Chapter 292
Chapter 292
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 292
Chapter Title: 118. Story (2)
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The ecological observatory consisted of independent biodomes themed around the tropics, deserts, highlands, avians, and more.
In the tropical dome, exotic plants straight out of the Amazon formed a lush green canopy, while beasts and fish of all kinds frolicked in their own territories. The desert dome recreated a barren, arid landscape, showcasing plants and animals that carried on their lineages even in such unforgiving conditions.
True or not, the observatory's original blueprint wasn't meant for public entertainment. It was designed to impart knowledge for humanity's upcoming ventures into uncharted realms like outer space and the deep sea—knowledge we'd adapt and apply there.
If a country like Korea, with its stark four seasons, could sustain biodomes mimicking tropical jungles and scorching deserts, then creating livable habitats on the moon's surface wouldn't be out of reach.
That's why the initial plans described environments and creatures inside the biodomes as utterly simplistic.
The tropical dome alone—meant to replicate a jungle climate—housed just a handful of tropical plants, insects, and bugs. The only vertebrates were a few small fish swimming in its vast 3,546㎡ expanse.
Only this setup would ensure perfect ecological balance: producers, consumers, and decomposers in proper, self-sustaining ratios, no outside meddling required.
The other themed domes followed suit, varying only in humidity and temperature controls but sharing the same philosophy.
By maintaining nearly every extreme environment on Earth right here in Korea and studying fully operational ecosystems within them, the observatory aimed to prepare for looming climate shifts and survival in harsh conditions.
But that vision unraveled before construction even finished.
The government saw it as a money pit with sky-high upkeep costs. Local authorities chafed at wasting such prime land and resources on what they dismissed as a niche hobby for a few scientists.
So instead of the sparse, perfectly balanced species, the domes filled up with crowd-pleasers: big, flashy, familiar plants and animals that turned heads.
The tropical dome—where even ants were nixed over invasion risks—welcomed capybaras, broad-billed storks, and troops of monkeys. The desert dome, originally limited to geckos, got desert foxes and prairie dogs to steal the show.
Survivor J—likely Mr. Jeong—was one of the researchers bitterly disappointed by the government and local directives.
“They ruined it all.”
J was a fervent champion of the original draft.
He pushed for his dream—a true self-sustaining ecosystem—despite superiors marking him as trouble, three formal reprimands, endless audits, and transfer threats.
But one researcher's passion drowned in "political considerations" and hollow "for the people" platitudes.
J surfaced at a Seoul suburb refugee camp on a spring day, a year and six months into the war.
Rescuers found him in rags, beard a wild tangle, hygiene abysmal—like a caveman straight out of the stone age.
Tough times for all, but rations still flowed from the government, making life far easier than now.
Camp folks pitied his state and burned with curiosity.
Once somewhat recovered, J haltingly pieced together his trauma-fogged memories, sharing what he could bear to voice.
His opening tale was old hat to camp dwellers—some found it dull.
Shells raining down, blinding flashes, shockwaves ravaging the land, comms dead, bodies piling up.
Whatever.
What they really wanted: how'd he last a year and a half looking like that?
Not a hardcore prepper like us, but even casual ones ration out six months tops.
Post-supplies, preppers have seasonal gear, sure.
But J's getup? Frayed lab coat, shirt, khakis. Familiar, yet utterly un-prepper.
Especially that glossy exotic bird tail feather tucked in his ear—it hooked everyone.
After false starts and rambling detours, one question hit.
“How the hell'd you survive this long?”
A gravelly-voiced man barked it at J.
J didn't hesitate.
“I was in hell.”
“Hell?!”
As the crowd pressed, J stared vacantly into nothing, face blank. Then a twisted smile crept in as he wrapped it up.
“The perfect balance...”
The war's fallout didn't spare the observatory.
China hit everywhere in Korea, but suburbs took it worse than cities on average.
Interceptors prioritized urban population hubs—government's call. Evacuated outskirts? Let the nukes drop.
J recalled it kicking off with a flash.
“Nuke landed close. Building rocked like mad, then a storm like nothing I'd seen swallowed the place.”
Mountains ringing the site blocked total wipeout.
Still, deaths mounted, buildings crumbled.
Thick greenhouse panes shattered across domes, pillars buckled, roofs caved, structures gaped with massive holes.
Power failure finished off several domes.
Handful of survivors glimpsed bewildered exotic critters emerging from the wreckage, piled into whatever vehicles remained, and bailed.
Facility was toast; even patched, no upkeep for a decade.
One soul stuck around in the half-wrecked sprawl.
J.
Obsessed with the mission, he'd clocked in early at the tropical dome for routine tidying.
Bonus: data for his paper fueled the diligence.
But zeal bred disaster.
Dome shuddered, groaned, listed—exit sealed. Lights out, electrics dead.
Worse: J blacked out in the blast.
Colleagues hunted while he was out—no trace, no signal.
They split. He woke to nightmare.
Stranded solo in Amazon-simulacrum dome with the "jungle" locals.
Cohabitation? Short-lived.
September start, but dome demands 33°C summers, 22°C winters, 90%+ humidity round-clock.
Residents: capybaras, Amazon giant otters, Nile crocs—plus tropical fish and inverts.
Fall chill? Manageable. Winter? Mass die-off.
Main threat: crocs. Steer clear of central pond, you're golden.
“That croc? Parachute director's pet project. Total reject—pre- or post-war.”
Manager and ecologist J tallied risks, plotted breakout.
No quick outs.
Reinforced glass held; adjacent dome ate the blast brunt—cracks only, unlike breached neighbors. Sealed tight.
Sole play: lever twisted frame, squeeze through. No tools yet; survival first.
Luck: control room intact.
Systems fried, but pantry loaded—instant coffee, teas, snacks, ramen crates.
Pre-war water stockpile? Godsend.
Feed stores brimmed; J's take: fish.
Freezer off—frozen Nile croc and otter rations thawing.
Toppled cages: wriggling mealworms. Noted.
Last-ditch: low-effort, calorie-light bug chow.
Dire straits, J fought despair.
Seoul family: sister fresh-married, new nephew.
Not his kid, but put-an-eye-out adorable.
Thus launched J's dome saga.
Days blurred prying frame for a crawl-way.
Best odds: 1m to freedom.
Day 3: machine room score—pipe, toolbox. Turbo mode.
Meantime, dome warmth plummeted.
Temps held; even muggier days. Plants thrived, but apex preds prowled.
Nile croc. Giant otters.
Fish feast frenzy—ponds, streams emptied.
J's overlooked calories.
Escape week 1: frame yielded.
Family reunion hype—no whoop, just crawl.
Entrance: figures.
Helmed soldier.
Not ROK uniform.
PLA.
Early 20s? Late teens?
Pale, doe-eyed innocent gawking at emerging J.
Raw terror: J reversed to control room.
Heart hammering, flashed: pre-war ID—airborne.
Entrance erupted: chattering Mandarin. Shots popped twice.
Trembled in room day-plus.
Ventured out ages later.
Shaky steps, scanned.
Intruders?
Clear. Slunk under roofline, jungle cover, eyed warped outer world warily.
Empty.
No watcher, no patrols.
Fear clung.
No outside link.
War done? Winning? Lost turf?
Play: hunker deep, outwait the PLA gale.
No more Chinese sightings.
Silence on shots, babble.
But J mulled: Hold out longer.
Certainty first.
Winter pullout?
Or breach via his frame first.
“So he hunkered down, made Seoul.”
Story lulled; I chimed.
Eyes locked on.
“Great yarn. Dome survival? Doomsday forums vet here—news to me.”
John_nenon's tale unfinished.
Prime interject.
“Reminded me of John_nenon's episode. Gripping stuff.”
Ace in hole: debut meet, me flipping meat at the joint.
Decode John_nenon? Start at square one.
Fuzzy recall, but not Elmggoo on grill—Skeleton.
Teed up "Yamae Raw Meat House" fanfest recount—
“Hey. Not done yet.”
Hong Da-jeong—off solo, aloof—piped gripe.
“?”
Not alone.
“That one's...”
“No more John_nenon.”
“Him again?”
Nays buzzed.
Valentine smirked naughty—solo holdout.
“?”
Weird, but tide's out. Yield.
Bang Jae-hyeok's yarn seemed pending too.
“Moment J quit escaping, he clocked it.”
Phone rummage, pic flashed.
Faded shot: dome like a rotting edifice corpse.
Spotlight glued, thunder crashed.
Echo died; Bang Jae-hyeok boomed in bunker.
“The ideal observatory he'd craved—finally manifest before him.”