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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Cat Mom
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Most accidents are preventable.
The three cats I'm about to talk about—Gucci, Hermes, and Jackfield—were preventable disasters, in a certain sense.
"Ma'am. Don't feed that cat."
The woman was a middle-aged survivor living alone in the vast wasteland between Seoul and my territory.
She always covered her face with a mask, scarf, and sunglasses, likely due to burns from the nuclear strike. I first noticed her around the time I started making regular begging runs into Seoul.
The moment she spotted a sturdy guy like me, she yanked her cart and hurried away. I could sense raw terror mixed with profound loneliness radiating from her back.
After passing by a few times, I saw her in the same spot feeding stray cats. After several observations, it seemed she had no husband or kids.
Not an uncommon sight in this world anymore, so I ignored her and moved on. But soon enough, she got used to me too and stopped fleeing at the sight of me.
What started as one of us bolting turned into mutual avoidance.
Our parallel lives ran smoothly until one incident shattered the balance.
Her cats grew to an unnaturally massive size—anyone could see something was wrong.
"Hey. Didn't you hear me?"
No doubt about it.
Mutation precursor symptoms.
Hard to imagine now, but back when the Chinese government was still functional, they even dispatched hunters from South Korea to jointly combat monster invasions.
With India and Africa collapsing and the fallout spreading to neighbors, it was obvious South Korea would be next if they sat idle.
I'd seen similar cases in one of those shiny new Chinese ghost cities—built big and flashy but sparsely populated.
Humanity was more ignorant back then and couldn't distinguish mutations from monsters, but I boldly captured an overgrown sewer rat—overriding my team's objections—and claimed it was a new breed of hamster. That sample helped establish the concept of mutations.
Not to brag, but my contribution to identifying mutations was significant.
Overgrowth beyond genetic limits is the hallmark precursor to mutation.
The three cats being fed by this nameless woman had already ballooned to golden retriever size by that point.
"Don't you think those cats are way too big, even for you, ma'am?"
"They're Ragdolls."
She defended them.
Ragdolls are a large breed of cat, sure.
But the three cats—including that tricolor one—looked distinctly Korean to my eyes.
"What Ragdoll? I'd believe you if you said they were man-eating desert lions."
"Mind your own business. Who are you to boss me around?"
She spat back without even glancing my way, her voice laced with fury.
"Because it'll come back to bite you. Want to get eaten by your cats?"
"They wouldn't. They're angels. They adore me."
She extended her hand, and the three cats swarmed it, rubbing their heads against her like old Western nobles kissing a king's seal.
"..."
I said nothing more.
She's no kid—she's a grown woman. She'll figure it out.
My own selfish calculations helped me walk away and ignore her.
I was already thinking it was time to cut ties with Seoul.
With my personal ID code secured, there was less need to go there in person. Plus, the front lines were short on manpower.
High-value assets like me could be dragged back anytime with some excuse.
Welcoming three mutations as new neighbors—alongside the Mad Sniper to the southeast and the Gold Pack to the southwest—to guard my bunker didn't seem so bad.
Not that she'd listen to me anyway.
"What are those cats' names?"
I called out to the departing woman.
"Why?"
"They look cute."
"Hermes, Gucci, Jackfield."
Strangely, she didn't specify which cat had which name, but I had a feeling I knew anyway.
*
"Weave the yarn back and forth like netting to create a richer texture."
A quiet afternoon.
I'm making a wool felt doll while watching a video from the late Anonymous337.
My creation looks more like a Lovecraftian goat than a sheep, but by steadily referencing the master's videos, I'm tweaking it to at least resemble a sheep.
Like the one on that shelf over there.
As I'm deep in focus, the K-walkie-talkie beeps.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
This pattern signals a direct call via personal ID code.
Important contact.
And sure enough.
Sender: Kim Daram
"Fuck."
I can't ignore it, so I hit receive. A curt voice pours out immediately, like it was waiting.
"Sunbae. I need a favor."
"Another one? Didn't you say you'd never ask me for anything again?"
"I hate this too, but in these dark times, we have to help each other. And it's not unrelated to you. You know about those deaths near the golf course where you live, right?"
"...Rupert Shibural Palace, was it?"
"See? You know."
The incident where that nameless woman's three stray angels turned monstrous and turned the apartment residents into real angels was good news for me, but apparently a major crisis for the central government.
The state issued kill orders on Hermes, Gucci, and Jackfield.
"Sorry, but I can't hunt mutations anymore. Don't have the skills, don't want to, and no gear anyway."
"Not you, sunbae. I'm sending someone."
"Someone?"
"Freelance hunter."
The freelance hunter showed up on a pre-war vintage motorcycle, a rare sight even back then.
"Hey there?"
His leather coat and pants clung to a compact but rock-solid frame. His face looked youthful yet aged.
"Baek Seung-hyeon."
From the first meeting, he scanned me head to toe like appraising prey, then smirked knowingly with a nasal hum.
Not the type I want close, so I kept words minimal and stuck to business.
My conditions were three.
"I won't join the fight or help. And I'll only tag along until sunset today."
Baek smirked.
As I stayed silent, he suddenly spoke up.
"You're Park Gyu from the academy, right? Legendary Class of '13."
"What's that out of nowhere?"
"Same school. Class of '12."
"..."
"The radiant castle of trials stands tall~ We hone ourselves like brilliant jade~ Imbued with Samgaksan spirit, reborn as era's immortals~"
This guy's suddenly singing.
Familiar melody—the school song.
He knows the cheesy song retired after half a year due to complaints, so probably not bullshitting.
Looking closer, his face rings a vague bell.
We might've crossed paths on campus a few times.
Though we were both greener and less jaded back then.
"Who'd have thought Park Gyu ended up here. Mind-blowing."
"No old stories."
"A loser like me saw it coming for myself. But a top student like you..."
I shot him a glare signaling I was done listening.
Caught off guard by my sharp eyes, Baek apologized.
"Sorry. No comment."
He rode the motorcycle; I took the bike. We headed to the site.
Blood stench hit before we even got close. At the scene: scattered flesh, fur, blood pools, chaotic prints.
"This?"
Baek grinned.
"Actually tangled with them before meeting you."
He patted the hefty weapon on his bike.
Model 21 large-caliber hunter rifle.
Hunter gear for monsters—mutations.
"They'd tasted human blood before, came at me hard. But total drama queens. Just a few scratches."
Honestly, I'd underestimated freelance hunters.
Correction.
Baek Seung-hyeon is strong.
Taking on three mutations in open terrain with a slow bolt-action rifle, no analysis or scouting? Takes serious guts and skill.
At least A-rank.
That's my assessment.
"I don't enjoy meeting randos either. Had to link up 'cause those beasts wiped their blood and bolted to the ditch. No way I'd track 'em alone."
One reason he sought me: help find the wounded cats.
But how would I know?
I'm no cat detective.
Wait—one face comes to mind.
The nameless woman who'd fed Gucci, Hermes, and Jackfield flashed by like an old unsolved puzzle.
*
The abandoned single-block apartment was shrouded in trash and fallen leaves, exuding eerie desolation.
Every window shattered; red stains from the old veranda wept like blood tears, staining the building grotesquely.
"Shitty apartment. Probably over 40 years old."
Baek scanned sharply.
"No marts or shops nearby. Just fields. Not even enough farmland for all residents to farm."
He rambled unprompted, then eyed the building narrowly.
"Still, only livable spot around."
Sure enough, the veiled woman hid inside.
Baek handled people well.
More like herding livestock.
"Auntie."
Baek shoved his phone screen at her.
"You know these?"
"..."
"Auntie. Don't clam up—talk. Know how many they've killed?"
"No way."
"No way my ass."
"My babies wouldn't!"
Baek sniffed.
Returned from behind the building with bloody clothes.
"My wife was one of the dead."
The clothes were men's, oddly. But she burst into tears, halting talk.
What wind blew me there?
I snapped to beside her.
"You okay?"
I even offered a canned coffee I'd saved for myself.
Gifts unlock women's hearts, timelessly.
She clutched the coffee, sobbing, then spoke.
"...That day, the apartment folks locked everyone in the bunker—except me. Old Saemaul Undong one."
She pointed at the bunker.
"Got there late—door shut. Banged and yelled, no answer. Meant to die outside. They'd soured on me for feeding strays. Then Jackfield meowed and appeared."
She removed her sunglasses, wiping tears.
"Led me to the basement like a guide."
Her melted brows and ruined eye area were too horrific to look at directly, but her eyes held a warmth that drew animals.
"Owe my life to them. They owe theirs to me."
"What about the bunker people?"
Obvious without looking.
Black soot ghosts the vent.
"Fire inside, I think. Smoke and screams all day."
Her survival secret revealed.
Entire small complex wiped out.
60 units' worth of supplies hers alone.
Dilapidated and remote, no raiders bothered it, as Baek said.
"Not feeding them now, right?"
"Yeah. They're too... big now..."
"Know where they are? Next guy's not as nice."
Urged by me, she reached to open the coffee can, resolute.
Shaky hands from alcohol withdrawal—I popped it for her. She bowed, took it.
Sipping my warmed coffee, she gazed afar, steeling herself.
"Got a guess."
She led us to a ditch by abandoned fields.
Explained briefly en route.
"Found them here. Abandoned by mom—I raised 'em."
Her instincts spot-on.
Blood traces.
"Hermes~ Gucci~ Jackfield~!"
She called desperately.
Baek and I hung back.
Avoiding his gaze, I fixed on her and asked coldly.
"Has to be like this?"
Baek fitted her with a vest.
Bomb vest.
Agreed less pain than being torn alive, but this was inhuman.
"Dead folks would ask her the same."
Massive beasts emerged from the ditch, bleeding profusely.
Mutations.
Baek's finger on the detonator.
Nothing to say.
His call was sound, feelings aside.
Scholars say mutations are too smart to tame.
They attack humans knowing how we view and treat them.
Like how God's meekest sheep—humans—became his fiercest accusers, mutations choose to hate us.
That's the consensus on their aggression.
But.
"Meow."
Unbelievable sight.
The mutations followed her.
Like before mutation—rubbing for her touch. Lion-sized heads jostling, nuzzling her bomb-vested body.
"See? My babies are good. Even now..."
"..."
The nameless woman and her cats debunked the theory head-on.
But that brief miracle vanished in an instant at the hand of a man mired in reality.
Click.
Dull switch sound, then explosion. Light and roar swallowed all.
"You work like shit."
Probably the first time.
I'd looked at Baek seriously.
He'd stared at me constantly, but dodged my eyes then.
"...Shitty world."
Mumbling, he fled the scene.
Her body vaporized.
One mutation survived, lower half gone, gasping last breaths.
I looked down at the cat.
It gazed up weakly with cooling eyes.
"You're Jackfield, huh."
The ugliest of the three nodded like a human, then stopped breathing.