One year and eight months after the war began.

    The air was beginning to warm—one of those lazy spring days.

    In the distance, I could hear gunfire.

    Here we go again.

    How many bullets do that mother and daughter even have?

    They’ve probably fired off thousands by now, but judging by how they keep shooting day after day, you’d think they were running a bullet factory.

    Lately, it seems the daughter has also started learning how to shoot. Occasionally, I hear two shots fired in quick succession.

    Call it post-apocalyptic early education.

    The sniper, crazy as she may be, is undeniably an excellent shooter.

    When facing ordinary people, she delivers near misses—clipping their heels or a car’s side mirror—to drive them off. But when it comes to direct threats like zombies or raiders, her bullets land squarely in the center of their foreheads.

    And it’s not just bullets; she’s armed to the teeth with heavy weaponry.

    From what I’ve seen in that Humvee of hers, she’s got everything from Claymore mines to guided missiles like the Javelin.

    Lately, though, it isn’t their gunfire that’s been bothering me.

    That’s a sound I’ve grown to appreciate.

    What’s been irritating me is the deafening roar of a transport plane cutting across the sky.

    There’s been a sharp increase in transport planes recently.

    To the point where it feels like pre-war levels.

    I thought all resistance from the Chinese side had been eliminated. What’s the issue now?

    Meanwhile, word on the streets—or what’s left of them—is that lotteries are suddenly trending in Seoul.

    And not just trending—they’re the hot topic.

    Anonymous848: “I heard the rumors too. Supposedly, they’re amazing.”

    Kyle_Dos: “I had to stop by Seoul recently, and everyone was talking about the lottery.”

    Anonymous458: “I heard the first prize is a total life-changer.”

    The fact that members of our community—people who’ve resolved to sever ties with society—are showing interest says a lot.

    I used to think I was the kind of guy who wasn’t easily swayed.

    Maybe “steady” is the right word. Someone not easily influenced by the whims of the world.

    SKELTON: (Question) “Where can you buy lottery tickets?”

    But curiosity is a funny thing.

    If you don’t know, you ask.

    Unfortunately, as a less popular user, my posts rarely get replies.

    What’s the problem, I wonder? Could it be the way I title my posts?

    I don’t know why, but I feel like I used to get more replies when I posted casually.

    Luckily, before my impatience reached its limit, someone responded.

    Defender: “You don’t buy them. You have to participate in state labor programs to get one.”

    “...”

    The responder was Defender, the infamous Human Hunter.

    I appreciated the answer, but I still found him unsettling.

    I wish he wouldn’t comment on my posts.

    This time, though, his response had merit.

    Defender: “Here’s proof of my ticket.”

    The guy actually had a lottery ticket.

    Hope Lottery

    His proof marked the beginning of what would become his “Lottery Series.”

    Defender: “I’m starting a lottery series now. Read it if you want; ignore it if you don’t.”

    It was astonishing.

    The same psychopath who used to only post “kill confirmations” was now writing about the hottest social trend.

    Defender’s proactive nature was well-documented during the Demian04 incident, but this sudden pivot to something so... wholesome was probably related to the Christmas Tree incident.

    While not quite on the level of “IamJesus,” seeing the venom-filled decorations must have struck a nerve. He’d even posted a complaint about it.

    Defender: “Did I really deserve that?”

    He seemed genuinely shocked, and for the first time, I was convinced he was a true psychopath.

    Regardless of the cause, Defender’s Lottery Series satisfied the information cravings of those of us living far from Seoul.

    The Hope Lottery bore a striking resemblance to the pre-apocalypse lottery.

    The key difference was the total numbers to choose from. While the old lottery had 46 numbers, the Hope Lottery had only 44, making the odds of winning slightly better.

    Hope Lottery tickets couldn’t be purchased with money. Instead, participants had to join government labor projects. Upon completing the required workload, tickets were distributed alongside wages. Drawings were held every three days at designated locations in local district offices.

    Defender: “The fifth-place prize was toilet paper.”

    Defender, lucky as always, even uploaded proof of his winning—a roll of toilet paper.

    Unlike the plush, embossed rolls I had stored in my bunker, this one was made of coarse, low-grade paper that looked like it would wreak havoc on sensitive skin.

    They were absolutely over the moon.

    The very image of someone who had stumbled into fortune after a lifetime of having nothing.

    But this person began to change—drastically and strangely—after winning the lottery.

    mmmmmmmmm: “The move-in date is next year. Do I really have to endure another year in this dump? I swear I’m going to lose my mind.”

    mmmmmmmmm: “Looking back, I didn’t even need to dig a bunker or any of that crap. I could’ve just hidden supplies in my old house. It seems like you still get rations if you’re in Seoul.”

    mmmmmmmmm: “Humans are meant to live together. Living alone just makes you easy prey for raiders.”

    mmmmmmmmm: “Sure, I won the lottery, but the thought of staying in this hellhole for another year is making my head spin.”

    Now that they were heading for better prospects, they started openly criticizing our community and way of life.

    I’d known this person for a while, but they weren’t the type to post often, let alone write such abrasive comments.

    I understood their joy, but their posts were becoming unpleasant to read.

    So I decided to say something.

    SKELTON: (Advice) “M9, does winning the lottery make you royalty? Let’s keep it reasonable.”

    Apparently, I wasn’t alone in my thoughts, as my comment sparked a wave of similar responses.

    Several users chimed in to call them out.

    Anonymous848: “Blocked.”

    Kyle_Dos: “Same, I’m blocking this guy too.”

    Anonymous458: “Where’s the Human Hunter when you need him? Why hasn’t he dealt with this idiot?”

    Blocking and ignoring were the community’s ways of maintaining order against troublemakers.

    Even Defender, who had once been on everyone’s blocklist but later became a notable figure, had a curt response for M9.

    Defender: “Do you really trust this country?”

    M9 didn’t reply.

    Of course, they wouldn’t. They weren’t stupid enough to provoke someone like Defender—a man who didn’t limit himself to killing home intruders but also ventured out for premeditated murders, all while masquerading as a functioning member of society.

    Still, I had a fond memory of M9.

    I knew them.

    They had been an early member of John Nae-non’s fan club. One of the few in their twenties.

    They probably didn’t remember me, but I remembered them.

    Thinking back to how they’d enthusiastically grilled meat at a shady Korean barbecue joint, I picked up my K-walkie-talkie.

    Private ID: DARAM. Would you like to initiate contact?

    Private ID-based one-on-one communication—a privilege reserved for those with a personal identification number in this post-apocalyptic world.

    “Didn’t expect you to contact me first, senior. What’s up? Not much work here, but there’s plenty of openings at the frontlines.”

    From the other end of the radio came the faint sound of jazz music.

    Their environment must be vastly different from mine, I thought.

    “I wanted to ask you about something.”

    I inquired about the apartment.

    The reason I reached out to this bothersome junior was my suspicion that the apartment complex wouldn’t be completed.

    The conglomerates had been reduced to noble clans, and there were no companies left capable of undertaking such a project. Even if they found workers, where would they get the materials or the resources for a self-sustaining system?

    And not for a mansion meant for a dozen people, but for a massive complex housing thousands.

    Most of all, the fact that the government was offering this lottery felt fundamentally twisted.

    “Hope...”

    I could almost picture Kim Daram exhaling cigarette smoke as she said it.

    “It’s nothing but a mirage.”

    I imagined her staring out at the ruins, a city doomed to lose both its present and future.

    After a brief silence, she sighed and added one more piece of information.

    “We’re relocating to Jeju Island. By next spring, everyone will be gone.”

    The moment she said that, a transport plane roared overhead, its sound resonating louder than ever inside my bunker.

    “....”

    One lingering question I’d had was finally answered.

    “Don’t tell anyone about this. It’s classified.”

    Of course, I agreed.

    I kept it to myself and told no one.

    I did what I could.

    SKELTON: “That apartment complex probably won’t be built. Keep your bunker and supplies in order—anything could happen.”

    I sent the message directly to M9.

    It was my way of repaying the memory of their earnest effort grilling meat at that barbecue joint.

    The response came quickly.

    mmmmmmmmm: “Blocked.”

    Goodwill is rarely received as intended.