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.

    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.

    “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.”