Marauder of the Apocalypse

There is evidence right before my eyes that public authority has collapsed. The police have no interest in law enforcement activities, and instead rob citizens. This was a very positive phenomenon.

How nice it would be if they didn't even catch those who commit crimes.

I gave a sincere smile to the police who were eyeing our harvest. Of course, it can't be seen because of the mask, but the eyes and atmosphere are there.

"Your eye area is trembling, so you seem to be lacking in magnesium. I happen to have some supplements."

As I rummaged in my bag to find the supplements, the police officer stepped back with trembling eyebrows.

A somewhat flustered voice was heard.

"What, what? Why are you reacting like that?"

"Stop that hand!"

The police officers, who were guarding the rear, also approached us with great bewilderment. It's as if I had hidden a bomb. I didn't care and took out the magnesium supplements and multivitamins.

I handed it over as if giving a gift, but the police officers didn't take it. Instead, tension flickered in their eyes as they suspiciously eyed the supplements.

"Did you mix it with zombie saliva? Are you targeting our equipment again-"

What memory flashed? Suddenly, the police officer pointed his gun at my head, as if having a seizure. It seems he has a kind of PTSD, like a treasure goblin who has suffered a lot.

I slowly took a surrender pose, and fortunately, another police officer stopped the situation from escalating.

"Calm down. He's just a civilian."

"Hello. I'm a citizen. This is a new product from a discount sale at the pharmacy, and it's a pure gift."

The gun barrel touching my forehead trembled. The cold metal touch. Beyond that, the police officer's cloudy eyes were shaking like someone wandering in his memories.

I could hear the faint sound of Jeon Do-hyeong and Park Yang-gun quietly retreating.

The police officer suddenly looked very tired. Wrinkles formed on his sweat-soaked eyes. He let the gun hang down and wiped his face like washing.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"We get attacked so often. I ask for your understanding, sir."

I understand completely. I nodded.

It was a natural world where one couldn't receive a gift purely. Even the owner of the fugu restaurant didn't feed the deadly puffer fish, right? If I were them, I would also grab a weapon if a stranger gave me a gift.

I discreetly asked with concern, "Are there many people attacking the police?"

This seemed to have triggered something. The two police officers nodded vigorously. Anger flared in their eyes.

"Some crazy person wrote on the internet telling people to attack the police. There are many who come after us, targeting our weapons."

...Isn't that me? I must be the one who wrote the original post.

Has the ripple effect of what I wrote been bigger than I thought?

"People who ram the police car while driving, people who brandish weapons at the back of our heads, people who lure zombies and steal weapons from our corpses. Many of our colleagues have fallen at the hands of citizens...."

The police officer trembled and tightly closed his eyes.

I was engulfed in a strange emotion. The post I wrote had moved people, the world. If this is the case, haven't I achieved my dream of being a screenwriter to some extent?

Lost in my own thoughts, I quickly rummaged through my bag and pulled out a spam can, handing it to the officer.

"You must be working so hard. It must be tough dealing with the zombies too."

"You didn't have to give this to us."

The police officer accepted the vitamins and spam, smiling sheepishly. The small gesture helped build some rapport. The people who had openly targeted our belongings had become friendlier.

The police officers started pocketing the gifts.

Suddenly, a wicked idea sprang to mind.

'Should I attack them?'

First, I could give them lots of gifts. Then, while their hands are full, I could hit them on the head with a hammer. It seemed quite feasible.

The benefits were clear - police equipment.

But I resisted the urge, dreaming of crafting a complete screenplay. Attacking them immediately would be unwise, as I don't know the full situation yet. Should I make them friends, hunt them and take their loot, or gather more information?

"But, how bad is the situation for the police these days? I haven't seen many police officers dealing with the zombies lately."

"Well..."

The officers hesitated, and only after I handed them another canned food item did they slowly speak.

"Many of our colleagues have been killed in attacks by citizens, some have been infected and turned into zombies, and others have been killed by the zombies. The police have essentially lost their function. Even we are..."

The officers went on to explain their situation. The small police station, with officers disappearing one by one, had been reduced to a few survivors who had taken to the streets to make a living - blocking roads like bandits and taking food from passersby.

"Be careful. The other police officers are probably similar."

They worriedly shared news about the police in other areas - some had become street gangs, some were planning to raid armories, some were colluding with vigilantes, and the larger police stations had even claimed to be the rulers of their districts.

In short, the police had shattered like a broken vessel - good news for me.

"There is a vacuum in law enforcement. People like you are at risk of getting hurt."

"No, it's the police who are in more danger. You're the ones working so hard."

I had made up my mind around this point.

We will rely solely on your kindness! Click here!

Donate now

These officers were worth keeping alive. They were the closest thing to firearms in the ruined city, an information source on the fate of the powerful government institution of the police, and potential friends who could pay the price of friendship.

It would be more beneficial in the long run to maintain the relationship.

'The collapsed public authority is not an enemy.'

Since they were fellow outlaws, not the police, there was plenty of room for them to become friends. The seniors in my mind, the cartel and mafia types, didn't affiliate with them for no reason.

A warm camaraderie flowed between the outlaw colleagues.

The officer suddenly moved his hand to his waist. His hand landed on a taser gun.

"You only have things like hammers for weapons. Here, take this at least."

"Ah, a taser gun. That should help with the zombie problem a bit."

This was friendship. Friendship blossoming in the exchange of gifts.

The officer kindly explained, "The cartridges are single-use, but you can still use it as an electric shock weapon even without the cartridges."

"So it can be used as an electric shock weapon too."

I already knew that, but I pretended to be unfamiliar, making an awkward expression as I carefully waved the taser gun around, like a first-time user.

Next, the police provided professional knowledge.

"The battery can be replaced with a battery. I don't know much about it either-"

How to connect the wires to the battery and replace it with a battery? Even if I know, I don't think I can do it. There might be information on the internet.

As we chatted happily and exchanged contact information, the time to part ways approached.

"Let's help each other. Please contact me anytime."

"Yes. Let's meet again next time."

I watch the police officer walking away, waving his hand. He might be going to find another easy target to rob.

Their appearance was not entirely peaceful.

They were overly vigilant, and if they heard the sound of a car, they would hide behind trees or streetlights in panic.

The former believer's home was invaded by a robber, we robbed that robber, and the police are taking away our spoils. Even the police, who seem to be at the top of the food chain, are someone's prey.

This was not even survival of the fittest.

In the face of ambush, arson, firearms, poisoning, virus terror, zombie luring, and traffic accidents, everyone dies the same. There are no strong ones.

To survive in a world where everyone attacks everyone...

I turned my head at that point.

"The police have left. Come out."

"The police have left? Hmm. Our Kim Da-in has such good social skills. I couldn't even talk to the police."

While I was actively conversing with the police, the two thieves who had fled like ghosts came out of the building. Jeon Do-hyeong let out a sigh with a pale, frightened face.

"I was so startled... Why would the police rob the citizens?"

"In a world where citizens attack the police, the police can also rob the citizens."

I looked at Jeon Do-hyeong as if he were a strange person. Isn't it a bit unfair to just let the police take advantage of us?

We returned to the villa, carrying heavy bags.

"There's no need to hurry. The other houses have already been cleared out anyway."

I agreed with Park Yang-gun's calm words. There was no need to be anxious. We had already moved the essential supplies to our own homes.

And if my memory serves me correctly, that house must have only contained corpses - zombie corpses or the residents' corpses.

"Corpses in the house!"

Just then, a thief who had climbed up the ladder was seen hastily escaping through the window. He must have gotten scared seeing the corpses.

Anyway, it was an opportunity. A chance to punish the intruder who dared to invade our villa.

I immediately rushed over and kicked the ladder away. Aaaargh, a scream arced through the air as the thief fell to the ground. He was from the second floor, so the impact might not have been fatal, and he struggled to get up, limping.

"What the! Why are you doing this when there's a person there!"

"The thief, no, the intruder is quite talkative."

Cursing the thief would be like cursing my own comrade. I quickly changed my words, and the other person flushed red in the face and jumped.

"Why am I a thief! It's my family! I came to the house because contact was lost!"

"Through the ladder?"

"What else could I do when I can't reach the homeowner and can't open the door!"

...Is he really family? No, this fact is not important. Anyway, he is a burglar who invaded our building. An enemy with ill will. If we let him go, he might come back at night and set the place on fire.

Preemptive action is necessary for our safety. The best defense is an attack.

Clang!

The hammer struck the other person's head. And, as if speaking to the neighbors peeking at us through the window, I said loudly:

"Family, what family. This is my house here."

Anyway, this is my house now.