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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Neighbor
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Tang!
In the late afternoon, sitting blankly on a folding chair and gazing up at the sky, gunfire occasionally echoes from the south.
A dull, spreading pattern of shots.
It's the sniper from the southeast.
There used to be a small town there.
About 5.5 kilometers away in a straight line.
It had a church and a mart, and it was a fairly bustling area with a village bank, community center, and elementary school.
When the war began, the whole district turned into a wasteland, but a few steel-frame concrete buildings remained like eerie skeletons stripped to the bone.
That's where one of my few neighbors, the Mad Sniper, lives.
She's called "mad" because she shoots first and asks questions later—at anything that passes by.
Her habit of killing everyone who approaches her territory brings to mind our community's human hunter, but dig a little deeper, and the gap between them is like night and day.
The human hunter kills to hide and protect his domain.
The Mad Sniper, on the other hand, just shoots on sight.
No other options.
Perched in a high-rise that overlooks every direction, she peers through her scope at the world and tries to take down anything that enters her effective range.
Of course, even this sniper is human.
She has a warm heart like any other living being, and she knows how to love people.
Just as I know the sniper, she knows me too.
Our story goes back three months after the war broke out.
*
It was around New Year's.
Crowds reveling wildly, twinkling trees, kids throwing tantrums in department stores, snow blanketing the streets, Santa Claus—that creepy old man if you think about it—and all that. But right after the war, those are just faded memories we'll never get back.
Back then, I was busy checking the condition of the weapons I'd swiped from the U.S. base.
The guns and ammo were safely stored in my sturdy bunker, safe from direct damage or radioactive fallout, but since they'd been right in the nuclear blast zone, I worried about contamination.
Luckily, tests showed both the guns and ammo were usable, so I added them straight to my arsenal.
Unfortunately, there was nothing heavier than rifles.
No hunter gear as I'd hoped, not even grenades.
I'm no military expert, but the base had been abandoned before the nuclear strike.
Shredded papers scattered everywhere, supplies ditched in haste, coffee mugs left untouched on desks—it all pointed to that.
Things weren't looking good for the U.S. either.
The nuclear strikes on Korea were just the tip of the iceberg.
Hundreds had fallen there.
True to their Space Force reputation, the Americans had intercepted most of them.
But even the U.S. military has a tough opponent.
Monsters.
Monsters are beings from another dimension, built on principles and logic utterly alien to humans. They combine traits of living and non-living things, wielding powers and miracles beyond human grasp, all bent on humanity's extinction. They're our natural predators.
They emerge from dimensional rifts called Rifts, which have two key traits.
First, even distribution.
Rifts open at fixed intervals.
Korea has four: the deadly one in Paju.
Why just that one? Rifts have another trait: intensity.
A Rift's intensity scales with the local human population.
The Paju Rift, covering the capital region, is max level. Jeju's is the lowest.
Population and territory were once marks of a great power. Now, they're recipes for quick downfall.
India and China, with their vast numbers and lands, collapsed fast—not by chance, but inevitability.
The U.S., with fewer people, fares better, but it's no safe haven.
Territory too vast, population too high.
In fact, before the war, they'd pulled forces from major allies back home.
Rumors even swirled that not a single U.S. soldier remained in Korea by outbreak.
And yet, those supposedly extinct Americans invaded my turf.
Driving a hulking Hummer with a 12.7mm machine gun mounted on top.
As the Hummer barreled through the golf course into my domain, I recalled an old sage's words: in this world, luck is everything, and the rest is nothing.
No, shit—why me?
What did I do wrong?
Just scavenging some abandoned weapons—is that a crime?
Thoughts raced as the Hummer screeched to a halt in front of my 11th bunker.
Out stepped a young blonde woman.
She was built like me—huge—and decked out in helmet, body armor, and a rifle loaded with attachments. Her gear outclassed mine.
This was before I'd fixed the CCTV and listening devices.
The old ones had burned up with Old Man Kim's house in the nuclear strike.
To make matters worse, the periscope I'd installed for this exact scenario was jammed.
Debris from the insane post-blast winds must've wedged in. Forcing it only confirmed someone was out there.
So I relied on the tiny observation slit for scraps of info.
Soon, she moved to a blind spot.
I stayed put.
I hadn't gauged how many invaders yet.
Could be one, or three or more lurking in that steel beast.
Fighting well-trained, heavily armed U.S. troops wasn't my plan, but if they were after my turf, I had no choice.
Kill them all.
Long minutes passed—no movement from the Hummer.
Rustle.
A sound from the side of the main bunker.
The woman from before.
What to do?
I could take her down quick.
Easiest option.
But I thought bigger.
If she was scouting, the ones in the vehicle might be off-guard.
One ambush could wipe the main force—turn a tough fight into total victory.
I moved fast.
Tracked her path from her footsteps, slipped silently out a dummy bunker exit, hid, and approached the Hummer.
I remember one door was open.
It stayed that way when I got eyes on the Hummer again.
No reaction inside.
Switched my weapon to auto and crept closer.
Just before entry—footsteps behind me.
I froze.
"?!"
The sound came from an unexpected spot.
Still, I stayed cool, dove in, and swept the interior with my muzzle.
Empty.
The rear seats, meant for passengers, overflowed with rifles, ammo, and MREs in a chaotic pile.
Gulp.
Incredible haul.
Even me—Park Gyu, clinging to some shred of humanity—could turn raider for gear like that.
One person?
Two?
My mind spun faster than usual.
Unknown, but at least two.
The female soldier, oblivious to my greed, whistled to signal her position.
Subduing her was child's play.
Tripped her from behind, stomped her back, pressed cold steel to her neck.
As I readied to fire and prep for the next—
Another soldier appeared from the side.
The second one tossed a pebble of doubt into my murder-lust.
A little girl.
Maybe ten?
In this burned-out golf course apocalypse, an innocent kid stared at me, on the verge of killing.
Suddenly, I noticed her hair matched the woman's—features too.
The girl tilted her head and called her mom.
"..."
I hesitated.
Kill them and take everything?
Or risk it and let them go?
No easy call.
Taking it all was obviously the winning move.
Anyone not eating a bullet would choose that.
"...Hoo."
Deep breath.
Vines of thoughts tangled my mind, but I picked the unwise path.
Lifted my foot from her back, kicked her rifle away, and backed off.
The soldier yelped, scrambled up, hugged the girl, and glared.
I met her heaving blue eyes, saw myself reflected—calm in the center of bloodshot rage, draped in the grim robes of fear and contempt.
In that moment, I knew how she saw me.
Not like her.
Incomprehensible, unnecessary to understand.
Like she was the sole civilized soul tossed into a jungle, and I its native beast.
Why? Different looks, language, culture.
In this extreme hell, do we really need to understand each other?
Switch places, same result.
"Here. My land."
I pointed to my domain.
I knew their language but stuck to Korean.
"My home."
This is Korea.
Korea ain't Rome, but in this crumbling Korea, it's historic as Rome.
"?"
"Get out. Now."
"..."
"Don't, bang! Got it?"
She glanced, yanked her pistol, aimed.
I kicked it away faster, pressed my muzzle to her temple.
The girl's scream cut short—I winked at her, then told the woman,
"Cut the crap, bitch."
"Bitch?!"
They say you learn swears first abroad.
She gets that one.
"Who are you?"
"Scram."
Only then did she sense no killing intent.
Didn't erase the divide, though.
Still wary, she spoke clumsy Korean.
"Medicine."
"Medicine?"
"Medicine. Need?"
"What kind?"
She pointed to the girl.
"Wait."
I handed over fever meds, cold pills, antibiotics, even a tub of formula.
She looked shocked at my kindness—stared especially at the formula.
"Don't come back."
The mother-daughter duo left without thanks.
Taking the treasure that nearly turned me raider.
That's how my southeast neighbor came to be.
She's still in that jungle, fighting prejudice's ghost to protect the child thrown in with her.
There was one more exchange after.
One dark night, the girl came alone to my bunker.
Grown taller on my formula, she wandered teary-eyed, calling for me.
I showed myself.
"Mom's sick."
The kid seemed better adapted to Korea's jungle than her mom.
Like Mowgli from Jungle Book—or Tarzan, commercially speaking.
I drove my dusty vehicle into the gunfire-riddled village.
The woman was exhausted, ill—less city dweller, more trapped jungle beast in my eyes.
Treated her, left meds, turned to go.
No words needed.
As I finished and turned, the girl grabbed my wrist.
"Name."
Asking mine.
"Park Gyu."
"Paku?"
She flipped me the bird in confusion—I gave a wry smile, offered my nickname instead.
"...Skeleton."
She savored it, repeated, beamed.
"Skeleton!"
Time passed to now.
Christmas Eve, fittingly.
The community's game dev Anonymous118 had converted a pre-war viral hit: virtual Christmas tree decorating.
Nothing fancy—a sprite tree with 10 slots. Users pick one of 9 ornaments, add a support message.
🎄 Christmas Tree SKELTON: (Skeleton request) Please decorate my tree too~
As an unpopular loner, my tree's empty. But sometimes empty beats full.
🎄 IamJesus's Tree IamJesus: Which bastard is this?!
The human hunter got flooded too.
I chuckled at it all when—
🔔 Ding~ [Anonymous user sent a message to SKELTON~]
Checked it.
One slot filled on my empty tree.
"Huh?"
John_nenon?
What?
Meaning?
My questions got shoved aside by sudden static on the K-walkie-talkie.
-Chiijik... Chiik!
11 p.m.
No one's used the public frequency here at this hour, far as I recall.
Soon, I knew the culprit.
"Merry Christmas~."
A young girl's voice filled the speaker.
"Skeleton!"
No doubt.
My neighbor.
Should I reply? Brief debate, but my smile decided it.
"Merry Christmas."
Should've asked her name.
Short exchange, but deeper than any tree message. I pulled out whiskey I never touch, sank into the glow.
"Hoo."
Opened the door—cold air scattered the precious heat, but my heart felt clear.
Looked up.
Winter sky, black as pitch, stars strewn across.
Hadn't prayed since realizing God passed me over.
Clasped hands, wished at the night sky.
May this mother-daughter duo's gunfire echo long.