag for a moment with their head lowered, the man suddenly looked up and grabbed the other by the collar.
“I told you not to sell this—!”
“I'm not selling it!”
Their shouts echoed through Villa Street. I suppressed a laugh and joined their struggle.
“Unlock your phone. Show us the transaction contacts and there won't be any misunderstandings.”
“Why should I!”
We restrained the violently struggling person, pulled their hand over, and used their fingerprint to unlock it. Then we checked the messenger they'd contacted me on. Clear evidence of offering lettuce for sale.
The man went rigid. He couldn't speak, only trembled while gripping the iron pipe. The resident who'd come to buy toilet paper recoiled in shock and raised their bat toward the lettuce leaker.
“Are you crazy? If you do this, people will suspect we're farming and it'll become dangerous!”
“Let's tie this person up first, then deal with that too.”
“…How? And what difference would cleaning this up make? If this keeps happening anyway—”
The man's voice cracked. His mind was deeply shaken. I thought I could shift his perspective slightly.
“We kill the people who wanted to buy the lettuce. If we keep luring and killing anyone who tries to sell lettuce afterward, no one will trust anyone anymore. And—”
I pointed at the lettuce leaker.
“People who have no interest in the group's survival. We pull out weeds like this one by one.”
And once all the weeds were pulled, only the plunderers would remain.