Chapter 13

12. Laptop

The fall of a major city is often compared to a plane crashing due to running out of fuel.

It continues to fly for quite some time on inertia even after losing power, but the moment its speed can no longer support lift, it plummets to the ground with a loud noise, ending in a spectacular explosion.

Seoul will follow in the footsteps of Beijing, Mumbai, Jakarta, and Hong Kong.

The disappearance of the major city behind me is a painful event in my plan, but it is not an unforeseen variable.

It has just come much faster than expected.

The South Korean government's resolve to protect the Republic of Seoul at all costs was firm.

Now that all hope has vanished, what I need to do is not to save Seoul.

That is neither my job nor something I can do.

I am trying to urgently use the currency of the apocalypse, cigarettes.

Even if Seoul falls, cigarettes will still have power, but as the market shrinks, the quality and variety of goods available will deteriorate.

What I need now is a new laptop.

A black spot appeared in an unpleasant part of the screen on my existing laptop.

It's not a problem when playing games or watching videos, but it's quite annoying when using community platforms.

I do have an extra laptop, but it's a gaming laptop...

Anyway, I prepared for my trip to Seoul to dispose of my cigarettes and check the atmosphere.

"Is this Skeleton? How is the condition of Road 13?"

"Personal identification number confirmed. Hello, Mr. Skeleton? It's peaceful right now. The entire road is secure. If you plan to pass through, please do so within 6 hours, just in case."

I slowly cycled towards Seoul.

There were a few electric vehicles on the road, and people were lined up along the roadside, dismantling and collecting parts from abandoned cars.

The atmosphere in Seoul, which I entered safely, was quite bright.

Reconstruction projects under the name of national labor were taking place everywhere, with many people clearing rocks, mining, and cleaning the streets.

Billboards advertising performances by singers and idols who had been on hiatus were prominently displayed, and public transportation vehicles, including buses, powered by electricity, roamed the empty streets.

I hadn't noticed, but elementary and middle schools had resumed after a long break.

High schools and universities were also planning to reopen next year.

Perhaps because of this:

Food rations have decreased, and the frequency and duration of power outages have increased, but the citizens still see these as signs of Seoul's reconstruction.

However, the Seoul I saw up close was quite different from what was visible on the surface.

While everyone was singing songs of hope, there was a chilling and terrifying shadow lurking beneath.

The problem is that people don't want to look closely at it.

The atmosphere at the "International Residence," where I always stay for a night when I come to Seoul, was ambiguously straddling the line between hope and despair.

*

The International Residence is a place that was converted from a former dormitory for use as accommodation.

It's old and shabby, but it's a decent place to stay for a day or so because it suffered little damage from the war.

The owners were a middle-aged couple, each taking care of their respective parents, and they had two children, around middle school age.

I could tell from the first visit that the couple's relationship was not good.

"Brother! Please, just get Mother to go inside! What are you even doing? No one comes here because of Mother!"

Their parents seemed to be the source of their discord.

The wife had brought her father, and the husband had brought his mother, and both elderly people had issues.

The father-in-law showed signs of dementia due to shock, and the mother-in-law had the habit of sitting in front of the dormitory and staring at passersby in an embarrassing manner.

The wife was the one who usually nagged.

But recently, things have changed.

The husband, who used to remain silent no matter how much the wife complained, has finally reached his limit and started to fight back.

"So, you want to send Mother to a nursing home in the countryside?"

"Why not? It's a government-guaranteed program."

"Then send your father first."

"You know Dad has dementia, right?"

"Exactly, that's why we should send him!"

But the argument ended with the wife's victory.

"Whose house is this? It's not your house, right? We bought this house with Dad's money. How can you be so shameless when you didn't bring a single penny when we got married?"

"..."

That's understandable.

Even to an outsider, the husband was a pitiful man with nothing to recommend him except his face.

He always sat weakly at the counter, absentmindedly holding a cigarette butt in his mouth, or lay on the floor, doing nothing.

I've never seen him work since the war started, but from the conversations, it seems he didn't work even before the war.

Still, he has left something for his children.

A good-looking face.

If the parents' conflicts were the cracks that split the couple's relationship, their children were the glue that barely held it together.

Especially the eldest son was a truly commendable child.

He seemed to be a hybrid of his father's good looks and his mother's diligence, as if selectively bred.

Or perhaps, the deep and kind nature that neither parent possessed was a mutation.

"Uncle, you come here often these days?"

"I'm not an uncle. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"You're over ten years older than me."

"I'm only eighteen."

"Then I'll be one. Hey~"

He's a much better kid than his sister, who treats people like they're chickens or ducks, whether she has middle school or high school syndrome.

He's fourteen and currently in middle school.

His grades are quite good.

He's popular, has many friends, and is a typical "mom's friend's son."

He has a line of potential girlfriends, but he's turned them all down.

Most importantly, this young friend has a pretty decent laptop.

*

From 6 PM to 7 PM is internet time.

It's like a government-sanctioned drug.

For one hour, the communication equipment and internet lines, which were shut down due to power and facility issues, are reopened.

The ample power supply is a bonus.

So when internet time comes, Seoul becomes as quiet as a dead city.

Everyone is immersed in the internet, busy with their virtual worlds and the tasks they've been putting off.

The Wi-Fi, which is not much slower than before the war, along with the complete water supply system, is one of the main reasons I use the International Residence.

In the dormitory dining room, many residents occupied their spots to take advantage of this Wi-Fi, looking at their phones or laptop screens.

One man even carried a heavy desktop computer, grunting, and the owner's wife scolded him.

"Hey, Uncle! That thing uses too much electricity!"

"I removed the graphics card."

"It still uses a lot! Pay more! Or give me a lottery ticket!"

I sat next to the owner's son and connected to the public internet on my phone.

<CarrotNet>

A local-based second-hand trading site that has maintained operations even after the war.

It's full of the breath of countless items and people.

Seeing thousands of accounts and posts, and dozens of new posts appearing in real-time, I realized how narrow our community's world is.

This is the internet.

I looked for a laptop on CarrotNet.

There were more listings than expected, but most were gaming laptops.

"I don't need a gaming laptop."

There were many listings, but I sighed because I couldn't find what I wanted.

The owner's son looked at my screen and asked.

"Uncle, are you looking for a laptop?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want mine?"

"What? Really?"

I was so happy I could have jumped for joy, but I quickly composed myself and asked.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine. I'm going to a school in Jeju."

"A school in Jeju?"

The boy showed me his laptop screen with a smile.

A government-made image file flyer appeared on the clean, spotless screen.

"Would you like to become a hero?"

-National Hunter Training Institution "Guard" 27th New Student Recruitment Guidelines

"What is this?"

The colors and design are clearly aimed at teenagers.

But this recruitment guideline is real.

It's the recruitment guideline for the 'school' I attended.

"Have you graduated from middle school?"

"No, I'm just entering second grade."

"Are they recruiting even those who haven't graduated from middle school these days?"

"Are you talking about the old days? They're recruiting elementary school students now."

"Wh-what!?"

I read the guidelines carefully.

Indeed, the admission age had been drastically reduced.

From middle school graduates to anyone over ten years old.

Is there such a shortage of people?

But what caught my eye more than the age was the overwhelming benefits.

More benefits were offered to the students' families than to the students themselves.

Living support, housing support, and government-provided jobs for parents and family members, and so on.

Sending one child to school improves the entire family's living conditions.

But on the back, there was a small, fine print that was almost painful to read.

When I tried to read it, the boy closed the laptop.

"Uncle, let's talk on the roof."

"Talk?"

"Business talk!"

On the roof, laundry flapped in the wind, and a dementia-afflicted elderly person stood like a still life. Beyond them, the low-lying sunset cast a mysterious and primitive atmosphere over the ruins flattened by nuclear attacks.

As stars began to rise at the boundary between day and night, the boy asked me.

"I've been curious. What do you do, Uncle?"

"What do you mean?"

"You always carry a lot of stuff. You had a gun from the beginning. I thought you were a gangster, but you don't seem to be. I'm curious because you look good and still carry a lot of stuff in this situation."

"What do you think I do?"

"Gang leader? Looter?"

"Does my innocent eyes make you say that?"

"Doomsdayist?"

The boy smiled faintly, looking at a star.

"I know."

"I wanted to be a doomsdayist too."

"Really?"

"Why? It's fun, right? Making your own hideout and collecting things as you like. Wasn't it fun for you too?"

"It was fun, but it was also hard. I struggled a lot when I ran out of money."

The boy handed me his laptop.

"Let's trade for cigarettes. You have a lot, right?"

"You'll go to jail if you sell to kids."

"It's a different era now. I'll give a little to my pitiful dad who always holds a cigarette butt in his mouth and sell the rest to buy a gift for my mom before I go to school!"

I sold cigarettes to the boy.

It was a good deal, even though I bought it much more expensive than the market price.

When the deal was made, the dementia-afflicted elderly person, who had been standing like a still life, turned his head and mumbled something, but I couldn't hear it clearly.

"You won't hear your parents fighting anymore when you go to that school. You can also send your grandmother and grandfather to a good place."

Even if I had heard it, I would have forgotten it soon.

What the boy said happily as we went down together left a much stronger impression.

He was a deep kid.

I wondered how such a kid could grow up in such a household.

The next day, when I was about to leave the International Residence, the dining room was festive.

The room was filled not with guests and residents but with the owner's friends.

The owner's wife sat proudly in the center of the dining table among other women.

"I'm envious. My kids hang out with gangster-like friends."

"That exam? It's not easy to pass, but you managed to pass it?"

"I heard that families of Hunter School students get better housing. Is that true?"

She smiled brightly, receiving countless praises, envy, and jealousy.

"Phew, my Young-min's dad. He's a pain, but I'm a bit grateful. He gave me a wonderful child. You know, Young-min's dad, even if a person is lazy, their nature is good, right?"

Seeing how the family, on the verge of collapse, was brought together by the boy's decision, I left the residence.

The boy's laptop was very satisfactory.

SKELTON: (Skeleton Newcom) New laptop ㅎㅎ

There were no comments, but the number of views was quite high for my post.

It felt like the envy and admiration of my community friends.

The owner's wife's triumphant smile was copied onto my face.

I read the Hunter School recruitment guidelines again two months later.

I accidentally found the boy's hidden personal folder.

The guidelines were with a daily schedule, photos of his elementary school friends, and family photos taken abroad. There were many photos of a girl of the same age whose name I didn't know.

I read the back part of the guidelines, which I hadn't read before, with a slight sense of unease.

The warning in the corner soon caught my eye.

- Final candidates will undergo three high-level mental sensitivity tests, during which they may be exposed to some accidents.

"Accidents...?"

Bullshit.

That test is linked to death.

I know this better than anyone.

It is a test of death.

A trial to filter out those not chosen by God.

When I went back to Seoul, I visited the International Residence first.

It didn't feel right from the start.

The old woman who always guarded the front of the store was nowhere to be seen.

With growing unease, I entered the store.

Sure enough, the owner had changed.

"Is something wrong? Do you have any questions?"

"Um, the previous owner..."

At that moment, an old man passed by the street outside the store.

The old man, in tattered clothes and looking like a dying dog, resembled the old man who used to live in this house, even in the deep darkness.

"Don't go. Don't go. Don't go..."

The old man mumbled as he walked unsteadily down the unfamiliar street.

In the darkness beyond the street, a slender girl was smoking with a group of delinquents.

The girl also resembled the boy's sister who used to live in this house.

Our eyes met for a brief moment, and the girl turned away, clearly showing her displeasure.

At that moment, I stopped the question I was about to ask.

"No, it's nothing."

On the bright side of the street, a merchant was hawking lottery tickets in exchange for goods.

I joined the crowd, asked about the price of the lottery tickets, and exchanged two cigarettes for one ticket.

After that, I never visited the International Residence again.

I don't know what happened to that family.

Therefore, their fate is still hopeful.

Like my lottery ticket, which has already been drawn but whose results I haven't checked yet.