"Is that so?"

    The soldiers’ expressions quickly hardened, their gazes growing cold.

    "Those sprouts are already rotten," the handler remarked, spitting the words out like venom.

    "Things like that should be snuffed out before they grow."

    It wasn’t an idle comment. He genuinely contemplated murder.

    Once someone is categorized as a raider, factors like age—whether they’re children or the elderly—cease to matter.

    And honestly, this isn’t a world generous enough to afford mercy for kids simply because they’re kids.

    In fact, child raiders are often said to surpass adults in cruelty. Stories of their savagery are far from rare.

    "I hope they won’t mix with our children," Major Kwon muttered. His thoughts weren’t much different from the handler’s.

    As we lingered, two more figures in heavy winter clothing emerged from the transport plane.

    A young man and woman, both wearing glasses and unarmed.

    Behind them, men unmistakably recognizable as pilots followed.

    The soldiers called out to them.

    "This way. This hunter here will be your local guide."

    The researchers approached and greeted me.

    "I’m Chief Researcher Jang Mok-hyun."

    "And I’m Chief Researcher Jo Hyun-soo. Pleased to work with you."

    The pilots merely nodded from afar, clearly drawing a line.

    I didn’t care. We’d meet once and never cross paths again.

    After finishing their cigarettes, the pilots returned to the transport plane.

    Major Kwon, watching them leave, spoke up.@@@@

    "The pilots won’t leave the plane."

    "Can’t they all just stay inside?"

    "The heating only works in the cockpit—and it’s electric. The cargo hold is freezing.

    We can’t leave those precious kids in such a cold place for a whole day."

    Researcher Jang Mok-hyun, standing nearby, nodded in agreement.

    "Those children are South Korea’s future."

    South Korea’s future, huh?

    There was a lot I wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time.

    We briefly discussed the accommodation plans. It was decided that the researchers and children would stay temporarily in the underground bunker within the U.S. military base.

    Accompanied by soldiers, we scouted the bunker.

    Zombies hadn’t been spotted in the area recently, but you never know.

    The stench from the restroom was unbearable. It seemed to be remnants of the chaos during Chairman Park Cheol-joo’s incident, evidence of the people who’d used the facilities.

    When I’d looted the place before, the plumbing and water tanks had been functioning, so this wasn’t a sanitation issue.

    Other than that, the bunker seemed fine.

    "This room looks good. It’s spacious enough, well-insulated, and far enough from the entrance with plenty of cover in case of an attack," the handler said.

    He went back to the transport plane and brought out a jeep.

    "We’ll head to Incheon. It should take no more than a day. Please take care of things until then, Hunter Park."

    "Will you be okay?" I asked the departing soldiers.

    They quickly caught on to what I meant and smirked wryly.

    "Don’t worry. The vehicle’s armored, and if things go south, we’ll call for reinforcements."

    Well, if they say they’ll be fine, I guess they will.

    The jeep, carrying the soldiers, sped off, leaving a snowstorm in its wake.

    On the runway, only the oversized transport plane, the researchers, the children, and I—Park Gyu—remained.

    As I passed by the plane, I noticed its cargo hold crammed with large machinery resembling my own generator.

    So, they’re abandoning Incheon, huh?

    With growing suspicion, I led the researchers and children to the bunker.

    "Ew, it’s dirty and dark! It smells funny," one of the kids complained.

    "I don’t want to stay here. I want to call my mom!" another whimpered.

    "It’s just for one day. Think of it as a field trip. Besides, once you’re in Jeju, you won’t be able to leave for a while," a researcher coaxed.

    Reluctantly, the kids grabbed sleeping bags and moved toward the bunker.

    While they settled in, we transported a portable generator, electric heaters, and firearms.

    One piece of equipment stood out—a combat robot.

    It looked like a mini-tank with treads, equipped with a 7.62mm machine gun, cameras, and sensors.

    According to the researchers, it could identify friend from foe and attack autonomously.

    Chief Researcher Jo Hyun-soo leaned in to warn me.

    "If you have any urgent business, avoid approaching it at night.

    The combat program isn’t sophisticated and will attack any intruder it senses."

    COOKIEMONSTER18: SKELTON!

    It was Rebecca.

    Feeling an involuntary smile tug at the corners of my lips, I quickly typed a reply.

    SKELTON: Rebecca?! Did you arrive safely?

    COOKIEMONSTER18: Yeah, thanks to you.

    SKELTON: How is it there?

    COOKIEMONSTER18: It’s big, spacious, and well-equipped. There are a lot of people, and hearing English after so long feels strange.

    SKELTON: That’s great.

    I was genuinely relieved.

    I’d been more worried than I cared to admit, but it seemed everything was going well.

    COOKIEMONSTER18: Sue started school too, but it seems like the other kids are afraid of her.

    SKELTON: Why?

    COOKIEMONSTER18: Because she’s got charisma?

    Charisma—of course she does.

    Three years of surviving out there with a rifle will do that to a kid.

    COOKIEMONSTER18: I’ll let you talk to Sue. She’s sitting here punching me.

    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Hi, SKELTON!)

    "?"

    SKELTON: Sue, what’s with that opening line?

    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Deadpan) Just imitating how SKELTON talks.

    SKELTON: I get it, but still, we’re finally talking online, and this is how you greet me?

    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Confused) Why? Is it weird? It’s SKELTON style, isn’t it?

    I couldn’t help but smile.

    Her charisma, her pure innocence—it all shone through.

    As I was about to type a reply, the K-walkie-talkie crackled to life.

    "Shibal! Shibal! Is anyone there?! Hey!?"

    It sounded like those kids from Jang’s squad.

    Probably running low on food after a long winter.

    I reached to turn off the walkie when another voice—a young one—cut in.

    "Who are you?"

    That voice—I recognized it.

    "How old are you?"

    The voice belonged to one of the kids at the airfield.

    "Older than you, obviously. What about you? Where are you?"

    Jang’s girl answered, likely the eldest among them.

    I could picture her now—thin, dirty, wearing a tattered shirt with a cartoon character on it. She’d been glaring at Jang from under the shadows with the other scrappy kids.

    This was not good.

    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Sad) SKELTON? Why’d you go quiet? Am I boring you?

    SKELTON: (SKELTON: Sweating) No, it’s not that. Hold on, something’s come up.

    COOKIEMONSTER18: Monsters?

    SKELTON: (SKELTON: Sweating) No, maybe something scarier.

    Silence fell as the walkie buzzed again.

    "We’re at the airfield."

    My blood ran cold.

    I immediately switched frequencies and contacted the researchers on their private identification number.

    Personal Identifier: LAB033

    "Chief Researcher, this is Hunter Park."

    "Ah, Hunter Park."

    A man’s voice—probably Chief Jang Mok-hyun.

    "How many walkie-talkies do you have?"

    "Just mine and Chief Jo’s."

    "I told you to confiscate them! Take them away now!"

    "Why?"

    "Do you even know who the kids are talking to?"

    "No."

    I almost yelled but restrained myself, forcing my voice to stay calm.

    "They’re talking to raiders. Raiders who use kids’ voices to lure adults, kill them, and take their supplies."

    "...I’ll confiscate them immediately."

    Switching back to the shared frequency, I overheard a dangerously cheerful exchange.

    "Really?"

    "Yeah, really."

    They sounded like friends.

    But to me, that camaraderie only spelled doom.

    "Yeah, we’re headed to Jeju Island."

    Hearing that, my blood froze.

    After a moment of silence, the kids with Jang’s squad asked, "Can we come too?"

    The airfield kid’s response was cut off by a researcher’s voice, severing the connection—but it felt far too late.

    "Hey, airfield! Can you hear me? Take us with you to Jeju! We want to go to Jeju too!"

    The abandoned children had met the chosen ones.