Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: D - 7
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[D - 7]
Zombie outbreak in 7 days.
Surprisingly, no one had contacted me.
It was a relief, but at the same time, it felt suspicious.
Was it really that hard to track down a few people in this small country?
I figured the national agency's investigative power could uncover the color of my underwear from today.
Not that they'd want to, of course.
"Why is it so quiet?"
I turned on the TV while washing up in the morning, but there wasn't much to see.
Foreign dignitaries visiting and foreign reporters swarming wasn't fresh news anymore.
I was curious about what they planned to do.
The Survival Life production team too...
As I sat there blankly staring at the TV, a current affairs debate show started.
"A talk show first thing in the morning?"
Heavy programs like this were supposed to air at night—that was the rule.
The issue was so serious that these debates were popping up at all hours.
Dingo came out of the bathroom, yawned, and rested his head on my leg.
I couldn't bring myself to get up and kept my eyes glued to the TV.
—This situation is judged to be extremely grave. The government's response is delayed. On our program, assuming all this is true, we'll focus our debate on what we should do. Welcome, panelists.
As soon as the host finished speaking, one panelist grabbed the mic and dropped a bombshell.
—No need for words. We need martial law.
—Wait a minute, martial law isn't something you just...
As the other panelists raised objections, he shrugged aggressively.
—Don't you get it yet? Now that monsters we thought were just sci-fi have appeared, it's over. We'll all become zombies eventually. But will people accept that? Protests are breaking out even now. It'll only get worse. Things could spiral out of control. We need martial law.
—Martial law isn't a decision made lightly. The burden on the administration would be immense. Parliament wouldn't allow it.
—Are you kidding? The world's about to end—what do the regime and parliament matter? In a few weeks or months, we'll all be zombies. This is frustrating.
In one week...
The panelists argued back and forth.
In my view, that chubby guy was hitting the nail on the head.
His point boiled down to one thing:
We're doomed anyway, so let's face an orderly end.
The president or lawmakers would faint if they heard what poured from his mouth.
—The Metal Plague, you see. It's a terrifying disease that corrodes all metals. If it hits on zombie outbreak day, it'll be a sight to behold. Can anyone explain what happens if the Metal Plague occurs?
—Explaining something impossible feels off.
—It's all just fantasy, right?
As the two panelists dismissed it, the chubby one sighed and shook his head.
—Weren't superpowers once dismissed as fantasy? Yesterday, that world-famous superpower hunter visited and confirmed them as real. Over 100 people have been verified already, and more are coming. What about goblins? Government fakes? Do you two really think all this is just imagination?
—No, but... Just because A is real doesn't mean B and C are too.
—Superpowers are A, goblins B, and the Silver Spore meteor from Africa—meaning a native god—C. Do you need a Y too? Would you only admit zombies are possible at 5% if one shambles up right in front of you?
Now the chubby guy was getting sarcastic.
The two panelists cleared their throats awkwardly, visibly uncomfortable.
The host stepped in to mediate.
—Let's calm down. Our topic today is what we should do assuming it's all true... but maybe we need a different angle. Committee Member Lee Hyun-soo, what makes martial law necessary?
The panelist named Lee Hyun-soo chugged his water.
I'd thought the glass was decorative since he never drank, but nope.
Anyway, he launched into a tirade.
—Martial law is for an orderly end. Zombies, Metal Plague, monster invasions—these unreal elements mixed together spell the end of our civilization.
The two panelists coughed awkwardly when he paused.
Like before, they seemed like they'd deny zombies even if one jumped out.
He continued.
—But survivors will remain. Plenty of people will make it. Our job is to leave a legacy for them and future generations. No metals because of the Metal Plague, so seal it tight in plastic or something.
—So... leave a legacy?
—Yes. We don't know if the Metal Plague lasts years, but it won't be forever. Rig it to open in a few years. And there's another reason.
—What reason?
—If the Metal Plague becomes real, society collapses completely. Reinforced concrete buildings crumble too, right?
—That's nonsense... Spores can't have that kind of penetration.
Another quiet panelist spoke up.
But the chubby one countered immediately.
—Why assume direct contact? We don't know the spores' properties. What if they're radioactive, emitting radiation? Particle beams with high penetration?
—Well...
The glasses-wearing panelist faltered.
It wasn't logic; he just had nothing to say without knowing the spores.
I checked Survival Life's lore on my laptop.
"Spotted stains, huh."
I'd overlooked it in-game, but now it looked odd.
Ruins and vehicles were heavily discolored.
"Real radiation?"
The story just said "spores" without details on how they worked.
Particle beams with high penetration...
That meant escaping the Metal Plague would be tough no matter what.
Unless you dug kilometers underground.
Sensing victory, the chubby panelist roared.
—That's why! We need a planned end. We don't know when doom hits, but America will. Declare martial law, shut down all nuclear plants nationwide, neutralize hazardous chemicals. Cut off city gas too.
—That's extreme. Do you know the damage that would cause?
—It's the end—what's the difference? We're all dying anyway.
—If it's not the end, who takes responsibility for the damage?
—After all this talk, still? Frustrating.
—At least secure the Survival devs and servers first.
—Reports say they're searching...
—Too late!
"Hmm..."
They were talking past each other.
Their views were so polarized, no compromise in sight.
Planned end, though...
Martial law could make it happen.
Question was if the current government had the guts.
"Gotta leave a few zombies."
In two days, the Russian fishing boat event would let the world witness zombies.
Besides that, I'd give the exact timing.
The rest was the meteor.
"With NASA and all..."
The Silver Spore had fragmented near Jupiter, hard to track.
But a large meteor swarm approaching Earth should be observable.
"Can't they intercept with missiles?"
Earth defense force US military might...
They wouldn't advertise mission success while everyone panicked.
"Not a bad thing."
If doom didn't come, even better for me.
I stuck out my tongue at sleeping Dingo, then carefully picked him up and headed into the forest.
The shelter held rented gear like the mini forklift.
They'd hounded me about construction, so awkward.
Managed to open a dimension gate in an empty lot at dawn and store it.
Trained too, all good, but fuel efficiency sucked.
"One jerrycan a day."
Does good work, so whatever.
Sat in the seat, gingerly scooped dirt—felt great.
Yeah, this is work.
My dozens of shovelfuls done in seconds—civilization rocks.
Trade-off: forest noisy, local monsters baring teeth.
Expected when expanding hideout to shelter, but heart still skipped.
Yoon Hyung-chul's fence deterred them, but trouble brewing.
Showed arrow taste, they fled without looking back.
Come on. I'll smash you all.
.
.
.
"Weird."
I compared inventory and stock.
Why missing one jelly?
I don't even like jelly much.
But for variety, stashed 100.
Swear I hadn't eaten any.
"Dingo, you eat it?"
He startled, shook head.
Don't act like you understand.
Anyway, close look at empty spot: shriveled grape.
Why here?
"Left it as trade?"
How?
Cave protected by sensors, CCTV.
Nothing rat-sized or bigger slips by.
So thief is small.
Checked last night's CCTV.
Skipped by minutes, nothing odd.
"Ghost would cry..."
Must catch this thief.
Who knows, next canned goods or rations.
Grape seemed like trade gesture, but permission first.
"Stealing jelly specifically means they like it."
Added inner CCTV.
Unless stealth skill, caught for sure.
Rode Dingo beside, continued moat with forklift.
Digging fun, but creepy sometimes.
Monsters staring.
Goblins especially drooling, teeth out.
Stopped work, shot arrows to chase.
"Dangerous..."
Goblins dig traps.
Means they manipulate environment advantageously.
Underground breach? No counter.
Nights, kobolds snooping.
No big moves yet...
"I'll strike first."
Defense alone won't cut it.
Worked moat, bided time.
July 14 morning.
Checked cave routine—change found.
"Gotcha."
Another jelly gone, grape left.
Sweet potato flavor preference?
"What the hell..."
Reviewed CCTV—shocked.
Insects hauling jelly out in formation.
"Black beetles?"
Plum-sized, big.
Horns, pincers, long front legs.
Weird though.
Beetles that cooperative?
Looked intelligent.
"Nonsense."
At end, fancy-horned one placed grape on jelly.
Not theft, trade.
"Didn't permit it."
Seemed they squeezed through gap with small size.
Regular grapes, not shade grapes—unforgivable.
Referenced Mityube, built trap.
Targeting sweet potato jellies, their fave.
Pull jelly, trap triggers.
"Separate jellies... connect string..."
Pull triggers capture net over beetles.
Sturdy plastic case holds them fine.
Test-fired, refined.
Each pull, case smacked my hand.
"Good now."
Imagined trapped beetles—satisfying.
Won't kill, but no more stealing.
Moat all day, evening crossed to two-story house with Dingo.
"Protests..."
Seoul Gwanghwamun and spots packed.
Interviews, slamming silent government—chaos.
"6 days left?"
How would they change knowing zombies in days?
...Maybe chubby guy's right—martial law.
Planned end...
Shut nuclear plants, close chem factories—great for survivors.
President's basis tomorrow: Russian boat event.
Humanity realizes zombies real.
And I might score guns, ammo.
Reviewed lore, simulated actions mentally.
"Not just me who knows..."
Any vet knows it happens.
Famous event.
If meet someone tomorrow, how respond?
Low odds, but if Bunny Duo asks help, ignore?
"Dunno..."
Flopped on floor.
Usually slept instantly back-against-floor, but tonight restless.
Dingo snuggled in.
Cute, but... hot?
Stick to cave together, separate here.
[D - 7] End