Chapter 183
Chapter 183
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 183
Chapter Title: 86. Story (1)
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True spring had finally arrived.
The weather had warmed up noticeably, and the wasteland was bursting with fresh greenery.
"Never tell Minhee that I'm Umchang. You get what I'm saying, right?"
Jeon Si-hoon had headed off to Woo Min-hee.
He hadn't actually met her, though. Halfway there, he'd switched to a government vehicle that had come out from the outskirts of Seoul to pick her up.
Nothing should have gone wrong.
Jeon Si-hoon had drilled the warning into him over and over, and there'd been no word from Woo Min-hee since.
No news is good news, but the fierce situation in Paju was a fact confirmed daily on the Legion's broadcasts.
Woo Min-hee was probably throwing everything she had into holding back the outbreak there.
One thing that puzzled him was why the government—which had basically written off Incheon and its residents—was bothering to stop monsters at Paju at all.
Who knew.
Maybe there was some deeper motive he didn't know about.
There were no special messages from the King.
He seemed active on the boards, but his style was to avoid posting unless it was absolutely necessary.
A haughty board user, you might say.
With women at his side and a city of thirty thousand under his thumb, he didn't need human connections as desperately as people like them.
Incheon had plunged into a full-blown Warring States era.
Factions splintering by shelter, forming shaky alliances or clashing in battle—it was hard to believe, but word was they were even waging wars of total annihilation on a shelter-by-shelter basis.
There was no way to know the real details.
No board users left in Incheon, and Failnet users couldn't reach out anymore anyway.
Incheon updates came down to "I heard..." rumors.
One thing was certain: refugees were still pouring out of the wasteland in no small numbers.
Fortunately, they were all heading east to the Legion's territory, steering clear of his own domain.
People were abandoning the government for the warlord.
Incheon saw shootouts every other day, while the Legion aired classy broadcasts laced with soothing classical music. It was only natural they'd seem like the better option.
Amid all this chaos, at least his own corner of the world remained peaceful.
The hot topic sweeping the boards lately was how to make a "Judge Killer."
The Judge Killer was a crude crossbow design from the early war days. It got its name from some guy who, before the war, held a grudge against a court ruling and sniped the judge with one. It had a story behind it, but now it was blowing up because ammo shortages were finally hitting hard.
Provincial users said they'd been relying on them for two years already.
Not much choice—guns and bullets hadn't flooded the countryside.
Whatever. Good for them.
Crossbows like that.
What really interested him was fishing.
The freezer was bone-dry.
He was running a small fridge, but it was mostly stocked with water and fresh crops. All the frozen meat was gone.
He had plenty of protein alternatives, mostly cans or those nasty ration bars.
Supplementing with ration bars had driven home the point: the body craved fresh protein.
A few mutations prowled near his territory, but hunting them wasn't easy, and butchering plus hauling was a whole job in itself. So he'd found an easier protein source.
The stream running behind the mountain.
He hadn't planned on fishing there when picking the bunker site, but things being what they were, fish would have to do.
He'd pored over pre-war survival videos stocked up for just this.
According to them, traps or nets beat rod-and-line for efficiency.
Nets were the best, but they stood out from afar, took heavy labor, and left you exposed while working.
Electrofishing with a battery? No thanks—batteries were worth more than gold these days.
After much deliberation, he'd settled on traps.
Using a survival video as reference, he'd whipped up a simple one from a mosquito net and some wire.
Bait: ancient miso paste.
It had been improperly stored, hardened to rock, and sprouting mold. He'd tossed it in the shed figuring it might come in handy someday. Now was its moment.
The beauty of trap fishing: simplicity.
Bait it, drop it in a good spot, done.
He'd set it at dawn and pulled it up at dusk.
"Hmm."
A few minnows, but not enough to satisfy.
More traps, maybe.
The survival DVDs recommended multiples too.
He hauled a table and chair up the hill above the bunker and spent the day crafting new ones.
Back at the bunker, as always, he fired up the laptop and connected to the internet.
First thing: search.
Keywords: "SKELTON" and "Umchang."
Nothing.
Half disappointment, half relief.
Next: check popular posts.
Lately, though, even those were a bust.
The Judge Killer craze had everyone cobbling together junk crossbows, snapping pics, and smashing likes.
m9, ever the trend chaser like him, had made one too. It had that same crooked vibe as the guy's house.
Coincidentally, Dongtanmom felt the same way.
Dongtanmom was negative on the Judge Killer trend too.
Not that he'd like or comment on it.
Today was Viva! Apocalypse! day.
Sadly, Live! Apocalypse! was starting to run dry on material.
They spaced it weekly, but Viva! Apocalypse! never had a huge userbase to begin with.
Spectacles like the original Dongtanmom show weren't coming around often.
The current Live! Apocalypse! had sunk to airing bizarre content like the "mukbangs" South Korea had beamed to the world.
Mukbang was whatever if it was tasty stuff, but wriggling maggots in cheese and moldy bread?
Even he, a diehard Live! Apocalypse! fan, couldn't stomach it to the end.
Melon Mask seemed to know his show was hitting limits—he'd skipped last week's Live! Apocalypse!.
Instead, he'd hyped up some shocking new content to build anticipation.
Today was the reveal.
Half hopeful, he sat at the laptop munching salt-dipped fried minnows and watched.
Their creator, Melon Mask, soon appeared on screen.
"Hello! World barbarians!"
As always, murderous sloth Bumpy loomed beside him, exuding sheer presence.
While chomping romaine lettuce with his grotesque hook hand.
Melon Mask pulled a regretful face beside Bumpy.
"Sadly, Live! Apocalypse! is off today too."
Two weeks straight of letdowns.
The chat started buzzing.
He was a little disappointed too.
Though better than watching mukbang, he figured.
Melon Mask's eyes darted across the center of the screen.
Scanning the chat.
Soon, he flashed a big grin.
"You all know about AI art, right?"
AI art?
"Tools where you just input keywords and AI spits out a picture? Everyone's seen those."
Come to think of it, pre-war he'd seen AI programs that took tags like "legend," "hunter," "cool guy" and churned out a full image based on training data.
Sites everywhere had them.
But dragging out that outdated tech now?
Not thrilled.
As a three-year vet, he could say for sure: AI image generators would tank board quality.
Even no-name lurkers like Rokajiji could squat in a corner with their ugly AI slop.
But their creator was always one step ahead of what they expected.
"We're making videos with AI. Restoring and testing an AI animation tool from our California HQ. Bottom line: AI movies."
Melon Mask threw an arm around Bumpy.
"Everyone's got at least one wild, thrilling story, right? But words alone? Boring. Text? Who reads every letter. Cartoons? Same deal. So we're gonna turn them into movies everyone can watch! Tech limits mean animation first, but stack enough data and we could drop Hollywood-killing masterpieces?!"
Melon Mask clapped.
The screen shifted to a 3D-animated space bunker, cartoonish versions of users popping up.
One guy murders someone, seals the sector, suits up, spacewalks out, and wrecks the external antenna.
Meanwhile, station-bound Melon Mask types innocently, pondering.
He looks up—Bumpy's cartoon face looms, followed by a slick "Movie! Apocalypse!" title with bombastic sound effects.
"That's what we're talking about!"
The real Melon Mask reappeared, smirking his usual punchable smirk.
"......"
No doubt about it.
That clip was a legit short 3D animation.
All AI-made, no human hands?
Sure enough, the global chat exploded again.
Watching the chat fly by faster than rapids, Melon Mask winked at them.
"Send us your best story ideas! The Viva! team will use cutting-edge AI to turn them into videos! Oh! More action the better! That's the hot stuff! No melodrama or artsy-fartsy nonsense!"
Melon Mask vanished, replaced by submission guidelines for the story contest.
He read them carefully.
They wanted fresh, gripping tales with crises or action that'd satisfy everyone—the kind Movie! Apocalypse! favored this round.
The instant he saw it, he found himself nodding.
"Hmm......"
This might just be an event aimed right at him.