As expected, the Christmas season had arrived once again.

    A former game developer, who recently changed his username from Anonymous118 to Foxgames, had launched a tree-decorating site for the second year in a row.

    With nothing but time on their hands, users from the forum swarmed in like bees, eagerly decorating each other''s Christmas trees.

    Unlike last year, this time even my Christmas tree had its fair share of ornaments.

     Hmm, hmm... this should do? Meh, boring, hmm..., try to be more mindful next year, hmm-hmm-hmm, Defender1, Defender2

    Haha, our forum friends sure have a mischievous streak.

    I added an ornament to Defender’s tree.

    As a well-known user, Defender had already filled up three trees and was working on his fourth. By sheer luck, I managed to snag the final spot and hang an ornament with my username—a candy cane—on his tree.

     KILL, SQUAWK!, SeamonkeyPapa: why?, SeamonkeyPapa, Memento Mori, Skeleton’s friend, DragonC, Born to Kill, It’s SeamonkeyPapa, SKELTON @@@@

    Outside, heavy snow had been falling for the past three days.

    My territory and the surrounding areas had turned into a pristine white snowfield.

    With the snow piling up, even the golf course in the neighboring district seemed to have regained its former charm.

    Thanks to the weather, not a single human shadow dared to come near. The wilderness, once abandoned by people, was now occasionally roamed by deer and wild boars scavenging for food—creatures that had become far more common after the war.

    It was shaping up to be a rare, peaceful, and serene day.

    That is, until I heard the fierce howling of the wild from the southwest.

    *

    Monsters are often compared to mold in how they invade.

    A Rift acts as the source of contamination, sprouting mold around it. This mold breeds all kinds of sinister pathogens, which, in turn, spread further mold.

    Mutations are one of the pathogens spawned by this mold, and they rank among the worst enemies civilians could ever encounter.

    Their variety is staggering.

    In Africa, lion mutations wreak havoc. In India, it''s elephants. In China, panda mutations dominate. However, the most problematic mutations are those stemming from domesticated animals humans commonly raise: chickens, cows, horses, pigs, sheep, goats—you name it. Though, oddly enough, I’ve never heard of a hamster mutation.

    Among these, the most dangerous are mutated dogs, descendants of wolves that once hunted humans.

    Their base combat power is formidable, thanks to their lupine heritage. They form packs and possess exceptional intelligence.

    In the southwest part of my territory, a pack of mutated dogs resides.

    The leader of this pack is a dog with golden fur, aptly named Gold. He''s a vicious and cunning creature.

    Back when the South Korean government still held some semblance of power, they issued an extermination order for Gold’s pack. But no matter how many units were sent, they always returned empty-handed.

    At one point, Gold wandered into my territory, but lately, he’s been content to stay in the southwest, where prey is plentiful, living the high life and proving that even dogs can have it good.

    Now, from within Gold’s domain, fierce wild howls resonated, competing for dominance.

    Could the mutated dogs be fighting among themselves?

    The primal growls and roars, filled with raw violence, continued late into the afternoon.

    "SKELTON, do you hear that? Those strange noises?"

    It seemed even the sniper and her daughter could hear them.

    This time, the contact came directly from Sue.

    "Sounds like mutants. Anyway, stay safe, and Merry Christmas."

    "Merry Christmas. Mom says Merry Christmas too. Oh, and she’s wondering if you’ll let her use the computer around New Year’s?"

    "Why?"

    "She wants to do a countdown with the forum folks using Eastern Standard Time."

    "...The computer’s acting up for now. Tell her to hang on a bit longer. I’ll find some satellite equipment and a new laptop for her soon. How’s her injury?"

    "It’s fine."

    "Good."

    “...”

    It was a shame.

    As much trouble as Gold caused me in the past, he kept nuisances like humans, zombies, and other threats from the southwest at bay.

    Click.

    But that was over now.

    The truth is, Gold had killed dozens of humans.

    He had toyed with extermination squads like a cat playing with its prey, slaughtering them for sport. And he had filled his belly by feasting on human flesh.

    The dying dog struggled to rise, turning away from me and heading toward the lower slopes of my territory, where a mound of graves and industrial waste were scattered.

    His movements piqued my curiosity.

    Still, this could easily be a mutant’s trap. I followed cautiously, keeping my guard up.

    Gold left a trail of blood as he stumbled toward an abandoned village—the same small rural community where Kim Elder once lived.

    A handful of elderly people had tried to return here to make a new start but ultimately left when scavengers began raiding their empty homes. Now, the village was nothing but ruins.

    Gold walked straight into it.

    Following his trail of blood, I entered the village I’d nearly forgotten about.

    The moment I stepped inside, shards of debris crunched underfoot.

    Disgusted, I pressed on after Gold.

    At first, everything felt unfamiliar. The darkness of night clouded my vision, and the presence of a creature capable of killing me in one leap kept me tense.

    But then Gold abruptly stopped, turning his head to look at something.

    In his melancholy gaze, the black-and-white landscape seemed to transform, as if by magic, into the bustling, vibrant village that existed before the war.

    Gold’s journey through the village stirred memories of places and events I hadn’t thought of in years.

    When he finally came to a halt in front of a collapsed stone wall, the faint traces of what might have been his former life became clear.

    There, on a broken doghouse, was a name scrawled in fading marker: Mix.

    “Mix.”

    When I said the name aloud, Gold—or rather, Mix—looked at me.

    “...Gold suits you better.”

    Humans are often described as vessels of memory.

    And in that respect, this dog wasn’t so different from us.

    As these thoughts passed through my mind, another, seemingly unrelated pair of ideas came to me—a long-standing belief that mutants couldn’t be tamed and the image of a lonely woman living with nothing but a stray cat to keep her company.

    Two ideas that seemed disconnected, yet they combined into one conclusion:

    Sometimes miracles shatter even the most unshakable truths.

    Perhaps, here too, another miracle was about to occur.

    Gold’s breathing changed, adopting an odd rhythm.

    At first, I thought he was taking his final breaths, but that wasn’t it.

    Without the refined vocal cords of humans or an understanding of pitch, the beast clumsily attempted to mimic a human song.

    "Happy Birthday to you..."

    “Hey.”

    I called out to him.

    When he reached the “dear—” part, Gold turned to look at me.

    “Do you want to live?”

    It was that old disease of mine—an insatiable curiosity—flaring up once again.