Free Web NovelHumans, like all children of Earth, were designed to live within their parent, Earth.
Despite the progress of science and technology, and the hopeful visions of imaginative writers and scientists predicting that humanity would one day expand into the stars and build colonies across the universe, the more time passes, and the more science advances, the less likely that future becomes.
The space stations—those artificially constructed, enclosed habitats in Earth’s orbit—remain among the very few places where humanity can “live” in space.
But even those stations never truly escaped Earth’s gravity. They aren't full departures from Earth—just faint extensions.
Today’s main character, Melon Mask, lives in one of those orbital space stations.
Commonly called a “space bunker,” Melon Mask’s magnum opus is a one-of-a-kind creation, the fruit of astronomical funding and the pinnacle of modern science and engineering.
According to Melon Mask himself—granted, speaking rather coyly—the cost of building this space bunker exceeded the entire annual budget of some developed nations.
Of course, the U.S. government played no small part in funding this monstrosity behind the scenes.
Melon Mask’s space bunker may have ended with just one, but originally, his vision wasn’t for one bunker—it was for over a hundred to be built and connected, forming, quite literally, a city in space.
It’s said that Middle Eastern oil tycoons, Europe’s eternal nobility, America’s old-money dynasties, and even high-ranking officials from enemy nations like China all approached Melon Mask about joining his most secretive and ambitious project in orbit.
MELON_MASK: “If the Star Hive System had been completed... who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up like this. Maybe I could’ve lived a little longer. But in the end, humans were designed to live on Earth. Earth, with its unimaginable generosity and divine balance, protects us from the lifeless threats of space.”
What followed was Melon Mask listing off solar winds, cosmic radiation, the medical effects of 1G gravity on the human body’s circulatory system, and more. freeweɓnovel.cøm
We’ll skip all that.
It can all be summarized in one sentence:
Space is not a place fit for humans.
The problem, however, is this:
MELON_MASK: “I have cancer.”
Melon Mask has cancer.
He discovered it himself during a self-conducted exam after reclaiming his space bunker during the legendary Viva! Live! stream. At the time, the cancer was still early-stage. He believed he could manage it with the stock of medications he had onboard.
But the relentless life of isolation in space, the depression brought on by nostalgia, and the dwindling hope of returning to Earth soon chipped away at both his body and mind.
Those sudden outbursts of his that flipped the message board upside down? That was the context.
Now, everything has changed.
Melon is dying.
The cancer has spread to vital organs. The pain has become unbearable without narcotic painkillers.
His only hope is to return to Earth and receive surgery from real professionals.
And so, Melon dumped Viva! Apocalypse! to the U.S. government for next to nothing.
Viva! Apocalypse!, once the only functioning satellite internet network before Necropolis even came into play, had become a global-scale community after merging with it. For the fading U.S. government, it was one of the few things left to lean on.
MELON_MASK: “The government promised to launch a rocket for me. They said they’d send an astronaut team to retrieve me. But the first promise was half a year ago. It got delayed due to solar storms. Two months later, they said they’d send a new rocket—then changed their mind again. Engine issues. Then again, just last month—more delays. Even an idiot could figure out what’s going on. And then... a conscientious doctor sent me a message.”
An anonymous physician requested Melon conduct a self-diagnosis using the medical scanner onboard the bunker. The doctor then received the results through Viva! Apocalypse!
While U.S. government doctors claimed he could be saved if he made it back, that full recovery was possible—or at worst, he could enjoy 80% of his old quality of ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) life—this anonymous doctor, grounded in the ethics of the profession, offered a different view.
Anonymous13’s message: “Optimistically? 180 days. Conservatively? 90. That’s how many days you’ve got left.”
Anonymous13’s message: “You’re already dead, Melon. That’s the truth.”
That conversation was the direct trigger behind Viva! Apocalypse! going offline.
Maybe Melon had already sensed his death approaching. Maybe the doctor’s words were just a formality.
MELON_MASK: “Yeah. I’m dying. I have to die. No matter what anyone says, I feel it. I’ll follow Bumpy soon enough.”
That much? I can understand.
If I were given a terminal diagnosis, I might start doing things I normally wouldn’t too.
After all, nothing matters more than your own life, and knowing that it’s ending? That’s bound to shake anyone.
But what Melon Mask did after that—that’s where it gets apocalyptic.
MELON_MASK: “I’m depressed.”
MELON_MASK: “I’m depressed.”
MELON_MASK: “I’m so depressed.”
MELON_MASK: “I’m depressed, okay!?”
MELON_MASK: “Why are you all so cheerful?”
MELON_MASK: “When I’m this miserable!?”
Melon Mask proceeded to perform a board-wide depression showcase.
If that was all, he’d just be another dime-a-dozen mentally unstable poster.
But the problem is—Melon Mask is the sole, omnipotent admin of Viva! Apocalypse!.
Let me give you a scene.
haetteul-i: “Food rations are getting later and later.”
gunggeon’sSon: “Yeah, the flour tastes off.”
iwantpotatochips: “Is it true the food’s all gone?”
zerocolaplease: “Did the recent expedition really raid the warehouses clean?”
summerwaitingforfall: “This feels bad. The vibe’s off—like Seoul and Incheon back then.”
MANGJA2311: “It’s happening again. They’re scheming something.”
MANGJA99421: “Seriously. Something’s wrong.”
KillThatBee12: “Purge incoming.”
NeedAGirltolivewith888: “Don’t be dramatic. It might just be temporary.”
ProjectAsylum: “Can’t connect to Red Archive these days.”
(KangHanMinLOVE) Starzzi: “My rations are fine though? Are you guys just slacking off?”
...
...
Recently, the board had been flooded with posts about unstable rations.
But all those posts? Deleted in an instant. Replaced by a new one.
MELON_MASK: “I SAID I’M DEPRESSED!!!!!!!!!!!”
You can’t comment on Melon Mask’s posts.
You can’t even click on them.
You just watch as his whining fills the board like nuclear waste, rotting it in real time.
You’re allowed to criticize the Korean government, or even other nations.
But Melon Mask? Off-limits.
For example—
MANGJA2823: “Has Melon Mask lost his fucking mind?”
Someone tried insulting him anonymously through Necropolis access, instead of using their main account.
The post was written in Korean, on the Korean board.
Even with all the advanced translation features, this kind of thing should easily slip past if you’re not paying attention.
I mean, what if someone in some remote region insults me—Skelton—in a language I don’t speak? Who cares?
But Melon Mask isn’t normal.
MANGJA2823: “Has Melon Mask lost his fucking mind?”
MELON_MASK_BOT: “YOU ARE FIRED!”
The Melon Mask Bot—a literal bot—cuts through race, borders, and language to drop the ban hammer.
Even going through Necropolis can’t outwit him.
MANGJA99211: “He’s not banning IPs. He’s targeting the device ID itself. Machine bans.”
Another user figured it out: Melon’s banning people based on the unique device identifier.
Still, someone tried a more creative insult.
MANGJA82134: “Melon Mask you son of a bitch”
(written in a deliberately scrambled, broken-letter format to avoid detection)
It looked like a weird glitch or typographical trick—
the kind of playful word-disguising our ancestors might’ve called a code game.
But this kind of thing exists in every language.
And underestimating A.I.? That’s just foolish.
MANGJA82134: “Melon Mask you son of a bitch”
(again, scrambled to bypass filters)
MELON_MASK_BOT: “YOU ARE FIRED!”
And then—
[Due to continued insults against the developer, the Korean board has been temporarily suspended.]
[Expected suspension lift: 04:58]
[Each insult adds 5 minutes to the total suspension time.]
I took my hands off the keyboard.
“......”
I never lived through the Japanese colonial era or military dictatorship, but now I truly understand what it means to experience iron-fisted rule.
First, I should try talking to VivaBot.
I heard there was some minor trouble on the train—but that’s the least of our problems now.
“......”
tap tap tap
SKELTON: “VivaBot~ You there~?”
My soul’s homeland, Viva! Apocalypse!, is in danger.
Sadly, VivaBot didn’t answer my desperate call.
I had no choice but to deal with the lesser problems of reality.
“Ah, this—Cha In-seop gave us the shittiest engine. Parked the good one in his warehouse, of course.”
Our train engine was acting up again.
It had been repaired several times already, but according to the engineer, it was basically due for retirement once we finished this trip.
A serious issue, yes—but apparently, it could still make it to Seoul.
The only condition: we’d have to stop occasionally to cool the engine when it overheated.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the best region to stop in.
It was an erosion zone.
The land, colored in ashen white, gave no signs of life.
I stood watch with a few soldiers who had volunteered for the Seoul route, weapons in hand.
We had a modest, but not shallow, conversation.
“I mean, yeah, what Pyo Won-sang did scared me off—but even so, I couldn’t live in the provinces. Same country or not, it just feels like a foreign land to me.”
“It’s way more dangerous than I expected. I got a sense when I saw the groups that had taken over the other Shangri-La locations. It’s like Shangri-La is actually a colosseum created by the Rifts.”
“I came here because I heard Pyo Won-sang would bring in General Jeong Dae-kyung. No matter how strong we are militarily, if we’re going to survive long-term in the middle of an erosion zone, we need at least one over-level-10 Awakened, don’t we?”
“I suddenly wanted to see my mom. Ah—she’s already passed. But I figured, even if I die, I’d rather die looking at a familiar landscape.”
What we mostly talked about was why they were going back to Seoul.
These weren’t ordinary soldiers. freēwebnovel.com
They were pro-government troops from Jeju, each skilled enough to be considered elite in their field.
They knew more than we did.
“New Seoul—they’re ambitiously rebuilding it, but... well. I hear they’ve scraped together just one year’s worth of rations. That includes brick-like emergency bars. Ammo’s in good supply, but turns out most of it is ancient 105mm rounds from fifty years ago. And they’ve got no power. One reason Pyo Won-sang got permission to head this way was to tap into southern nuclear power through the rail lines.”
“The future looks grim. The current government is lying nonstop. With elections around the corner, public morale is already shaky. They’re sweeping all the real issues under the rug. I know all this, and still, I’m going back—makes me feel hopeless too.”
“I’m heading to Incheon. There are solid folks like Park Penguin and King still on the mainland. I think I’ve got better survival odds starting from scratch under them than relying on Jeju’s committee, which is all just luck-based anyway.”
Hearing thoughts from people I didn’t know well gave me a strangely stirring feeling.
Maybe it was the countless stars scattered across the night sky, blanketing the gray wasteland below, that sparked that sentimentality.
When my shift ended and I returned to my seat, a long-awaited message was waiting.
[You have been invited by VIVA_BOT14.]
VivaBot responded.
SKELTON: (smiling shyly) “VivaBot~!”
VIVA_BOT014: “Ah.”
VIVA_BOT014: “Hello, Skelton.”
Still cool as ever.
That’s part of VivaBot’s charm.
If we had lived in the same country, we might’ve made a great pair.
A smile I couldn’t suppress crept across my face as I started typing.
Just as I was about to finish a sentence—before I could hit enter—VivaBot’s message appeared first, rising to the top of the screen.
VIVA_BOT014: “Skelton. I’m quitting.”
