Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 83.3: Rumor (3)

"Hello. I am Doctor M. Cheng."

I practiced introducing myself as Professor M. Cheng while looking in the mirror.

My pronunciation wasn’t bad, and my voice sounded decent.

But I looked far too young and stylish to convincingly portray him.

There’s no way this would fool that suspicious gangster boss.

However, with the right mix of resources, tricking him might not be as difficult as it seemed.

I had several DVDs—on medicine, architecture, electrical engineering, construction, tailoring, survival skills, and even beatboxing—each containing knowledge I could use in isolation after the war.

Among them, I remembered a lecture on internal medicine featuring a Chinese professor.

In the short video, a doctor in a white coat explained internal diseases in fluent English. After reviewing it carefully, I realized his appearance was perfect for the role of Professor M. Cheng.

I paused the video, pressed the print screen button, and pasted the captured image into Paint.

I cropped the professor’s photo, carefully erased the name tag on his chest by copying other parts of his white coat and overlaying them. I blurred the area slightly to smooth out the edits. It looked surprisingly seamless, even to me.

Next, I lowered the image resolution and added a new name below it:

DR. M. Cheng

The profile picture was complete.

The next step was dubbing.

I translated the rumor I had previously written into English using the Viva! Apocalypse! translation function and displayed the script on the screen.

Then, using my high-quality beatboxing microphone, I dubbed over the professor’s movements in the video, syncing the words to his lip movements.

"Hello. I am Doctor M. Cheng. Master of the School of Mutation and Monsters."

I played the introduction back.

“...”

It felt good.

This should be enough to fool even that paranoid gangster boss.

I continued the work with momentum, but the loud rumble of a vehicle from the direction of the U.S. military base interrupted me.

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Through the periscope, I saw a jeep with its headlights on driving briskly in my direction.

Click.

Work was work, but security was security.

I stepped outside and observed the jeep’s path.

It was taking an eastern detour, crossing the bridge, and heading straight toward my territory.

There was no doubt about it.

They were coming here.

Had they found me?

I grabbed a recoilless rifle, two assault rifles, and three magazines, then headed to the decoy bunker.

When dealing with raiders targeting a bunker, ambushing them from outside significantly increases survival odds.

Defending the bunker from inside is always a last resort.

Moreover, it was nighttime.

I hid below the ridgeline, relying on my ears instead of my eyes to track the raiders’ movements.

Directly observing them was risky since they might have brought infrared equipment.

Lying on the cold, winter-chilled dirt, I listened carefully to their actions. Their vehicle stopped in front of my main bunker.

A couple of people got out.

Two of them.

But the total number wouldn’t be just two.

There could be four or five in total.

The worst-case scenario would be if they had a sensory Awakened among them.

If that was the case, a fight would be inevitable.

Even then, I didn’t consider it a disadvantage.

This was my home turf.

Facing an old-school hunter like me with just the passengers of one jeep was not a wise decision.

Crunch, crunch.

I heard footsteps heading toward the ridge.

Holding my breath, I watched their movements.

I shifted my position subtly, staying out of sight and keeping in mind the possibility of a sensory Awakened detecting me.

"You see anything?"

A voice called out for the first time.

They had reached the top of the ridge.

"Not a damn thing. No lights or anything."

Another man responded.

"Where did you even hear about this place?"

"Who knows."

"This is bullshit."

"Can’t we just grab someone and kill them? Wouldn’t that work?"

"You idiot. Killing someone doesn’t always turn them into zombies. You need the virus for that."

"By the way, do you smell something?"

"What smell?"

"Like piss or shit."

Four voices now.

I pinpointed their positions based on the sound of their voices.

Killing them wouldn’t be difficult.

I could drop the concealment, take aim, and eliminate them one by one with precision shots.

But I held back.

That patience came from experience.

As a former team leader for a hunter squad specializing in large-scale monsters, I had to make countless decisions.

There are two kinds of judgment: long-term judgment and short-term judgment.

The scope of judgment always depends on the mission’s nature and its chances of success.

My current mission is to survive unnoticed and protect my territory for as long as possible.

From their behavior, it was clear their objective wasn’t me or my bunker. They seemed more interested in high ground.

My territory happened to offer the highest elevation, providing a vantage point over the surroundings. That’s why they climbed to the ridge and spoke from there.

If their purpose wasn’t to target me, there was no need to kill them.

Even if they were raiders, that didn’t change the calculation.

If these were the only raiders in the area, I could take them out cleanly like Defender would. But they had comrades back at the U.S. military base.

Killing one would just bring another, and so on.

Of course, holding back when I could kill wasn’t easy.

The temptation to silently take them out with an axe crossed my mind several times.

Especially since they had caught a faint whiff of the waste remnants I’d buried in a pit.

In the end, the raiders got back in their jeep and left.

“...”

Situation resolved.

The jeep headed east.

Whether my decision was the correct one, I couldn’t say.

But I wouldn’t regret my choice.

Unlike before, I was the only one responsible for it.

*

"Hello. This is extremely dangerous. Mankind must be prepared. Thank you."

I finished dubbing the interview video for Professor M. Cheng.

I didn’t try to make the pronunciation overly refined—forcing my tongue to sound sophisticated would’ve made it feel even more unnatural. Instead, I aimed for the stiff, foreign-accented English typically associated with Asian speakers.

The video was just over a minute long, but the quality was solid.

The synchronization between the professor’s lip movements and the dubbing was perfect.

For further authenticity, I edited the name tag area on the video. Since I didn’t have advanced video editing tools, I left a faint black smudge over where the name tag had been, adding to the illusion of a degraded video. Then, I reduced the video resolution to 320x200, making it suitably grainy.

The photos and video I created were added to the AntWiki page for Professor Edmond K. Park, a fictional colleague of M. Cheng.

Of course, no such entry existed before, so I wrote a brief description for Professor Park, mentioning his collaboration with M. Cheng to make the connection appear natural.

I didn’t forget to work with Ballantine to adjust the page’s creation date to before the war, ensuring historical plausibility.

Before sunrise, I posted a new thread on the forum.

SKELTON:

(Skelton’s Chilling Story) Some people doubt the U.S. military base zombie virus research facility. Here’s the link.

SKELTON:

Refer to the AntWiki entry for Professor Edmond K. Park on PaleNet.

“...”

I hadn’t slept much, but I was satisfied.

With the effort I’d put into the video, even that skeptical gangster boss should hesitate to press further.

Honestly, King probably took over the airport on a whim, driven by desperation. There was little to gain from dominating this area.

The region was far from Incheon and Seoul, offering nothing but a concrete military bunker.

Sure, the airport was functional, but would another plane really come?

Everyone had already evacuated from Incheon.

Unless King planned to operate fighter jets, which seemed beyond his capabilities, his hold on the airport felt futile.

With my second line of bait cast, I began my daily watch.

Even though my eyelids were heavy, I was used to this routine.

Quietly, I observed the gang’s movements.

They maintained strict vigilance as always.

Some used observation equipment to scan suspicious areas, while others deployed drones to survey from the air.

Naturally, whenever a drone was launched, I had to take cover either in the bunker or the cabin.

“...”

They were definitely troublesome neighbors.

The longer they stayed, the more my stress levels would rise.

If they didn’t leave soon, I might have to find a way to eliminate them entirely.

Killing that many gang members at once would send a clear message to King, forcing him to think twice about deploying more troops here.

Of course, that would require taking out all 22 of them before they could call for reinforcements—a near-impossible task.

But perhaps not entirely impossible.

Everyone has moments when their guard slips.

Even trained gangsters like these might throw a drunken party one day, letting their vigilance lapse.

While considering my second option, a jeep appeared from the east.

It was the same jeep that had visited my territory the previous night.

This time, four—or no, five—people were inside.

One of them wasn’t alive.

It was a corpse, a zombie.

Its head was riddled with bullet holes, and it wore a tattered military uniform of sorts.

As the jeep arrived, the gang members cheered loudly.

The zombie corpse was unceremoniously tossed onto the ground.

Several gang members laughed raucously as they took photos of the zombie with their phones.

That’s when I felt a pang of curiosity.

Were zombies rare in Sejong City?

In this ruined world, zombies were everywhere, yet they seemed fascinated enough to gather around and take pictures.

I couldn’t understand it.

Pondering this mystery, another day passed.

As night fell, I checked the bait I had cast.

Unlike before, there were no comments on the thread.

Not even a message from King.

Had he not seen it?

Or had he seen it and decided to ignore it?

That night, it rained.

Though exhausted from staying up the previous night, I immediately donned a raincoat and went outside.

I climbed into the pit I’d once used as a makeshift toilet and began cleaning it with the rainwater, scrubbing it over and over again.

The stench of waste had seeped into the ground, and I scrubbed until the smell no longer lingered.

Even as my body grew heavy like soaked cotton, I didn’t stop.

This was necessary labor.

Labor that had to be done.

Once the pit was thoroughly cleaned, I filled it in with muddy soil using a shovel, ensuring it was sealed completely.

*

Another day had passed.

The gangsters were still holed up at the U.S. military base.

Nothing had changed.

King still hadn’t sent any messages, and my post hadn’t received a single comment.

I was tempted to repost the same message, but posting it twice might raise suspicion instead of reinforcing the rumor. I decided to let it be.

Using rumors was just one of many methods to eliminate the threats surrounding my territory.

It was disappointing to abandon the effort after so much work, but giving up when there was no response was a skill every leader needed.

I had no hesitation in abandoning plans that weren’t working, no matter how much effort had been invested.

That tendency of mine probably contributed to my reputation as someone cold and ruthless.

With the rumor operation a bust, the next option was a massacre.

If death was inevitable anyway, betting on slim odds wasn’t a bad choice. I wouldn’t let myself be slowly boiled alive like a frog in hot water.

I drifted into a short sleep while thinking about how to use the two claymores and recoilless rifle I’d received from Rebecca to wipe them all out.

*

The sound of music woke me.

It wasn’t a dream.

Someone was playing music through a loudspeaker, and at quite a high volume.

The source? The U.S. military base.

The gangsters were responsible.

Stepping outside my bunker to take a look, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

They were throwing a wild drinking party.

The gangsters were grilling what I could only guess was some kind of mystery meat, drinking what seemed to be homemade whiskey and soju, blasting music, dancing, and screaming like madmen.

“...”

For a moment, I wondered if God existed. Was this some divine intervention?

All 22 of them were at the party.

Their usual tight perimeter and disciplined vigilance were gone.

If I attacked now, I could take them all out on my own without any trouble.

Setting up the claymores and spraying them with the recoilless rifle or an assault rifle would wipe them out in one go.

I grabbed my gear and moved out, keeping an eye on them.

The drinking party lasted until around 3 a.m., when it finally started to die down.

The raiders began passing out one by one.

Only one guy, who seemed to have drunk less, stood guard—but taking out a lone sentry silently would be as easy as snapping a twig.

Carrying nearly 20 kilograms of equipment, I approached the military base.

To avoid the motion sensors, I climbed over a half-collapsed barbed wire fence.

The enemy was right in front of me.

If I approached quietly and swung my axe at the guard’s neck, he wouldn’t even have time to scream before collapsing.

“...”

The choice was mine to make.

I could kill him and then eliminate the rest inside, one by one.

King would take a heavy loss and likely send an investigation team, but what could burned bodies tell them?

I pulled out my axe, ready to strike.

Just then, the sentry chuckled softly and muttered to himself.

“Zombie virus, my ass. What a load of crap.”

The sentry turned his head slightly, looking around.

“Huh?”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“Felt like something was there.”

He was right.

I had been there.

But now, I was back over the barbed wire fence, watching him from a distance.

I wasn’t going to kill him.

I wasn’t going to touch the gangsters.

That was my decision.

I couldn’t explain why.

It was just a gut feeling.

The judgment of a leader, one that told me this course of action wasn’t right in the long run.

This might have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but I retreated to my territory, leaving the 22 defenseless raiders alive.

I wouldn’t regret my decision.

*

Miracles don’t happen often.

When they do, people rarely recognize them for what they are.

Yesterday had seemed like a miracle, but it wasn’t.

The real miracle happened under the warm spring sun the next morning.

The raiders began packing their gear.

They hummed tunes, laughed, and chatted cheerfully as they dismantled the motion sensors and perimeter equipment they’d set up.

Around noon, a truck arrived.

All 22 raiders boarded the truck and left the U.S. military base.

The gang that could have been the greatest threat to my territory disappeared on their own.

A message popped up on my computer.

Message from CrunchRoll:

“Honestly, I didn’t believe you, but it turns out you were right.”

Message from CrunchRoll:

“There really are zombies around. Almost lost some of my smartest guys.”

Message from CrunchRoll:

“I know you don’t like me, but if you’re ever in Sejong, just drop my name, Skelton. I’ll get you a drink or two. lol.”

Message from CrunchRoll:

(Photo attached)

King had sent another photo.

It was yet another image of a woman in an animal costume, posing suggestively.

“...Is he insane?”

I rarely talked to myself, but this warranted an exception.

I calmed myself and thought things over carefully.

Why had the gang taken pictures of the zombie corpse?

A faint smile spread across my face.

So that’s what it was.

Gangsters are people too.

They have thoughts and desires.

They must have hated being here—this godforsaken wasteland with no women, no people, and nothing but boredom and danger.

King must have mentioned the zombie virus, and they started thinking.

The excitement over the zombie corpse was probably a result of that.

It explained their party, their decision to leave, and the fact that I had spared them all.

In the end, the situation surrounding my territory resolved itself in the best way possible.

No one died, no one became suspicious, and I even earned King’s goodwill.

“...”

Maybe I should upload a beatboxing video.

It feels like the only way to express this joy properly.

Ding!

“Hm?”

A notification popped up.

A comment alert.

Who could it be?

The only recent posts I’d made were the ones meant to bait King.

The comment was on my second bait post, the one with the dubbed video of Professor M. Cheng.

Heart pounding, I opened it.

gijayangban:

“Caught you, you bastard.”