Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 160.1: Tomorrow (1)
Monster hordes are fundamentally different from human or animal groups.
While humans or animals might move packed shoulder-to-shoulder, a monster horde operates under specific conditions.
The conditions are as follows:
1. They appear at least 10 kilometers away from a Rift.
2. More than four monsters are observed within an area of 1,250 square meters.
Previously, the common belief was that monster hordes were mere coincidences.
According to that theory, monsters are less like living beings and more like machines assigned a function—wandering aimlessly without intent.
But that belief has now been refuted.
While their understanding of monster nature was partially correct, a completely new type has emerged.
The so-called General-type.
According to current s, this one possesses the ability to think like a human and to control and guide other monsters.
A shocking discovery, but for those who’ve been in the field—especially since the Rifts first opened and have observed monster evolution—this should’ve been expected.
From the beginning, the Rifts have maliciously produced things that imitate Earth’s life forms.
And among Earth’s creatures, humans—who actively oppose them—being chosen as a model for leadership was an entirely predictable development.
Intelligence gathered from within the Chinese Remnants suggests something even more ominous.
The Rifts haven’t only created human-like commanders.
They’ve hidden secret weapons capable of exterminating humanity itself.
One such type is called the “Screamer.”
The Rifts, which perceive the world differently than humans, became interested in radio waves that humans constantly emit—and have developed the means to destroy them.
Not a single soldier or Hunter in China claims to have seen one, but the repeated, near-miraculous destruction of communication devices across battlefields strongly implies the existence of monsters targeting communications.
Some fanatics have claimed to see them, but while you might reference a fanatic’s testimony, it can’t be considered evidence.
Tragically, humanity, now cornered, is beginning to forget the value that once led it to prosperity—cooperation.
“Screamer, huh.”
Woo Min-hee’s reaction showed it was the first she’d heard of it.
“First I’ve heard. Nothing like that’s ever shown up in Rift battle logs. But the way it’s named... sounds like something the West knows about...”
Communications with North America and Europe were naturally cut off after the war began.
There were a few ritualistic exchanges since then, but nothing like the active sharing of information from the past.
“They mostly just send out survival pings now. You know how foreigners are. They pretend everything’s beautiful, kind, well-mannered, and the moment they don’t need you, they’ll turn and pretend they never met you.”
Woo Min-hee had never liked the North American association to begin with.
“That’s just their passive default. But if an Asian acts cold on a first meeting, suddenly it’s a problem.”
There were rumors she’d had a major blow-up back when she handled liaison duties.
“To be fair, we haven’t exactly been sharing our Rift exploration results either...”
Woo Min-hee looked out the window.
“This horde will just disappear, right?”
I nodded.
This particular group only had eight entities—small in scale.
Two of them were small-types, the rest medium-types.
Most likely, they’d be gone within 24 hours, aside from the small-types.
In short, the chance of this horde causing damage to New Seoul was very low.
But the fact that a horde appeared in our area at all wasn’t something to take lightly.
Every monster action has a purpose.
When a Rift sends a small horde to a specific spot, it’s practically a prelude to a large-scale offensive.
Like ants laying down pheromones to draw in their companions, monsters send in a vanguard to spread repulsive particles, paving the way for others to follow.
The massive offensive we faced in Beijing showed similar signs.
We were ignorant back then—but not anymore.
Just as they know us, we know them.
We need to prepare.
We’ve been preparing all along, but now we must be even more thorough.
Fortunately, South Korea once achieved considerable prosperity.
“A monster that destroys radios, huh... I mean, why not? These things shrug off bullets like it’s nothing—breaking a damn radio should be easy.”
“Should we lay wired lines then? Will those get smashed too?”
“Seriously. Building an alternative comms network to replace wireless... Should we bring back beacon fires?”
As a result, even with the population reduced to less than 10%, South Korea still has experts who’ve carved out their domains.
People from all sectors—electricity, chemistry, mechanical, computer engineering—have begun to shine again, putting their old skills to use in various corners of New Seoul.
They may look like clueless nobodies on the outside, but in their eyes, there’s a spark of intelligence and passion I never had.
More than anything, they carry the same fire I do.
Not the fire of hatred—but the fire of will to live.
While those engineers were tackling communication issues, I headed to the armory.
“Everything going well?”
Another engineer—Seven, who only had seven fingers—was analyzing a Chinese weapon.
“...Yes. More or less.”
With a frown, Seven was dismantling a Chinese Qinglong Dao on the workbench.
“What the hell is this even supposed to be?”
“Beats me.”
I feigned ignorance.
Explaining the insane purpose of this weapon to someone who’s spent a lifetime in the world of logic... he’d never understand.
“Well, I can’t say for sure about the rest, but the propulsion unit is clearly high-grade. Output, stability, everything. We can’t replicate this.”
“That advanced, huh?”
“Yes. It’s definitely beyond our domestic tech. You know how it is—they put the smart kids into science. Sure, they steal a lot, but even stealing takes brains.”
Seven stared bitterly at the small propulsion unit attached to the Qinglong Dao.
“...Honestly, looking at this, I felt a kind of wall. Like something I can’t get over.”
He attached the propulsion unit to a collaborative prototype I’d been building with Jang Ki-young.
“...”
The shape was coming together.
Still a half-finished toy—but a prototype.
“Hey.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Could you... make it like this?”
“You want me to attach a blade like that bizarre thing?”
This would be my new {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} weapon.
“Yes. A hatchet blade would be good.”
While we were giving it our all to prepare for tomorrow, a devastating update appeared online that no one expected.
A notice of termination for my other beloved world: Viva! Apocalypse!
*
MELON_MASK: There’s no hope left to live.
MELON_MASK: The service is shutting down.
MELON_MASK: Fuck this world!
Anyone who knew Melon Mask would’ve assumed it was just one of his regular hysterical outbursts.
Even I thought so at first, when Da-jeong suddenly told me Viva! Apocalypse! was shutting down.
Around 1 AM, after finishing my daily tasks and returning to the dorm, I logged in and was immediately struck with a conviction—this wasn’t going to end quietly.
Bumpy is dead.
Melon Mask’s pet and cosmic sloth, Bumpy, had closed its eyes for good.
Melon Mask hadn’t shared the details, but judging by how quickly it happened, there was probably no time to do anything.
The main board was in chaos, so I logged into FoxCode, the board made for Oldbie users by FoxGames.
Anonymous458: Four years after the war... we got our money’s worth, didn’t we? Who’d have thought the service would last this long after the world ended?
berkut_break: If Viva goes, this place’ll go too, right?
Denis_Oldman: Well, I guess this is it. This winter’s probably my last. Two years ago, I really hustled—stockpiled supplies, made repairs, even scavenged. But for what? I’ve got a bottle of soju and a charcoal brick ready.
tntn_Orthopedics: One bottle of soju? You think that’s enough to get drunk? No offense, but we all drank a lot, didn’t we?
Denis_Oldman: I’ve got whiskey too. It’s cheap though.
Dies_irae69: The more forums disappear, the more we need to band together. Everyone, share your locations. If you’re nearby, I’ll send a team to pick you up.
mmmmmmmmm™: Why’s everyone acting like it’s the end? Melon goes through this every year. Let’s be real—what the hell else does he have to do in space?
Anonymous424: How’s Seoul? I heard some monster invaded?
foxgames: Anyone know server programming? Thinking of making an alternative site via Necropolis.
...
...
The board’s mood was... calm, I guess.
In the past, this kind of announcement would’ve sparked a riot of curses and panic. But now, everyone just accepted it like it was inevitable.
They’re tired.
They’ve lived long enough to know nothing’s going back to how it used to be.
Maybe, without even realizing it, we’re all sinking into the shared fate of extinction.
“...”
I turned away from the board.
I didn’t want to be part of this funeral.
Instead, I messaged someone I’ve built a quiet connection with over the years—someone I still don’t know the face of.
SKELTON: Are you really shutting this place down?
Moments later, VIVA_BOT014 replied.
VIVA_BOT014: Yes.
VIVA_BOT014: HQ’s already in crisis.
VIVA_BOT014: You might not know, but we were the only ones maintaining an operational satellite network, so the state government was providing us with power and supplies.
VIVA_BOT014: But if Melon ends the service, it’s over. Most of the staff here have already left...
Not like VivaBot at all.
VIVA_BOT014: Ha... I’ll probably get kicked out too. Like the office mates who left and I’ll never see again.
There was sadness in her messages—or more accurately, fear of the impending end.
Honestly, what can someone do when they’ve lived under the protection of a stable organization and are suddenly dumped into the dirt?
There are only two futures.
Die slowly in agony, or die quickly.
I recalled my long-held resentment toward Melon Mask and typed.
SKELTON: Isn’t there any way to fix this? Why does the entire board have to suffer because of one picky guy who flew off into space?
Melon was a brilliant businessman.
His genius and audacity allowed us to build these online connections and find solace in the apocalypse. That’s undeniable.
But he abused his authority.
Aside from the first time he nearly died, he’s always thrown tantrums, threatening to shut the board down whenever he felt like it.
SKELTON: I get that he’s sad Bumpy died, but shutting down a board that’s practically our second life? Isn’t that too much?
Someday, this board would disappear.
But I’d imagined it ending when every user had died and no one was left to post—like a cyber grave in FoxGames’ simulation.
VIVA_BOT014: Like I said before, Melon took all the admin privileges when he went into space.
VIVA_BOT014: From his perspective, it was the right call.
VIVA_BOT014: We tried rebelling, more than once.
VIVA_BOT014: But Melon’s authority is too absolute. No matter what we did, we couldn’t override his system.
VIVA_BOT014: He built it that way from the start—so it could only work like this.
VIVA_BOT014: This might be the last time I talk with you, Skelton.
“...”
VIVA_BOT014: Or should I say, our hero. TwelveSquare. :)
Click.
I saved a screenshot.
Then—
Tap tap tap
I typed back.
SKELTON: Don’t use that emoji.
VIVA_BOT014: Huh?
SKELTON: In Korea, people with a bad rep use it.
VIVA_BOT014: ?
SKELTON: ㅇㅅㅇ
SKELTON: Let me talk to Melon Mask.
.
!
Chapter 160.1: Tomorrow (1)
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