Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 69.1: A Message from Space (1)

Even people with little interest in current affairs have probably heard the name Melon Musk at least once.

By his early twenties, he had already made billions by creating an online payment system. From cutting-edge electric cars to artificial intelligence and space exploration, he turned one advanced technology project after another into massive successes, becoming a global celebrity.

He’s also the creator of our forum.

There’s debate over whether his Obelisk System is based on quantum communication or not, but it’s undeniable that it far surpasses traditional satellite communication systems in performance. The same goes for Viva! Apocalypse!, the community paired with it. Both were passion projects funded by Melon Musk, not for profit, but purely for his own interests.

It’s no secret that Musk had an obsession with “community.”

How much so? He once spent several trillion won to acquire the underperforming social media platform TweetBook simply because he wanted to use it as he pleased.

This showy entrepreneur, who wanted to be seen as a pioneer of cutting-edge technology, is presumed dead following the outbreak of war.

Why? Because someone who loved attention as much as Musk would surely take charge of Viva! Apocalypse! if he were alive—but he hasn’t.

Some speculate that he was vaporized by one of the 72 nuclear missiles that hit California. Others say his private jet was caught in a blast's shockwave and crashed.

Then there’s the more outlandish theory that he traveled to another world through a mysterious portal in the Bermuda Triangle.

Rebecca is a staunch believer in the third theory.

“Melon Musk went to another world!” she insists.

The most grounded explanation is that someone close to Musk—perhaps a disgruntled family member or bodyguard—killed him during the chaos of war and took over his assets. However, on the English forums, which could be considered Musk’s home turf, the prevailing theory is that he’s alive and in space.

Rumors of Musk building a space refuge circulated even before the war, and there were credible references to support them. It was confirmed that several massive rockets were launched in quick succession from Musk’s space center shortly before the war began.

The theory is that Melon Musk is currently living comfortably in a self-sufficient, cutting-edge space bunker.

Rebecca once showed me some “concept art” of Musk’s space colony, and it looked straight out of science fiction.

Still, even for someone like Musk, isn’t that too far-fetched?

A space bunker?

Even the President of the United States is said to be living in an underground bunker.

Well, my bunker might be smaller and less costly than theirs, but I, Park Gyu, am content with it.

Vrrrr—

The boiler hums as it efficiently burns old diesel fuel.

Hiss—

The steam radiator releases faint vapor, driving away the cold seeping into the room.

Even the unprecedented Arctic cold snap had no effect on Skelton House.

In this stable comfort, I’ve recently been engrossed in a new project.

I’m planning to convert the mini Skelton House, located next to the hut where Rebecca and her daughter were supposed to live, into a sauna.

The inspiration came from a survivalist DVD series I had stashed before the war.

I was deeply impressed by scenes of Finns building saunas to endure Arctic winters.

The work isn’t particularly challenging. I just need to remodel the somewhat shabby mini Skelton House into something more presentable. Using industrial-grade plastic sheeting I “appropriated” from my old company, I can create a sauna tent, lay down fragrant wood like cypress or cedar, and build seating.

There aren’t any cypress or birch trees nearby, but I’ve seen junipers planted near the family graves on a sunny slope of the mountain across the way.

I drove my truck there, cut down some trees without hesitation, and got to work.

Winter may be cold, but it’s actually convenient for this kind of labor. The colder it gets, the less active humans and animals become, and the whitened landscape makes it easier to spot any approaching threats.

I spent an entire day cutting and shaping the juniper wood with a handsaw to create the interior materials for the Skelton sauna.

It was physically demanding and energy-draining work, but it felt good.

There’s something therapeutic about it, I suppose.

To be honest, Rebecca’s decision to leave shook me a little.

It seems I’ve grown attached to them.

To clear my mind, I figured it was better to do something physically engaging and productive rather than dwell on the internet.

After all, browsing the forums in this day and age rarely brings good news.

No food, no fuel, cries for help.

New novel 𝓬hapters are published on ƒreewebɳovel.com.

Those are the kinds of posts that have been flooding the board lately.

One user even uploaded a photo of themselves lying in their bunker, begging for donations like a homeless person.

If they were nearby, I might have considered helping, but they were far out of my reach.

It’s been nearly three years since the war began.

Even the survivalists on our forum, who had meticulously prepared for doomsday, are reaching their limits.

“...”

I was just skimming through the forums, planning to shut it down and watch a wildlife documentary if the content was too depressing.

But then something caught my eye.

Amid the countless posts, there was one that stood out—larger than the others, shimmering with colors that shifted and sparkled. The font alone was enough to remind me of the late John Nae-non’s dramatic style.

The post read:

MELON_MASK: “Greetings! With love from space, it’s Melon Musk!”

“What?”

The creator of our world was alive.

*

Melon Musk, arguably the world’s most successful attention-seeker, lived up to his reputation. He posted his message as a simultaneous announcement across all language boards, even the barely-used Maya Language Board.

The question is: why did this super attention-seeker stay silent for over three years after the war began?

Let’s hear it directly from the man himself:

MELON_MASK: "An unexpected solar storm caused interference, damaging not only my main communication equipment but also the backups. It took an incredible amount of time to repair them."

Following this explanation, Musk unveiled his current refuge, Plus Ultra.

MELON_MASK: "I launched five Space Mountain-class rockets to the L4 Lagrange point, where they docked with independent modules to form the farthest refuge from Earth."

But Plus Ultra was no ordinary space station.

It was a small world of its own, with modules for living quarters, food production, water supplies, power generation, and more. Each module was the size of a small building, designed for specific purposes.

The water module was practically a small sea, holding massive amounts of water. The food module was fully automated, with state-of-the-art agricultural robots that sowed seeds, watered them, applied fertilizer, and even harvested, washed, and packed the crops without any human intervention.

Everything in the colony was controlled by a high-performance AI administrator, providing residents with a carefree, comfortable environment to live out their days.

The highlight of this colony, however, was the work module—a small rocket in itself. This rocket was designed to one day bring Musk back to Earth, should peace be restored after the monsters disappeared.

But nothing in this world is 100% perfect.

MELON_MASK: "There’s a small problem."

When Musk left Earth for Plus Ultra, he brought along a pet—a baby sloth named Bumpy.

He chose Bumpy because sloths are slow, quiet, eat little, and don’t require much activity. As a baby, Bumpy was also incredibly cute.

While Musk and his five crewmates docked the modules, optimized the systems, and prepared for life in space, Bumpy ate the food provided by the kind staff and grew steadily.

At the time, no one could have predicted the disaster awaiting them.

Bumpy mutated.

No one knows why. Despite multiple cleanings and UV sterilization efforts to remove mutation factors, the sloth still transformed. Perhaps Bumpy’s mutation began long before, back when poachers killed its parents and abducted it from the jungle.

Musk’s crew were experts in fields like advanced machinery, hydroponics, and space environments, but none of them were monster specialists. As a result, they failed to distinguish between “mutation” and “growth,” dismissing Bumpy’s abnormal behavior as part of the adaptation process to space.

Once, there was an attempt to kill Bumpy.

Donald McGarry, a communications engineer and former soldier skilled in combat, suspected Bumpy was a mutation and argued for its elimination. However, his proposal was rejected.

The crew, who had grown attached to the once-cute sloth, defended Bumpy. Musk himself was among them.

The odds of the attention-seeking Melon Musk killing Bumpy—especially when he was dreaming of revealing himself and his “space sloth” to the world once the communication systems were repaired—were near zero.

When Bumpy revealed its true nature, they paid the price for their animal-loving sentimentality.

MELON_MASK: "I’m the only survivor. Until two days ago, there was one more, but now they’re gone too. He managed to send himself out into space, but the rest of my crew...”

Plus Ultra consisted of five modules. Musk remained in the living quarters, but the other modules were infested with mutations and zombies—his former crewmates.

To make matters worse, Musk had lost a leg. While escaping Bumpy and closing an emergency shutter, the sloth caught his leg, crushing it under the shutter. Donald McGarry managed to save Musk’s life with emergency care, but McGarry himself eventually succumbed—to suicide.

MELON_MASK: "He was floating toward the space hatch and suddenly muttered, ‘Melon, I can’t work with you anymore,’ before cutting his lifeline and drifting off toward the sun."

Despite creating a space bunker more imaginative than all of humanity’s combined dreams, the past three years of Musk’s life had been little more than imprisonment.

Trapped in the living module, with only emergency rations to survive on, he lost his comrades and a leg, barely clinging to life.

Fortunately, his efforts weren’t in vain. Musk managed to remotely isolate Bumpy in the farming module, the source of all his troubles.

The problem now was the four zombies.

They didn’t run or sprint but floated aimlessly in zero gravity, suspended in a dormant-like state. Musk thought they might die after three years, but that didn’t happen. Every time he tried to open the shutters, they would awaken, thrashing their limbs and trying to kill him.

MELON_MASK: "That’s my situation. But I haven’t been idle these past three years. I’ve developed a new feature! Watch this—I’m opening it now!"

Musk then unveiled Live! Apocalypse!, a new feature for Viva! Apocalypse! that had been in the works.

It allowed users to stream live video broadcasts across the entire Viva! Apocalypse! community.

The first demonstration? None other than our world’s creator himself.

“Hello, everyone!”

The real-time translated text appeared above a gaunt, unkempt man with disheveled hair, a scruffy beard, and hollow eyes. He raised a skeletal hand and waved at the camera.

It was unmistakably him.

Though he had become thin, his piercing eyes and facial contours left no doubt—this was the legendary genius entrepreneur, Melon Musk.

“I got in touch with headquarters, and thankfully, it’s still operational. So before my time runs out, I’ve prepared a surprise gift for all you doomsday enthusiasts!”

Musk displayed a message on the screen:

<Viva! Apocalypse! Surprise Event>

Apply now to participate in Live! Apocalypse! and be featured in the first-ever broadcast!“...”

Thump.

My heart raced.

The same razor-sharp instincts that had killed countless monsters and mutations quickly noticed the change on the forum.

There it was.

A new tab in the top left corner of the screen: Live! Apocalypse!

I clicked on it.

<Live! Apocalypse!>

Enter your broadcast topic in the chat below. Real-time translation is provided, so feel free to use your native language!

Taptaptap.

SKELTON: Beatboxing.

“...”

I didn’t care if Woo Min-hee found out.

If I could go down in history as the first to participate in this monumental event, showcasing an ideal vision of humanity’s final chapter, I would have no regrets.

And if I could introduce beatboxing—my specialty—as a cultural artifact, all the better.

A reply came swiftly.

VIVA_BOT014: Beatboxing? Submit a short demo by clicking the Live button.

I hit the button and unleashed my practiced skills with all my might.

“Boom-tss-ka-tss-boom-ka...”

Suddenly, an English message popped up.

You have been banned!“?”

The message translated into Korean in real time:

You have been forcibly removed!“What?!”

I rushed to my laptop and furiously typed out complaints in the chat, but it seemed I had been permanently banned. My messages wouldn’t send.

As I took deep breaths to calm myself, I noticed the Live! indicator flashing in the corner of the screen.

Could it be? Had someone else gained broadcasting rights?

“...Hoo.”

Suppressing my anger, I clicked the Live! button.

Suddenly, the screen displayed a pale gray background.

There was breathing—harsh, gurgling, but full of life.

In the background, faint rustling noises and what sounded like a baby murmuring could be heard.

The clarity of the video and audio was staggering, reminiscent of pre-war high-definition broadcasts.

The camera shifted, revealing another scene.

It was a desolate city, shrouded in ash-gray mist. Between the spectral high-rises, dim, ghostly white lights flickered ominously.

“...”

There was no doubt about it.

It was an erosion zone.

And not just any erosion zone—it had once been a massive metropolis.

Where could it be? India? China?

As I tried to deduce its location from the hazy skyline, an unsettlingly familiar, yet deeply unwelcome sound emanated from the speakers.

“...Nom.”