Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 164.3: Hypothesis (3)
A fleeing monster.
To me, that’s as unfamiliar a concept as a monster doing beatboxing. But if it’s going to flee, then the key to this operation becomes speed.
The fastest mode of transport we have is a helicopter.
Fast and able to deploy anywhere—it’s an attractive option.
But it’s heavily dependent on pilot skill, vulnerable to turbulence, and most critically, we’re headed to a battlefield.
And when we say “battlefield” as Hunters, we don’t mean two military factions fighting over territory. We mean a zone densely packed with combat-type monsters.
Combat-types are on a completely different level than the small fry we usually handle.
These monsters mimic human weapons more than any other element of our civilization.
Entering such a battlefield in a helicopter is suicide.
Plenty of combat-types can engage aerial targets, and for some reason, monsters seem particularly hostile toward anything airborne.
Maybe it’s because of the trauma they suffered from the swarms of drone attacks used by the Chinese during their frontline campaigns. In North America, they even identified an anti-air specialization monster called the “Archer Type.”
According to U.S. s, one of them brought down an Apache helicopter firing Hellfire missiles from over 10 kilometers away.
APCs aren’t much better.
The terrain’s too rugged, and road conditions are beyond awful.
Since the presidential office was located in Yongsan, that area saw some of the heaviest shelling during the war, completely reshaping the geography.
If we tried to go in by vehicle, we’d probably be unable to recognize or even find the roads.
Same goes for tanks.
Maybe that’s why Gong Gyeong-min was so adamant that this mission was impossible—the environmental conditions are stacked against us capitalizing on speed.
But he’s from Jeju.
If I recall, he was born in Cheonan, but by today’s standards, he’s a “Jejuite,” someone from a very different world than ours.
Would he even know what public labor is? What the lottery meant?
The settlers? The beggar corps?
I’ll stake my online account that he doesn’t. Not SKELTON—Dr. Emiris.
Anyone with a connection to Seoul knows this: after the war, the Seoul government prioritized restoring railways over roads and maintained them far more rigorously.
The massive stockpiles of supplies in The Hope’s government warehouse? All routed in secretly through those railways.
Trade had collapsed, roads were too costly to maintain—so they leaned heavily on rail transport.
Defender, who once took part in the public labor system, said his job had been railway maintenance.
“They had these maintenance cars. All we really did was pick up rocks, clear debris, tidy up the surroundings.”
In other words: the tracks are in better condition than the roads.
This is something I know that Gong Gyeong-min doesn’t.
To confirm, Hong Da-jeong dispatched a drone.
As anyone who’s noticed her strange obsession with robotic vacuum cleaners knows, she prefers ground drones over flying ones.
She cobbled together a rickety rail-based drone. Defender led his team to attach it to the line and confirm whether it reached our target destination.
It did.
The moment the drone entered monster territory, of course, it was destroyed. But we confirmed the track leads where we need it to.
Equally important as the track... is the vehicle that will ride it.
In other words: a train.
Min-sik, the notorious leader of the strongest delinquent gang in New Seoul, gave us a tip on the location of an abandoned train.
“There’s this half-decent subway car. Give it a little love and it’ll be ready to run again.”
He hadn’t dismantled it—likely because of his style.
He once used buses for transportation and set up “bus stops.” He wanted to establish “stations” next.
“Some areas of track are busted, but plenty are still fine. When our gang got bigger, I was planning to pack a train with people again, just like old times. Morning and evening commutes. Isn’t that exciting to even think about?”
Subway commuting for scavengers... my imagination never even came close. But Min-sik’s idea gave this operation the spark it needed.
“We secured the train Min-sik mentioned.”
Defender got it.
At this point, I returned to Gong Gyeong-min and laid out the full plan.
“A train? You’re going in on a train?”
I nodded.
“Why a train?”
I repeated an old line people used to joke about.
“Because it arrives on time.”
He let out a heavy sigh.
“You think you can catch it? That thing doesn’t get caught just because you try.”
He lit a cigarette.
“There are always combat-types guarding a support-type. Intimidation doesn’t work. Even one regular Awakened isn’t enough. Do you know how many are deployed when we engage combat-types inside a rift?”
He still thinks the plan is unviable.
But at least he’s not arguing the cost anymore.
“I have an idea.”
I met his sharp gaze without blinking.
He exhaled white smoke.
“...Do whatever you want.”
He agreed because this mission, unlike most large-scale operations, requires almost nothing.
No air support. No artillery. No infantry.
Just a little material and a few engineers to repair and reinforce the train.
And one Hunter team.
We did request a good amount of ammonium nitrate—used as fertilizer, but also with strong explosive potential. Whether it counts as a food-adjacent resource is unclear, but the government depot had tons of it.
Just when everything was ready, an unexpected figure joined the mission.
“Yo, Skelton. Count me in.”
It was M9.
*
Ever since the monster offensive began, M9 suddenly rebranded himself as a er. Anyone who uses «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» Viva! Apocalypse! knows this.
His posts became popular among both pureblood Viva users and Necropolis newcomers.
Mainly because he kept sneakily featuring our fellow resident Ji Young-hee—who now had visible arm muscles—in his content. A cheap trick, but effective.
Kim Daram, who recently started checking the boards, said his writing had “style.” I personally think that just reflects her lack of literary taste.
Anyway, why this non-soldier, non-Hunter—just a named whiner—is joining what may be a mission that determines our fate... that was due entirely to Woo Min-hee’s fickle nature.
“What? You’re going to show the people our heroic deeds? Because just playing defense won’t rally the public? So you’re sending someone famous to document it?”
“Since when is M9 famous?”
I complained, but she hung up right after machine-gunning her excuses.
Though she did add one final line—
“He’s not exactly a stranger, is he~?”
True. Not a stranger.
It’s been six or seven years since we grilled meat and drank soju at the now-legendary Johnnae-non’s BBQ meetup.
“You might die.”
I warned M9.
Kim Daram, checking her gear nearby, looked up as if she’d never heard this before. I ignored her and turned back to M9.
Despite the warning, he grinned slyly.
“Come on, Skelton. You know exactly the kind of life I’ve led.”
“...”
I stared silently—protest, pure and simple.
Then M9, watching my expression, suddenly added—
“You’re the main character of this piece.”
“?”
“I’m writing this one about you, Skelton.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked around and gestured to a corner. I followed him quietly.
He pulled out his phone and showed me a few short clips.
“I’ve been learning video editing and shooting techniques from Dongtanmom.”
“Dongtanmom? That freak?”
“He’s human too.”
“He chomps nonstop like he has jaw issues.”
“I get it, you hate him. But even you admit he’s the top-tier video guy on our board.”
True.
Strictly speaking, his wife is the talented one—but hey, marrying right is part of fate.
“Sure, playing nice with him wasn’t easy. He chomps like a madman. I legit started wondering if his jaw was defective. But I picked up a few skills. Honestly, it’s not that hard. Just like how toxic seniors never share info with their juniors—it’s the same game. I’m going to apply what I learned in this project.”
“You know Live Apocalypse streaming is banned, right?”
“Obviously. I’ll edit the footage.”
“Edit?”
“Yeah. And you’ll be the star. Skelton. Remember that time on The Hope’s rooftop? When you guided artillery strikes? You looked amazing. Like a real warrior—a proper last-man-standing post-apocalyptic soldier.”
I crossed my arms and looked aside.
“...Hmm.”
M9 stared at me, eyes half-lidded.
“You know things are bad in our neighborhood, right?”
“They are.”
“As er Guy said—this city needs hope.”
“He came out?”
I looked at M9.
He nodded smugly.
“Only to me. I’m a man of trust. Didn’t we talk about this?”
I almost said “bullshit.”
“If even er Guy is confiding the city’s collapse in me, shouldn’t someone like you—arguably Korea’s best Hunter—start opening up too? How long are you going to stay unpopular?”
“I’m unpopular?”
“How much longer do you think we’ve got left? Three years? That’s being generous. Even if we survive, everyone else might vanish. Even those fancy Americans are dropping like flies. The audience is shrinking!”
M9 patted my shoulder.
“Skelton.”
“...Hmm.”
“Let’s do this. Let’s go all in and do something huge. We grilled meat at that legendary Johnnae-non meetup, didn’t we?”
The old me wouldn’t have let anyone irrelevant to the mission participate, no matter the pressure from above.
But everything changes.
M9’s point isn’t wrong.
What people need is hope.
Even someone like Dongtanmom became a name just by editing well.
One thing I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older: opportunities must be seized when they come.
If you try to dissect them with too much moral clarity, they vanish without a trace.
“...If you want it that badly.”
I held out my hand.
M9 took it.
Maybe it’s because he lived like a gibbon in a half-collapsed apartment for so long, but his hand was rougher, harder than mine. That coarseness gave me a strange sense of trust.
“For hope.”
M9 grinned.
“Yeah—for The Hope.”
*
An APC carrying four Hunters and one embedded er crossed the bridge.
The ruined zone known as Cheongnyangni already had our support team waiting.
“Welcome, Skelton.”
Defender greeted us at the front.
“Yeah.”
I looked around.
There was a faint aura of erosion, but it hadn’t fully grayed the world yet.
A half-and-half mix of decay and soot-covered concrete, curled beneath layers of snow.
“I worked a redevelopment project around here once,” said our driver, unprompted.
“It dragged on for over a decade. After all that fighting, they finally built something new. And now... this.”
We moved toward the station.
The atmosphere was grim.
Barricades showed signs of a previous battle. Frozen corpses lay scattered—no one had buried them.
Some had been executed—one body hung from a pillar, over ten meters high.
That’s what shocked Defender. Not the body itself, but the height.
After passing through the ghastly waiting hall, we reached the platform.
Hidden behind partitions marked with radiation hazard signs, the train came into view.
I’d seen the photos, and it was as expected.
This iron beast, once a workhorse that carried thousands daily to their jobs, homes, or memories—now waited armored in thick steel plating.
The Skelton Express.
Our weapon to destroy humanity’s greatest threat.
Right then, engineers were testing the train.
Wuuuuuuuunnng—
It was originally an electric model, but with no power from the grid, they’d rigged it with massive generators.
One car was fully converted into a power unit. Engine modules were added with help from the Chinese remnants, giving life back to the dead train.
Of course, being cobbled together, it had its drawbacks.
The low-grade fuel spewed choking smoke, making it look like an old steam locomotive.
Kim Daram approached, arms crossed.
She’d been waiting.
“Let me explain the plan.”
I paused.
M9 hadn’t started filming yet.
Once he gave the go-ahead, I pointed to the train.
“That.”
I pointed at the passenger car at the rear, where the black smoke billowed.
It was packed with ammonium nitrate fertilizer.
A powerful but insensitive explosive, ammonium nitrate was briefly used in early Hunter weapons before being replaced by more advanced compounds.
Now, it was the core of a makeshift anti-monster bomb called the “Monster Punch.”
“We ram it into the bastard.”
My plan was simple.
We’d push the train straight into Seoul Station and detonate everything in one go.
It would be quite the spectacle.
Chapter 164.3: Hypothesis (3)
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