He was known as Woodpecker, though the origin of this nickname was a mystery to him. Everyone who knew the reason was dead. They had slowly died by melting in the stomach of test subject XS F-H037-C. Or they had been torn apart. Or they had their organs sucked out. Or their brains devoured. Or their bodies crushed. Or…or… or...

Johan’s voice, tinged with a hint of indignation, rang with sincerity and innocence. Seojun, for his part, didn’t care too much—whether Johan was a burger guy or a pizza fan was none of his business. He gave a nod, accepting the vehement denial with a mental shrug.

Seojun never really understood why people often felt embarrassed about things like this. Nevertheless, he had accomplished his goal and now stuck to Johan like a shadow, gripping the lantern tightly.

The guardhouse was completely empty and had an eerie quietness to it. What’s more, the door, notorious for its squeaky hinges, was unexpectedly unlocked. As Seojun turned the handle, it swung open easily, and to his relief, there was no sign of an ambush from someone in a gas mask or any tentacled monster.

“I can do this! I can help too!” Bobby, with his tin pot now slid down to his nose, was puffing with effort, his cheeks flushed. Maybe Johan’s earlier encouragement had lit a fire in him, or maybe he’d found a rare burst of courage.

To reach Zone D, the guardhouse, one had to first pass through Zone A, which included the campfire area and the campsite. As Seojun stepped into the campfire area, he couldn’t help but clutch his trembling arm.

A shiver of realization ran down Seojun’s spine as he acknowledged that he had naively pigeonholed the chef into a single, clichéd role. But looking at the rundown state of the campsite, he began to second-guess his initial impressions.