Gallery Admin's Omniscient Eyes

Gallery admin. Gallery admin. The word inevitably brings to mind "moderator armband." Their main job is monitoring the gallery, blocking harmful posts and users. Well... putting aside whether you can really call it "work" when they're doing this "volunteer service" for free without anyone asking.

Anyway, they're necessary for the gallery and do have a lot of authority. But the admin of this Maelmang Gallery seemed far removed from that archetype.

'No, it's just the title—there's no actual authority.'

Couldn't even block users. Not even delete posts. Truly just a nameplate with zero powers. The only thing they could do was peek at the real identity of whoever posted.

'Well... it's not that bad, I guess.'

The Maelmang Gallery operated entirely anonymously. A regular user couldn't tell who posted what or left comments. But I could see exactly who owned any post, what garbage they'd spewed—just from glancing at it.

I tested it out on one for confirmation.

Clicking a post revealed not just the user's personal info but even an interpreted rundown of their traits. And if I wanted, I could check their other posts, comments, or even location.

'...Wait, this feels kinda busted?'

It was definitely an insane ability. In the game Last Day, users unlocked Traits after a set time. And what Trait you got? 100% random.

Some were combat-related, others granted superhuman powers beyond human limits. But the odds of rolling those? Abysmal. Like one in dozens or hundreds of rerolls.

'If this is the one-of-a-kind Trait, it's a jackpot.'

Way better than garbage like "Breathe Well." No authority, but overwhelming in the info domain. And in an apocalypse? Info's value goes without saying.

'...At least within this gallery, it's straight-up busted.'

Early days, points were scarce—no real gains yet. But as users grew and the gallery stabilized? The info piling up would be massive.

Not an exaggeration to say every survivor nationwide communicated through this Maelmang Gallery.

'Internet down worldwide, all comms dead. Like it or not, this is their only lifeline.'

Used right, this gallery could generate insane synergy.

Guess I wasn't the only one thinking that. Some user who'd tinkered around posted this.

So the gallery even had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠private chat. Secret group rooms popped up like crazy right after the post. All locked with padlocks so outsiders couldn't peek.

But with admin privileges? Irrelevant to me.

'...Yeah, this power's definitely busted.'

I opened one chat that caught my eye.

"Tch, shouldn't have looked."

In a world like this, no way every story's a happy one. Searches turned up tons of family reunions posts. Society collapsed with the apocalypse—families scattered everywhere.

If someone's burning pricey points on private chats, it's gotta ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be about family or friends. But most outcomes? Grim.

Just confirming dead relatives. Or clinging to unanswered questions with fading hope.

"Hm, family."

I had no family left. That's why I holed up solo in my bunker. But I knew that pain—not from having, but from losing.

'Could use this power to help some of 'em?'

Would have to be extremely careful. Not everyone's a saint just 'cause they're hunting family. Humans get more brutal when it's someone precious on the line.

Plus, if my ability leaked? Disaster. Who'd leave someone who could expose their secrets and dox them alone?

"Gotta move so my power stays hidden. That's the limit."

Regrettable, but dropping anon comments was safest. If safety was guaranteed, maybe bolder help... but for now, this.

As I scrolled secret posts slowly,

A chat screaming danger. And the location they mentioned? My bunker.

No coincidence—unless some mystery bunker I didn't know about popped up where I'd scouted long ago. Checked to confirm: matched one of the contractors I'd hired.

"...Tried so hard to stay low. Flies still buzzed in."

Inevitable. Even max stealth, pros would've sensed something off. Apocalypse hits, imagination fills in "bunker."

'Chat says they're armed decently. Not a small crew either.'

Figured that contractor had low survival odds. Didn't expect such a quick adapter—full raider mode days in.

In a way, well-suited to the end times.

"Bad luck."

Not aimed at me—about the fools coming for me now.

Years of prep. Raider countermeasures ironclad. Plus Gallery Admin Trait spilling their whole plan?

Walking into the tiger's jaws begging to die.

"...Raiders? No reason to spare 'em."

Decision made, I stood. Grabbed the crossbow from the weapon storeroom.

They knew my bunker's spot. Not sending a single one back alive.

Being "nice" was for the internet age. This was enough.