The heat was oppressive, a sweltering summer unlike any other.

    Last year, I might’ve spent such days luxuriating with the air conditioner blasting, but now I had to conserve fuel for the impending winter.

    To make matters worse, the main entrance to my bunker was blocked by sediment, making proper ventilation difficult.

    These days, my living quarters were not the main bunker but a decoy one I called Bunker 4.

    Situated on a gentle slope overlooking my territory, it was shaded by clusters of trees and sat along a wind corridor, making it the coolest spot in the area.

    When the heat became unbearable, I would go down to the stream at the edge of my territory to cool off.

    Not to brag, but the stream near my home used to be a popular summer destination, teeming with unknown merchants and vacationers.

    The depth and flow were perfect for leisurely wading, though the water quality wasn’t ideal. Slime-like algae would cling to the rocks.

    But now, with humanity’s presence all but eradicated, the water was astonishingly clean. Crayfish even lived under the stones.

    Sitting by the stream, with an umbrella propped up like a parasol and my feet dipped in the cool water, it was hard to believe the world was in the midst of an apocalypse.

    However, the loaded rifle by my side served as a stark reminder of the fragility of this peace.

    Occasionally, I heard gunshots in the distance, though they didn’t come from the sniper mother and daughter.

    They came from the north, where the pioneers had settled.

    The Legion faction hadn’t shown any signs of activity since their last incursion.

    While the effort I’d put into fortifying defenses during that time might seem wasted, the truth was that their absence was the best-case scenario.

    Still, I couldn’t let my guard down.

    The decision to come and kill me would likely be made far from my knowledge.

    Lately, I’d been testing synthetic fuel.

    Before using it on the main generator in my second basement, I tried it out on a small diesel generator.

    According to information I gathered from Failnet, South Korea’s chemical engineering prowess was unmatched, and its synthetic fuel was considered some of the best in the world.

    Though the government had made numerous blunders during the war, maintaining administrative functionality three years after the fact showed remarkable foresight. Synthetic fuel was one such example.

    The government had ordered its development to prepare for the loss of maritime trade, utilizing alternatives like coal to produce synthetic fuel. Some prototypes had even been completed before the war began.

    So far, my tests showed no noticeable drop in quality compared to regular diesel.

    However, synthetic fuel had a glaring downside: inconsistent quality.

    The performance varied wildly depending on when it was produced. Some batches rivaled premium gasoline, while others barely compared to kerosene.

    To make matters worse, the fuel’s quality deteriorated over time. The later batches, in particular, were often labeled useless garbage.

    Still, certain factories continued to produce high-quality synthetic fuel, especially in the industrial complexes of the southern regions.

    If I could secure a supply of premium-grade synthetic fuel, I might extend the lifespan of both my bunker and my survival, even as the world itself seemed to grow older and wearier.

    But realistically, the tests weren’t entirely about fuel. I simply needed something to do to keep my mind occupied.

    As the small generator hummed to life, it operated almost indistinguishably from when it ran on diesel.

    The real difference would likely be in how long it lasted before breaking down.

    For now, I confirmed that the generator accepted synthetic fuel.

    Testing it on the main generator would have to wait, as my supply of synthetic fuel was limited. This winter, I planned to rely on the wood-burning boiler and my stockpiled fuel.

    A full trial would likely have to wait until next year.

    At night, I worked on construction—specifically, the plumbing.

    I planned to convert Bunker 8, the closest decoy bunker to the main one, into a livable space for the sniper and her daughter.

    This marked the beginning of building a true community.

    The toilet was a major issue.

    The mother and daughter had been horrified by my toilet setup, and frankly, I wasn’t keen on sharing it either.

    So I began construction.

    Since I didn’t have the resources to install a bathroom inside the decoy bunker, I decided to build a separate facility nearby.

    It needed to connect to the existing plumbing, have minimal construction difficulty, and be reasonably distant.

    The biggest concern wasn’t the construction itself but the water supply.

    My current water tank was optimized for a single person’s survival. Adding two more people would strain the system.

    I’d need to either find another water source or channel water from the stream—both options for later consideration.

    For now, I proceeded with the work.

    Construction was the ultimate feature of my bunker, planned well before the war.

    The heavy equipment, construction materials, and tools stored in my garage were all intended for this purpose.

    After completing the initial plumbing work, I informed Rebecca and her daughter.

    “I finished the sewage work.”

    It was a small piece of good news.

    But what greeted me was a miracle I hadn’t anticipated.

    “Skelton! Skelton!”

    Rebecca was crying, her voice trembling.

    And she wasn’t the only one.

    I could hear Sue’s sobs beside her. Sue, who almost never cried, was weeping uncontrollably.

    A chill ran down my spine as I hurriedly asked, “Wh-what’s going on?”

    Their answer revealed a possibility I hadn’t even dared to consider.

    “David. David’s alive!”

    “David? Who’s that?”

    “My husband.”

    *

    Rebecca’s husband, Sue’s father, was alive.

    Not just alive—in America.

    Here’s how it happened:

    “Are you sure? Is this really okay?”

    I laid out the situation for her plainly.

    “It’s better than the alternative. This winter’s going to be brutal, and you said you’re out of supplies.”

    “That’s true, but...”

    “It’s not completely safe here, either.”

    I explained the potential threat of the Legion faction.

    “I’ve tried to keep this place hidden, but if they’re determined, they might find their way back. You could get caught in the crossfire.”

    “That’s not what I meant,” Rebecca hesitated.

    “What, then?”

    “Well, we’re both women, and...”

    I stifled a laugh.

    Was she worried about me?

    “Don’t worry—I won’t give you the usual ‘it’ll be fine’ nonsense.”

    “I’m worried. Really worried.”

    “About what? What kind of person do you think I am?”

    Rebecca averted her eyes, falling silent.

    Her cautious expression struck me as oddly endearing.

    “I’ll set up zones,” I said.

    “Zones?”

    “Yes. Your area and mine. We’ll keep our spaces separate and minimize contact.”

    It was a system I’d seen work well in China.

    “And I’m not offering free food and shelter. You’ll need to contribute.”

    Rebecca and Sue were skilled in combat and reconnaissance, making them valuable assets. I planned to assign them to monitor the southern perimeter, currently under Gold’s watch.

    By winter, I aimed to finalize the move.

    That night, we held a small celebration for David’s survival and the formation of our new community.

    The meal was modest—some frozen meat, garden vegetables, and Sue’s favorite juice.

    But it didn’t matter.

    Joy was the main course.

    “David says he’s flying here!” Rebecca exclaimed.

    “That’s absurd,” I said.

    “It is,” she admitted. “Everyone thinks he’s crazy.”

    Listening to her talk, I couldn’t help but think David was just as whimsical as Rebecca.

    Maybe it was true what they said—like attracts like.

    “Skelton, look!”

    Sue showed me a photo of Gold and his pups.

    I stared at the image, a thought creeping into my mind.

    If I ever got married, who would it be?

    Looking at the people around me, it seemed like opposites didn’t attract.

    But could there even be someone like me?

    “Skelton, let’s toast!” Rebecca called, clinking glasses filled with soda.

    As I drank, my eyes drifted to the untouched champagne bottle in the corner.

    Would we ever get to pop it?

    “Skelton?”

    Sue sat beside me, studying my face.

    “What are you thinking about?”

    “Nothing much.”

    “You’re thinking something bad, aren’t you?”

    “Do I look like I am?”

    “Yes.”

    Even a kid like Sue could read me now.

    With a self-deprecating smile, I looked up at the vast, blue sky.

    “I hope we get to pop that champagne someday.”

    *

    The troubling situation brewing in the Gyeongnam area had been quietly circulating on Failnet for three days.

    By evening, the truth came to light.

    A massive monster outbreak had occurred near the Gyeongnam Yangsan Rift. Despite the region having more military resources than most other provinces—being second only to the Seoul metropolitan area in population—an unprecedentedly large force of monsters had descended, destroying half of the kill zone.

    Though the rift itself was barely secured, that was the extent of their success.

    A photo submitted anonymously to Failnet captured the scene vividly: thousands of capsules scattered across an unnamed mountain range, standing solemnly in stark isolation.

    My gaze drifted to the champagne bottle sitting alone in the room.

    It wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Even fleeting hope was better than none at all.

    The bottle was now covered in an unsightly number of black stickers—stickers that filled me with revulsion. Originally, there had only been two: one for Sue and one for me.

    Sue’s had remained a single sticker, but mine had continued to multiply endlessly.

    It must have started after I met "IAmJesus."

    This endless chain of black could perhaps be summed up with a single word: despair—or resignation.

    Each person clings to their own hope for a miracle, but realistically, the only miracle likely to happen to me is this:

    Kang Han-min seals the rift, and I die upon hearing the news.