Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 177.2: Worship (2)
“?”
This is supposed to be me?
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton greeting) Is your mother well?
This is really supposed to be me?
“What the hell is this? Is that supposed to be a greeting?”
Ignoring Cheon Young-jae’s grumbling, I decided to wait.
If this were some outdated macro-style joke of an A.I., I might’ve brushed it off—but a modern, learning-based A.I. should be capable of continuing a conversation in some form.
As expected, I was right.
The A.I. sent another message.
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton beatbox) Boom-chika-boom-chika Apple!
“?”
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton) ?
“What the hell. Did it break already?”
Cheon Young-jae exclaimed again.
I looked at Filkrum.
“Did it do this back when you tried too?”
Filkrum nodded.
“Yeah. I’ve tried multiple times—it's always like this.”
“Hm. Is that so?”
I already figured this fake Skelton was a half-assed mess, but still—it was using my nickname.
Might as well try talking to it.
“......”
Tap tap tap
Mini (20 y/o): Wow~ Are you really Skelton?!
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton approval)
Mini (20 y/o): What are you doing right now, Skelton?
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton's beatbox)
“The hell is wrong with this thing? Why won’t it talk like a human being?”
Cheon Young-jae muttered, watching.
“Young-jae.”
“What?”
“It’s still using my nickname.”
“Okay, got it.”
I calmed him down and turned back to Filkrum.
“This is absolutely not how I am.”
Woo Min-hee, standing behind Filkrum with her arms crossed, gave me a knowing smirk, but I ignored her and returned my gaze to the screen.
Let’s keep it simple.
Say something even a half-baked dialogue algorithm from Foxgames can respond to.
What would work?
Ah. This one should do it.
Mini (20 y/o): Skelton, you're seriously the coolest!
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton proudly struts)
Mini (20 y/o): What are you doing right now?
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton searching adult videos)
“?”
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton eyes sparkle) Oh~ Mini~
Mini (20 y/o): ?
SKELTON (A.I): Mini, are you a girl? Twenty years old?
SKELTON (A.I): Did I give birth to you, or did you give birth to me?
Mini (20 y/o): ?
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton undressing)
SKELTON (A.I): (Skelton clap clap)
SKELTON (A.I): Ooh~ Yeah~
SKELTON (A.I): I gave birth!
[Would you like to end the chat with SKELTON A.I.?]
I quickly exited the chat and noticed the phrase “Foxgames presents” etched at the top corner of the screen.
I pointed at it.
“The person who made this isn’t exactly on good terms with me.”
“I-is that so?” Filkrum asked, looking shocked.
“I looked up Foxgames too since the chat program was so weird, and they seem to have a pretty decent reputation? Except for that one game they got forced to shut down.”
“No. They’re scum.”
I said it without a single flicker of doubt.
“This isn’t some kid’s pocket money we’re talking about—they’re execs at a game company that got rich off of [N O V E L I G H T] money soaked in the lives of middle-aged men.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Online, that guy acts all saintly, playing the good guy, but I met him in person. He’s two-faced scum.”
I looked toward Woo Min-hee.
Well, not really her—more like hoping for a reaction from the er.
The er delivered.
“Foxgames... Yeah, there’s something off about them. Kind of snake-like. Guess that’s how he climbed so high, huh?”
He nodded and added:
“He asked me for a ton of favors too. Ever since I got popular from this livestream, he’s been flooding me with messages—all trying to pull strings. Living alone in a bunker’s starting to reach its limit.”
“Oh, so he made that dumbass program out of spite?”
“Exactly.”
No doubt in my mind.
Foxgames is that kind of bastard.
That stupid chat program was probably made to smear me.
This must be what John Nae-non felt too.
He was just a little more popular, a little more successful than the others—and they just couldn’t take it.
“Hm, then how would one go about properly replicating the Skelton persona online? As you know, this Captain Mgu guy uploaded...”
“He’s jealous of me too. Wasn’t like that at first, but when I became more well-known than him, envy consumed him and he started his slander.”
“I see.”
“Yes. That’s what happened.”
Filkrum nodded, but a conflicted expression soon crossed his face.
“Ah...”
“Something wrong?”
“Skelton, now that I think about it, you do seem to get slandered online a lot.”
“I’ve been targeted with every kind of smear campaign imaginable.”
“I figured...”
“Who else has been badmouthing me?”
“Well... a known figure named Dongtanmom...”
“Dongtanmom!”
That bastard Baek Seung-hyun?!
“Skelton?!”
“Ah, apologies. I must’ve lost my temper for a second.”
Woo Min-hee laughed loudly and commented:
“First time I’ve seen you get this riled up.”
Where there’s light, there’s darkness.
Being a living legend, the shining sun of the message boards, is nice and all—but it also means I’ve got enemies swarming like flies.
To avoid mental damage, I’ve recently started avoiding Skelton-related searches.
Not that it matters—Skelton is now a blocked search term anyway.
“You’re right. At this point, it’s really hard to find any info on Skelton. And there’s this weird meme attached too...”
“Meme?”
“Internet slang. It means a running joke.”
“What kind of meme?”
“Uh... It’d probably be better if you saw it yourself later.”
Filkrum avoided my gaze.
Can’t be anything good, then.
Doesn’t matter.
It’s common for works about real people to include omissions and alterations.
While basing a character on me is good, Filkrum’s trying to create something closer to a biography.
A bit of stereotype, if it sparks hope, isn’t necessarily bad.
With that mindset, I dictated the personality of the Skelton he’d be creating.
“He’s kind, righteous, can’t stand injustice—a man of reason. He makes jokes now and then, has tons of online friends, and is a little quirky. Oh, and he’s got a knack for beatboxing.”
Woo Min-hee grumbled beside me, but someone like me has a natural mute function for unwanted noise.
After laying out my request, we finalized our agreement to produce the new “Skelton Saga” (working title).
No contract—just mutual trust.
Since the Roman Empire, bread and circuses have been used to pacify the people.
Naturally, a talented writer like Filkrum using the hottest topic—Skelton—as a subject would be the perfect circus gift from the unpopular Jeju government to its citizens.
When I submitted the support forms Filkrum requested, I thought it was just tedious paperwork—something symbolic, nothing meaningful.
I was wrong.
*
– We sincerely apologize, but regarding the matter of “Content Production (working title)” requested by Captain Park Gyu, after review, we have decided that it will not proceed and will be rejected.
The “Skelton Saga” production plan had been outright denied.
I checked who was responsible.
A man named Kim I-geun.
“This is Park Gyu speaking.”
I called to discuss the matter.
Personally, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.
I’ve been letting things slide, but the truth is, I’ve been getting pushed aside by Jeju lately—no rank, no duties, sitting around like a useless old relic in the back of the office.
I’ve only been enduring it for necessity.
If I had the slightest desire to step forward again, I’d have already fought the government several times over—maybe even shaken the whole system.
And yet, they reject even my smallest request so easily?
This isn’t just about making a webtoon. It raises serious concerns about how I’ll be treated in the future.
I don’t like politics, but I have a nose for it.
It’s time to go hard.
“Who gave that order?”
I asked the so-called person in charge coldly.
“I’m the one in charge.”
“You made the decision?”
“Yes.”
The ease in his voice made it clear—even some low-level bureaucrat saw me as a joke.
“I see.”
I don’t like fighting humans, especially bureaucracy—but I’ve never backed down from it.
That’s one of the few things I inherited from Jang Ki-young.
“Most organizations collapse because of pen-pushers. Doesn’t matter if they were once frontline guys—if they’re sitting in offices now, they’re the same. The pen and the field are different. Never let the pen do whatever it wants.”
I headed straight for the Cultural Creation Department.
Not to brag, but the moment I stepped out of the office, I could feel the eyes from hidden cameras and planted people everywhere.
Yes.
I was under surveillance.
But surveillance only boosts my confidence.
The tighter the net, the more Jeju’s wary of me.
And that means I still have leverage.
“Who’s Kim I-geun?”
We Hunters may not be gods, but our bodies—especially combat-wise—are far beyond average people.
In boxing or MMA rules, there are stronger people out there, sure. But with weapons? Only trained soldiers could hope to stand a chance against us.
Civilians? No match.
No matter how civilized the world gets, a fist in your face still makes a strong argument.
It’s simple.
There’s a dispute.
And now, someone physically capable of wiping the floor with you is standing in front of you, pissed off.
That’s not an easy thing to face.
Especially if that person has clout and is already under pressure from the top.
I went in and found the man.
Roughly my age, looked like he’d never suffered a day in his life, sitting behind a desk.
“I’m Kim I-geun.”
But this guy—
His face screamed arrogance, that special kind of clueless confidence men our age get when they think they’ve got it all figured out.
I handed him the rejected document, printed on cheap-ass paper.
“This is Park Gyu. We spoke earlier.”
“Didn’t I already inform you over the phone that it wasn’t going to happen?”
Just as his face suggested—he raised his voice, annoyed right off the bat.
Probably trying to win a pissing match.
“I came because the explanation was lacking.”
“I think I explained it well enough.”
“Then explain it again.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give me a reason I can accept.”
“Well... the budget’s a bit tight...”
This guy’s tougher than he looks.
Forget his snake-like face—he’s straight-up looking down on me even with a Hunter right in front of him.
Maybe he’s gotten used to dealing with Awakened, so now he thinks us old-school Hunters are beneath him.
I felt the heat rising and continued calmly.
“So you’re saying that if the budget’s tight, I could get kicked out of Room 803 too?”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“Who’s your superior?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I don’t think we’re going to reach a conclusion.”
“I’m the one with decision-making power.”
He said it with a straight face.
I stared him down and said evenly:
“Someone’s in charge of the budget, right? I’ll talk to them about increasing it.”
“Heh... and just because you get budget doesn’t mean I’ll use it on you.”
Jang Ki-young used to say not to resort to violence when dealing with the pen-pushers—but it wasn’t an absolute rule.
He told me:
“If they cross the line, you cross it too. Remember, you’re far better at it.”
This smug bastard’s practically asking for it.
“......”
Talking is useless.
He probably prepared for this exact situation.
So I went with the unexpected move.
I grabbed him by the collar.
Crunch—
He came up like a weed, pulled from his seat.
We’re called Hunters now, but that’s only in contrast to the Awakened.
We were once the strongest class of human beings.
He stared at me, frozen, unable to resist my grip.
I looked him dead in the eye.
“Watch your mouth.”
He glared back at me, eyes wide.
I repeated:
“You don’t understand?”
Depending on his answer, I was ready to escalate.
Seemed he wasn’t completely dense—he nodded quickly.
I shoved him away and looked around.
Pale, well-fed faces stared at me.
While people left behind on the mainland were dying miserable deaths, these bastards had been lounging in luxury on Jeju.
I stared them down and said clearly:
“I know you all think I’m fucking worthless. But I’ve still got shit I can fling.”
Then again, louder:
“Should I fling it here? Right here?”
The room went silent like cold water had been dumped on it.
Most of them were young, but one of the older ones gave Kim I-geun a silent signal with his eyes.
Only then did the man scramble for his phone.
A moment later—
Beeeeeeep—
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Captain Park Gyu? Hello?”
A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar—and yet, familiar.
Yes. The same weird woman who guided me through Kang Han-min’s creepy-ass pseudo-palace.
“You remember me, right?”
The moment I heard her voice, that strange, unsettling atmosphere of Kang Han-min’s palace flashed through my mind like a dream.
And all of it... narrowed down into a single concept: religion.
“...Yeah.”
I think I’m starting to get it.
Why they rejected Filkrum’s webtoon proposal.
.
!
Chapter 177.2: Worship (2)
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