“You said you didn’t see eye to eye with them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“It’s a common story. A leader who lets women control him, community members pushed out by politics, growing corruption…”

Hamsmill was starting to sound like a real bastard.

But honestly, wouldn’t he prefer this version?

Better to be remembered as a successful leader with a taste for women than as the guy who went bungee jumping without a rope.

“A common story, huh? Do other communities fall apart like that often?”

“If blood relatives betray each other, what chance do strangers have?”

“Hard times tend to bring out the worst in people.”

He balanced the shotgun against his side, leaning on his cane as he walked steadily forward.

He didn’t seem frail—his face was full, his posture firm.

“Forgive me for asking, sir. May I know your name?”

“Curtis Omen. And yours?”

“Lee Hyunwoo.”

“Then how should I address you?”

“Hyunwoo is fine.”

“That’s your given name?”

“Yes, and your surname is Omen.”

“That’s right.”

I gently shone my flashlight ahead of him.

In the game, elderly NPCs often tripped and injured themselves if their vision wasn’t good enough.

“Worry about your own path. My night vision’s just fine.”

“You fall at your age, and it’s a big problem.”

“You even know how old I am?”

“You look like a veteran. You must be over eighty.”

“Eighty-seven. Threw me into Normandy when I was twenty-one.”

Normandy.

Wait, that Normandy?

“Sir, when you say Normandy—”

“You know about it?”

“…How the hell did you survive that?”

“Luck.”

An even greater survivor than I thought.

Not just the nuclear apocalypse—he had lived through war.

At least that meant he was reliable.

Maybe my luck wasn’t as bad as I thought.

A veteran-led survivor group might be—

“Ugh.”

Bright light.

Did we arrive? My flashlight—

“Father, you said you’d be right back.”

“You think it’s easy for an old man to walk all the way back?”

“Well, I did offer to go with you… and who’s this?”

“A lost fool.”

“Bringing in strangers like this—”

“I’d rather take my chances with this yellow monkey than keep dragging around a bastard like you.”

Yellow monkey?

Sir, that’s a bit much.

Wait… did he just call his own son a brat?

“Well, you brought him, so I guess I can’t argue…”

“His bag’s empty. But if he’s got the guts to wander around unarmed, he might be useful.”

As the flashlight turned off, the faint glow of a campfire flickered ahead.

And with it, the smell of something delicious.

That must be the soup they mentioned.

“What’s your name?”

“Lee Hyunwoo.”

“…Come inside. We’ll talk there. You were really out there alone?”

“Well, technically, I was out of food and weapons, so yeah… I guess I was.”

“Hah. Lucky bastard.”

“Nothing matters more to survival than luck.”

A wrinkled hand patted my back.

Covered in burn-like scars.

“Come on. I’m too old to stand around chatting, and the more I move, the hungrier I get. As for this brat—”

“Father!”

Omen chuckled and walked off down the corridor.

I followed quickly, stepping into a large room through a reinforced steel door.

And inside… not a survivor group, but a family.

“You’re late. The soup’s about to turn into stew.”

“You could’ve just taken it off the fire and let it sit.”

“You know how much a soot-covered pot messes up a bag, right?”

A World War II veteran for a grandfather.

A father with a thick black beard—and arms as thick as my thighs.

And a daughter with sleek black hair tied back, built like a seasoned survivor.

A textbook tomboy.

“Who’s that guy?”

“Unlucky bastard.”

“He must be, if he’s still alive.”

She laughed, unpacking a bag as she sat down.

Yeah. This family wasn’t normal.

The grandfather? A war hero.

The father? A mountain of a man.

And the daughter? A gun strapped to her thigh, a survival pack at the ready.

And behind them…

A pile of military gear.

“You all served?”

“My son was in the same unit as me. My pretty granddaughter was about to enter training. I begged her not to.”

“And yet, here I am, surviving just fine.”

“I did raise my daughter to be tough. She used to knock out boys her age all the time.”

“So it runs in the blood.”

Her wary gaze softened just a little.

But Omen, sitting on an overturned plastic crate, didn’t look pleased.

If anything, he looked annoyed.

“Proud of yourself for breaking your mother’s heart? You should’ve been a father protecting your daughter, not leaving her motherless—”

“You were a war hero, Father. What the hell was I supposed to—”

“Enough, both of you!”

Hmm.

Not exactly a happy family.

“Here. Have some soup. And Grandfather, stop nagging Dad. He did his best.”

“—”

“One more word, and you’re on dish duty for the rest of the week.”

“So that’s why you brought this yellow monkey along.”

“Grandfather.”

“…Fine, fine. Damn kids.”

I carefully accepted the bowl, watching as chunks of meat and red broth spilled from the ladle.

The smell, the tender texture of the meat, the cans stacked in the corner—it all checked out. No doubt about it, tomato beef soup.

Plenty of green beans, too. The taste would be… decent. Not something to complain about.

“What’s your name?”

“Apparently Hyunwoo. Surname Lee, given name Hyunwoo.”

“Just call me Hyunwoo.”

“I’m Sarah Omen. Just call me Sarah.”

“James Omen. My father will call me by our surname anyway, so just James.”

“Sarah, James, and Mr. Omen.”

“Curtis. Call me Curtis. There are already three pairs of ears twitching at ‘Omen.’”

He had already emptied his bowl and was now wiping down his shotgun with a handkerchief.

The way he handled it so naturally…

That was an advanced-level gun maintenance motion.

I remembered it clearly.

That exact stance.

Back in the game, the sniper I stationed for base defense used to clean their weapon like that.

“Well, nice to meet you. If my grandfather didn’t shoot you on sight, he must’ve thought you were trustworthy.”

“He just looks too dumb to pull off any schemes. Look at those eyes. Those ‘I have no idea what’s going on’ eyes.”

James let out a cough.

Sarah studied me for a moment—then tilted her head.

“Dumb-looking guys are usually the best at stabbing you in the back.”

“At least he had the guts to try disarming a booby trap.”

“If you mean the kind meant to trick people, anyone would try it once.”

“And it works every time.”

I finished my last spoonful, glancing around once more.

Everyone had at least one firearm. Holsters for sidearms, too.

No excessive scars. Clean clothes. Good hygiene.

They even argued but quickly fell back into casual conversation.

And they were wary of me, but only appropriately so.

“I appreciate the meal.”

“Was it alright?”

“Yes, thanks to you.”

As I set down my bowl, I reached a conclusion.

This group wasn’t large.

But I had to start with them.

They didn’t have a carpenter, laborer, cook, or doctor, which was a downside.

But two veteran soldiers and one trained to become one?

That was three people who could make the early game trivial.

They could handle the threats attracted by the noise of early settlement building.

The lack of medical personnel was a risk, but I couldn’t think of a better start.

I didn’t have a weapon, so relocating was out of the question.

“Sarah, James, and Curtis.”

“Hmm? So? Do you think you’re shady enough to pull off a scheme?”

“No, but… if possible, I’d like to stay and help with whatever tasks need doing.”

All three sets of eyes turned toward me.

Curtis spoke first.

“See? I told you he’d be useful.”

“No, Father—no, hold on. Why should we let you stay?”

“We are short on dishwashing duty. And if he tries anything funny, we can just shoot his leg and let the zombies—”

“Dad, last time you wasted three magazines doing that. And you even left one behind.”

Last time?

Wait, what?

So when he called me a monkey, that wasn’t just a joke? He was serious?

“…Don’t worry. The guy was trying to lead us into a zombie horde. Then he started spouting nonsense, saying we were ‘offerings,’ so we made him one.”

Offerings?

Sure, cults were part of the game content, but if he meant that…

That was bad news.

“…Did he have red skin, by any chance?”

“Just an ordinary-looking guy. Except for being crazy, of course. Though, to be fair, most people are nowadays.”

“He was at least paler than—alright, alright. No jokes, I get it.”

Sarah shot a glare at Curtis, sighing as she stacked the empty bowls.

“He was obsessed with skin, though. But not in the same way as Grandpa… he kept rambling about how the ‘tainted flesh that ruined the world has no right to exist—’”

Shit.

“…Why are you suddenly—”

“Rebirth Church.”

I quickly glanced toward the door.

A dark hallway.

The occasional groan of shifting metal.

Rats scurrying inside the walls.

It was still quiet… for now.

“You know something?”

Curtis loaded shells into his shotgun, his expression hardening.

Sarah and James instinctively reached for their holsters.

“…If it’s not too much trouble, can we move? Right now.”

I thought I had good luck.

I was wrong.

Out of all the survivor groups to stumble into…

Of course I ended up with one that had been branded by the damn Rebirth Church.

Of course my game had to start like this.