Machupicchu Great Adventure
"Getting good footage?"
"Don't worry, sir. This latest camcorder from S Corporation has auto-shake compensation that lets even someone with tremors nail a sharp focus."
"Viral marketing?"
"After we've already slammed corporate life, what's the point?"
"Fair enough."
While the pampered brats and their lazy, hassle-hating parents leisurely rode the slow scenic train, looping around the mountain stage like it was a joyride, we boldly climbed to the summit of the mountain stage.
It wasn't like they'd uprooted a real mountain or carved one from an existing peak. No, construction companies desperate to flaunt their industrial prowess had mobilized massive amounts of materials to fabricate a 'mountain-like' mountain stage from scratch. What looked like rocks was just concrete slathered in paint. Here and there, genuine stone appeared—probably swapped in where concrete couldn't capture the details.
We ripped off the No Climbing warning sign and savored a high-altitude ascent straight out of Peru's playbook. Long ago, Inca empire subjects, forged tough by such harsh environs, bullied neighboring tribes with lines like, "wwwwwwwwww Tribute means sacrificing your elites' kids, bitches." Can you believe it? These assholes would storm in, snap their fingers, wipe out half the tribe, and demand child sacrifices as tribute. Atrocities rivaling the Aztecs, who led the pack in human sacrifice and cannibalism, staining human history black. But in the end, our light and salt—the Spanish army—taught them what real Pain (paint) meant, capping it off with a plague uppercut. The Inca Empire crumbled.
To reiterate: Machupicchu Amusement Park is a next-gen playground brimming with kids' dreams and hopes. Children go wild for the exotic scenery blending zoo and botanical garden vibes, hopping on slow trains or shuttles to zip from the zoo to jungle and caves, stacking up joyful memories. Then, once their heads toughen up, they'll realize they built those memories in a blood-and-madness-soaked slaughterhouse park—and hate themselves for it. Even a Chernobyl Amusement Park might feel less creepy.
I gazed down pityingly at the brats below, beaming with joy as they boarded the slow train with their parents. S-man, beside me, captured their dark history flawlessly on camcorder.
"Humans are such tragic creatures. Wild animals grasp nature's laws and harsh reality soon after birth, adapting swiftly. But those young ones will squander their clueless, delinquent years in blissful ignorance."
"By the time they realize they're no longer juveniles, it'll be far too late. How many of them will graduate top universities and land at S Corporation like you, sir?"
"At least Korea's future won't lack for the working class."
Atop the park's highest point—barring the premium roller coasters, drop towers, and Ferris wheel—the vast Machupicchu Amusement Park sprawled into view, just like the pamphlet map. Stages radiated out in neat zones, but the jungle thicket and the suffocatingly vast desert stage stole the show. Canyons and plateaus brimmed with rides tailored to their themes, leaving scant natural vibes. The near-vertical drops from sheer cliffs, screams echoing like mad—that alone screamed population density.
The desert and jungle weren't empty, though. Shockingly, the desert stage featured a Wild West setup miles from Machupicchu themes.
"Wokes would drop dead at that sight."
"Racism would hit first in the comments. Americans started with Native genocide, after all."
"Hey, it's target practice for the future soldier brats. Better than nothing."
The desert stage's concept was so racist it made even me slap my forehead: Guests as cowboys lasering 'savage cannibal natives' to reclaim a Western town—a morality tale ride. The whole stage was one giant attraction, letting all ages celebrate Chuseok with simulated native massacres.
I finally summited, planting a flag reading Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office: Han Daeri & S-man Were Here, then sipped water while eyeing the jungle.
"The jungle captures Amazon vibes perfectly. An artificial river forms an aqua park, packed with real Amazon plants. Twice the area of other stages—they must've shelled out big."
"The issue's those weirdos popping up in the priciest stage. Only at night or when it's empty."
"Frankly, it doesn't add up. The jungle's zoo, aqua park, and guided exploration paths keep it packed. Second only to the whole park in popularity."
Zoos and aqua parks thrill kids; adults dig the shuttle-guided 'Amazon trek' too. It could rival canyon or plateau thrill zones.
"But isn't it kinda weird?"
"What?"
S-man, zooming in and out on the jungle, dropped the bomb.
"No non-human noises from the jungle stage."
"What's odd about that?"
"Zoo animals quiet down around crowds from stress. But they've built such a natural setup—surely they stocked birds, monkeys, even noisy crickets? As a businessman, I'd at least release Amazon parrots for the wow factor."
"Birds need fruit and bugs—too much hassle to manage."
Ecosystems are intricate; faking one demands tons of prep. Even ants need fertile soil, water, aphids, plants.
"Those are all imported plants from abroad, right? Small bugs come with. The mega glass dome seals the park—no escape for birds."
"Huh, makes sense."
"Yet it's eerily silent."
I listened too—only human-made noise pollution battered my eardrums. No insect chirps, no bird calls.
"Pest control for safety? Sesco wiped the bugs?"
"Sure, venomous critters or disease vectors got nuked. But for a park this polished, a 'silent jungle'? Jungles are noisy by nature. They'd fake it with speakers if needed. But like you said, dead quiet."
Throngs of people, dense foliage—yet zero jungle essence. For a five-year passion project, planners would've nailed details like speakers. No way that got axed unless upper management was incompetent.
"Plenty of time. Let's scout slow."
"Ah, train coming below."
"We ride."
We leaped down the steep mountainside onto the slow scenic train ambling along, showcasing views. The guide froze mid-explanation of ruins, but we casually took empty seats amid stares questioning our mountain drop-in.
We whipped up excuses.
"Took a dump."
"A big one."
"...Please never do anything dangerous again. Park rules strictly ban it for your safety."
The pretty, kind-hearted guide warned sternly, then thawed the mood with more Machupicchu lore.
The train headed to a faux Machupicchu ruin between mountains and canyons, mimicking the real site. Like the Wild West desert, it was story-driven: Disembark midway, light trek up to terraced fields, village, stacked stone walls, flowing stream—a compact ancient site to experience.
Tourist-trap style, with souvenir shops and South American eats. Families rested, ate, bought overpriced trinkets—classic hawker ploy.
Ahead groups milled shops and restaurants; others followed guides for history talks. More theme museum than amusement park.
A faint odd stench aside—thanks to crowds and food—it seemed fine.
"Strange."
"What now."
"Smell like a mop soaked in rain, shoved in a bucket without rinsing?"
"Yeah, kinda... But with all the food and people, smells mixing?"
"High-altitude theme—no humid jungle. Stream's chemical-treated, no raw stink. So where's this rot from..."
As everyone geeked over the faux ruins, we scanned—and our eyes drifted naturally to the parked slow train.
There, countless hairy beasts sat in seats, staring at us 'like tourists.'