Fifty Years Later
The notification sound was oddly distinctive—a digital recreation of water droplets rolling along, perhaps? Anyway, the exploration was still in progress. I set my worries aside for now and headed over to check the computer, which was the most important target of this investigation.
The machine looked anything but ordinary from the outside. It had one of those old CRT monitors, the kind people used to call a “picture tube.” The main unit and screen were all one piece, with only a keyboard and mouse as accessories. Since everything was sitting on the floor, I’d have to sit cross-legged to use it.
My body felt strangely light, so my movements were unnecessarily quick. I’d meant to sit down normally, but I practically jumped into position. The surprising part was that even after landing like that, I felt no weight at all. Had the wind acted as a cushion again? I glanced at my backside, but nothing seemed different. It wasn’t easy to notice something I’d done unconsciously. Since it wasn’t particularly important, I refocused on the computer.
First, the screen itself. The desktop had three icons. The taskbar showed two programs running. All the icons were familiar: messenger, browser, and control panel. The running programs were the messenger and browser. I opened both windows.
The messenger was logged into a blank account, and the browser was displaying an unfamiliar site. The template looked vaguely familiar… a gallery? I glanced at the address bar, scrolled up, and clicked the site’s symbol. The main page appeared.
If it had been an awakener gallery on one of the famous sites from my previous life, I would have used it. But this place felt different right from the start. I scanned the screen carefully and spotted a button in the upper right that let you select a country. I clicked it, and thankfully the Taegeukgi appeared. When I selected it, the English-heavy site switched to one that displayed only Korean. Comforting.
“Phew.”
I wiped my forehead and started reading the posts.
Awakened at 40-something — below C-class. Guild? Association?
— Same thing. Easy and earn less = Management Division. Hard and earn more = Association.
ㄴ You don’t know what you’re talking about. Lower ranks get to leech easier in Management.
ㄴ Monthly 200 as a meat shield is the real honey lol
Got 90 points in D-class. I’m not registering until I hit C-class.
— If you don’t register, what can you even do?
— Come to the Association. We’ll raise you fast.
ㄴ Last year: 5 promotions in the Association, 20 in the government. Think carefully.
The atmosphere was similar to the community sites I used to lurk on in my previous life. I’d been promoted to squad leader too early, so my main reason for visiting the military gallery had been to gather information left behind by survivors. But sometimes I would click on one of those pointless main-page posts and just stare at it blankly.
…Should I call it nostalgic? In my final years I couldn’t even do that anymore, so the word “nostalgic” probably fits. Anyway, the vibe here was pretty cheerful. Probably because of the time period.
The moment I read the title I jumped in surprise and clicked the clock on the taskbar. The time that appeared was…
September 12, 2089 — 20:19
More than fifty years had passed since I died.
“Holy…”
The color of my stunned amazement was strangely muted. It was a fluffy sort of shock—neither negative nor positive. Probably because I had no lingering attachments. In the final moments of my previous life, I had been completely alone. I’d already lost my family, and the last remaining colleague had held a funeral for me from the bed next to mine. So there was no way I could have any regrets.
Being given a second life was ironic for someone like me. There must have been plenty of people who wanted it more… Did my greed sensor activate even here? I clicked my tongue bitterly and pulled myself together. There was still far too much I needed to find out. This computer was one of those things.
Who had installed it? How was it running normally in the middle of these ruins? The questions kept piling up. I closed the browser and opened the control panel. After checking the basic usage logs and update dates, I launched the command prompt. I was about to type in a command to check for remote connections when—
Ding.
A notification sounded from the minimized messenger program, and a window popped up.
It was a normal messenger window, tall and narrow, with speech bubbles for each person. The moment the window appeared I froze, so the “read” indicator didn’t show. I let go of the mouse and slowly folded my arms.
Should I reply? The person who sent the message was most likely the same one who installed this computer. Trying to talk would probably advance the investigation, but… it felt extremely suspicious. Leaving a computer in the middle of ruins was weird enough, and both accounts were completely blank with zero information updated. Obviously this wasn’t set up for office work.
“Hmm…”
I squeezed my eyes shut, agonized for a moment, then placed my hands on the keyboard. It was suspicious, but what choice did I have? It didn’t look like I had anything to lose. I typed confidently, but—
My… my fingers were too small! I’d typed so confidently that by the time I realized the typos, I had already hit enter.
“Ah… nooo!!”
The message was gone. Read receipt. A long silence. The reply that came back was…
Damn it. If you only counted the time that had passed, it was technically correct, so I had no rebuttal. Still, it felt unfair, so I tried to reply that it wasn’t true, but being careful not to make typos made me too slow. The other side struck first again.
Before that
You’d better not mess with the computer
It belongs to someone far more important than you think
If you break it or steal it, your life will be over in three days
I’m saying this because I’m genuinely worried, so take it to heart
Typos kept happening and it was getting on my nerves, while the other person kept rambling and my head was spinning. The resulting emotion was pure rage.
“Fuck!”
My shortened tongue wouldn’t even let me curse properly, which only made the anger worse.
“Ugh…!!!”
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
In a fit of irritation I sent a string of meaningless characters and closed the window. I sat there with my arms folded, fuming, then started taking deep breaths. Hoo, haa. Thankfully the other person only sent another message after I had calmed down.
I went into the settings first and made it so the window wouldn’t pop up even if messages arrived. Then I began typing calmly, one careful letter at a time. The other person must have decided to respect their elders, because they waited quietly while I finished my message.
The completed message read:
Proud of myself, I hit enter. The reply came instantly.
…Why? Was it because I was slow? While I was pondering, another answer arrived.
But who are you?
I asked how you got in there.
Come to think of it, I still hadn’t checked where “here” even was.
I sent the reply and opened the browser. I typed “map” into the search bar, and even after fifty years the top result was still G-Map. I accessed it immediately and used the location finder. The moment I learned this place was a small city on the outskirts of the capital region—
Why are you searching?
So they really were monitoring it remotely. I checked the open prompt and, as expected, one computer was connected. User: AxePrincess080. A direct translation would be… Axe Princess? Haven’t I seen that name somewhere?
A post flashed through my mind.
I reflexively opened the gallery and searched for the nickname “AxeGengdu.” An enormous number of posts poured out. And every single one was popular.
Friend climbed the Tower 302 times
Just met the American President, it was wild
Hawaii Special Gate True Boss Subjugation Team — Korean member list
Japanese stocks pp, China sending warships again (it’s classified so don’t tell anyone)
Even the vlog-style titles seemed like they’d have insane content, and the news-like posts had titles that were anything but ordinary. Could this person actually be someone important? The moment I thought that, the following messages started to feel like threats.
No, wait.
Since you know I’m watching, is it more like a front check?
I sent a reply first.
I clicked on one of the posts that seemed likely to contain a lot of information about the author.
The content was better than I expected. Just the ID card they proudly showed off was enough.
Codename: AxePrincess
Rank: S-10
Specialty: Close-quarters combat, command
And there were more than ten photos exposing their hands or feet to prove it was a real shot. At this point it didn’t seem like they were trying to hide their identity at all. The comments confirmed it.
— It’s fine to post your friend’s photo, right?
ㄴ Actually this is their photo too…
ㄴ Shhh
ㄴ lol let’s respect the concept
It felt like a famous person’s alternate account. Maybe that was why the message that arrived right after felt distinctly ominous.