NTN 35

Chapter 35

Nothing

“Where are we?”

Yong Yeo-hong asked the question without much expectation. He didn’t really think Seong Geon-woo would know the answer anyway.

Geon-woo lowered his right elbow and raised the muzzle of his Berserk assault rifle slightly.

“Outpatient clinic.”

His voice was low and firm.

“What?”

Startled, Yeo-hong was about to ask how he knew that, when he suddenly remembered something.

Each floor of Bango Bio’s residential complex had a small infirmary for minor illnesses like headaches and fevers. These infirmaries were divided into an inner and an outer room — the outer room functioned as both a pharmacy and a doctor’s office, while the inner room served as an IV and injection room.

Beyond those, there were also three full-fledged hospitals within Bango Bio. Each one occupied a separate floor and treated patients whose conditions the infirmaries couldn’t handle.

Having been healthy since childhood — and with parents and elders who had never fallen seriously ill — Yong Yeo-hong had only ever visited the infirmary on his residential floor and the university clinic. He had no firsthand impression of what a hospital or outpatient clinic actually looked like.

Seong Geon-woo, on the other hand, had spent a long time in and out of hospitals before his mother passed away. He’d gone back and forth between school, home, and the hospital nearly every day.

Realizing that this must be why Geon-woo recognized the place so quickly, Yeo-hong said nothing more.

Geon-woo pointed with his chin toward the single-story building.

“This side would’ve had the outpatient clinic, injection room, and IV room. Probably more than one of each, though.”

Then he turned to look at the building again.

“The two outermost rooms connected by the corridor were likely pharmacies. The windows would’ve had metal bars, leaving just enough space to pass medicine through — but looks like those have all been torn out. Maybe it was used later as a machine room, accounting office, or chemical lab. Hard to say for sure.”

“Right.”

Yeo-hong didn’t argue.

They both raised their rifles and began searching the rooms one by one, but found nothing useful. The remaining wooden desks and chairs were all smashed to pieces — probably broken up for firewood long ago.

When they reached the last room of the single-story building, Yeo-hong kicked open a half-closed door — and froze.

For one horrifying second, his eyes met the empty, black sockets of a human skull.

Startled out of his wits, he raised his Berserk rifle, finger tightening on the trigger.

Geon-woo quickly scanned their surroundings and said quietly,
“It’s been dead a long time.”

Only then did Yeo-hong relax and take a closer look.

A wooden table had been overturned, and yellowed, torn papers were scattered across the floor. The skeleton slumped beside the desk was stripped bare — no flesh, no clothing, and several finger bones missing.

“Looks like the relic hunters who came before us stripped the body down to its underwear. Beasts must’ve been through here too…”

Yeo-hong, having undergone tough training, pieced together several facts from the traces left behind.

Then, from a corner, a small dark shadow darted out — a rat — disappearing into a hole in the wall.

“…A rat.”

He almost shot it out of reflex.

After a moment of silence, Geon-woo nodded.
“Think it’s edible?”

“…Technically, yes. But it’s crawling with bacteria. You could get seriously ill.”

Yeo-hong spoke quickly, trying to discourage any reckless thoughts.

“If the team leader were here, he’d say, ‘Don’t eat that unless you’ve got no other choice.’”

Geon-woo sighed in disappointment.

“Keep watch.”

He crouched in front of the yellowed papers scattered across the floor.

Nothing was written on them — but that didn’t mean they were worthless. By comparing the torn edges, Geon-woo realized the sheets came from the same notebook.

“If anything important was written on them, someone’s already taken it,” Yeo-hong said.

Geon-woo said nothing.

“Let’s pick them up anyway and show them to the team leader.”

He pulled out a plastic bag and tweezers, collecting several sheets.

They searched the rest of the building but found nothing else.

Returning along the sloped path, Geon-woo and Yeo-hong climbed up toward a small plaza. The building across from them had collapsed, and the four-story one on the far right was overgrown with ivy.

Above the first-floor entrance, faint red letters could still be seen through the vines — rusted but legible:

“Inpatient Ward.”

“So it really was a hospital.”

Yeo-hong turned his head to look at the building beside the slope.

“That one must’ve been part of the hospital too. Which means the collapsed one over there was probably the radio station.”

The top bricks of the collapsed structure had already been dug through — evidence of the relic hunters’ thoroughness and patience.

“Let’s go in.”

Geon-woo stepped into the inpatient ward first.

Inside, the floor was littered with glass shards and animal droppings, but the building’s condition was surprisingly decent. What puzzled them was that none of the hospital rooms had any beds.

“No way. Hospital beds are heavy as hell…”

Yeo-hong muttered in disbelief.

“They could’ve been dragged out.”

“Or cut apart.”

“There’s really nothing left… This is what relic hunters can do, huh?”

Sighing, Yeo-hong followed Geon-woo up through the second, third, and fourth floors.

The atmosphere inside the hospital was gloomy and cold. Even the air felt strange — like the faint stench of something long decayed.

“Seen enough? There’s nothing here.”

Yeo-hong sounded impatient.

“Yeah.”

While glancing toward the restroom near the stairs, Geon-woo took out pen and paper and began sketching a rough map of the building on the wall.

“Can’t you do that outside?” Yeo-hong asked, pacing nervously.

“Almost done.”

Geon-woo’s hand moved quickly.

The last thing he drew on the map looked like a crouched human figure — some odd-looking symbol.

“What’s that?” Yeo-hong asked.

Instead of answering, Geon-woo drew a similar symbol beside it, crossed it out, and labeled it:

“Restroom here.”

“…”

Yeo-hong genuinely wanted to stop dealing with Geon-woo altogether.

After finishing the map, they left the ward and walked back down the slope.

Just as they reached the main road — before they could decide on their next target — they spotted two figures emerging from the direction of the steel factory. Both were on bicycles, rifles slung across their backs.

Neither side reacted immediately — until the cyclists noticed them.

Clatter! Clatter!

The two strangers jumped off their bikes and scrambled behind nearby obstacles for cover.

Seeing this, Geon-woo and Yeo-hong raised their rifles and dove behind the two stone pillars that flanked the hospital entrance.

Silence fell. Only the distant cawing of crows broke the stillness.

Just as Yeo-hong reached for his radio, Geon-woo suddenly shouted,

“We don’t mean you any harm!”

After a pause, a hoarse voice answered from the other side,

“Neither do we!”

“Then how about exchanging information?” Geon-woo called back.

A few seconds later came the reply:

“This is an awkward way to talk!”

“Then we’ll come to you!”

Geon-woo made the decision instantly.

The two strangers spoke quietly to each other, too far for Geon-woo or Yeo-hong to hear.

Less than a minute later, one of them shouted,

“Alright!”

Geon-woo looked at Yeo-hong.
“I’ll go first. You cover me.”

“Got it.”

Yeo-hong raised his hand in acknowledgment.

Geon-woo didn’t ask them to step out first. Gripping his rifle tightly, he stepped out from behind the pillar — moving cautiously, ready to dive at any moment.

Apparently sensing his sincerity, one of the others emerged as well.

He looked about thirty, around 170 cm tall, wearing a dark blue down jacket patched in several places, reaching to his knees. His balding head made his hairline alarmingly high.

His facial features — pale yellow hair, light blue eyes — made it immediately clear he was a Red River native, not one of them.

Years in the wasteland had left his skin cracked and his fingernails blackened.

Holding his rifle, he slowly approached Geon-woo.

Once they were close enough to talk comfortably, the second stranger — who had been covering from the other side — also came out and joined him.

“What should I call you?” the bald man asked, speaking not in Red River tongue but in Ashlandic, their native language.

Even as he spoke, he stayed alert.

“Seong Geon-woo,” Geon-woo answered calmly.

“A licensed hunter?”

Before Geon-woo could respond, Yeo-hong sighed in relief — thankful that, for once, Geon-woo hadn’t cracked a joke.

The bald man hesitated, then replied,

“Harris Brown. Intermediate hunter.”

He neither showed his hunter badge nor asked for Geon-woo’s — because without a special reader, there was no way to verify the data stored in its chip, nor confirm whether the badge actually belonged to its holder. In the wasteland, anyone could claim to be a hunter or carry a badge looted from a corpse.

Engraving names onto badges was primitive work and easily faked. More importantly, even real hunters often inscribed false names onto their own badges.