Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 74.3: Tyrant (3)

Failnet’s Administrator-Only Chatroom

Valentine: Are you ready, Skelton?

Skelton: Yes, sir!

Valentine: Just to be sure, let me remind you how to use it:

Log in with the account details sent previously.Activate the virtual device integration program.If a code is requested, refer to the code chart and enter it.Vote.Repeat from step 1.Skelton: Roger.

Valentine: By the way, I haven’t slept in over three days.

Skelton: You’ve worked really hard!

The preparations for the battle were complete.

Valentine had prepared 300 accounts for the election of the Failnet board administrator. Now, all that remained was to wait for voting to open and focus all 300 votes on Skelton.

It wasn’t difficult, just a bit tedious. However, gaining the symbolic armband of authority would significantly improve my mental state.

More importantly, Rebecca and her daughter, along with Defender and his sister, would leave my vicinity come spring. I could no longer deny that their departure would deal a heavy blow to my mental HP.

This armband was a buffer, a way to endure the confirmed loss.

In other words, it was an item to increase my HP pool. With it, I could face the upcoming farewells with more composure. That, in truth, was the real reason Skelton was putting his life on the line for the armband.

The live broadcast was about to begin. Voting wouldn’t open until after the live ended, but in the apocalypse, where chronic content deprivation was a problem, watching a live broadcast wasn’t optional; it was essential.

[Announcement! Live broadcast starting soon: Apocalypse Begins!]

I scavenged through DragonC’s coffee beans and preserved foods, placing some mysterious Skelton-made snacks drizzled with honey on my desk as I prepared to watch.

The host of Live! Apocalypse was, as always, the space-dwelling Melon Musk.

Usually, he only communicated via chat, but today, he and Bumpy graced the opening show with a special live video.

“Hello? This is Melon Musk, the first friend of mutations!”

His face, now fuller than before, filled the screen. Beside him, his loyal companion Bumpy floated in midair, munching on romaine lettuce.

“Today, I hear that the Korean board has implemented a unique system called the Board Administrator Election! Imagine, a volunteer manager working unpaid! Such a thing would be unimaginable in America. But for this unpaid position, countless Korean board users have applied. Today is Korea’s day! Let’s take a look!”

After waving alongside Bumpy, Melon Musk’s screen transitioned to a new scene.

The first contestant was Dies Irae.

Although I had blocked him on the board, Failnet’s rudimentary system meant that blocking a user didn’t stop them from showing up everywhere, including live streams.

The most notable example was the chat. Even if you blocked someone, you could still see their chat messages in live broadcasts.

Despite being an irritating individual, I couldn’t ignore him. He was a cruel man who discarded people like playing cards without hesitation. Still, his survival skills were undeniably exceptional, as evidenced by his track record.

Occasionally, observing his so-called "collective survivalism" in action wasn’t the worst way to spend my time.

Sip.

I sipped my coffee and began watching Dies Irae’s show.

Foll𝑜w current novℯls on ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm.

[And now, the live broadcast begins!]

As the broadcast started, the screen suddenly turned white, as if someone had poured paint over the camera.

The sound of heavy breathing and footsteps crunching on snow echoed.

It wasn’t just one person.

It was a group.

A subtle but undeniable presence of a collective aligned perfectly with Dies Irae’s identity.

The screen shifted to reveal a man’s face, hidden behind snow goggles and layers of heavy winter gear.

Was that Dies Irae?

“Hello, friends of the world,” he greeted.

Though his voice cracked from the cold, his calm and measured tone was unmistakably Dies Irae’s.

“Today, we’re going hunting... well, technically, this is pre-recorded. Hunting often takes us beyond areas with a stable signal. But on the bright side, I’ve edited out the boring parts for your viewing pleasure.”

Behind him, muffled sounds of people dragging something heavy accompanied the faint rhythm of footsteps and labored breathing.

The camera panned to reveal the object of their efforts—a 105mm howitzer.

A relic of military equipment.

Just like Dies Irae, the men pulling the howitzer were wrapped in winter gear, their identities obscured. They looked like a team of Rudolph reindeer hauling the artillery through the snow.

It didn’t take long to see their target: a massive boar mutation wandering the snow-covered landscape below a distant mountain peak.

The creature was enormous, almost the size of a truck.

I’d seen boar mutations on Failnet before, but never one this large. This had to be an exceptionally rare variant.

“That beast is Zhu Bajie, one of the Three Celestial Beasts,” Dies Irae explained. “It’s the one that rammed a bus, flipped it over, and devoured everyone inside.”

With that size, it seemed plausible.

Beyond its sheer bulk, the boar’s intelligence—typical of its species—likely made it a formidable opponent.

It was clear that small arms fire wouldn’t suffice. This monster would need high-grade hunter equipment or anti-tank rockets to take down.

However, something was off about the boar. Its movements were unsteady, its balance wavering.

It looked malnourished, weakened by prolonged hunger and the cold.

Perhaps that’s why Dies Irae had decided to hunt it.

“But even in this cold, this monster has no choice but to endure,” Dies Irae remarked, looking directly into the camera.

“Still, it’s a tough hunt to do alone, don’t you think?”

The live chat filled with agreement.

Even I had to admit, if the boar wasn’t a direct threat, there wasn’t much point in killing it. The cost in resources alone would be enormous.

The camera returned to the howitzer.

“But together, we can take it down,” Dies Irae said.

It became clear what his plan was. He intended to snipe the mutation using the howitzer.

A man who appeared to be a former artilleryman adjusted the barrel angle while another loaded the shell.

“All set for direct fire.”

When the artilleryman gave a thumbs-up, Dies Irae brought his hand down in a decisive motion.

BOOM!

The howitzer roared, and the shell struck the mutation squarely, tearing open its side.

The massive boar let out a feeble cry and collapsed, defeated in a single shot.

Cheers erupted briefly before the screen transitioned to a cozy indoor scene.

Around a warm fire, several men who had likely participated in the hunt sat together, grilling meat.

“This is how our collective survives,” Dies Irae concluded. “By working together, we create more opportunities. Don’t forget to vote for me in the board administrator election!”

As the video ended, users from around the world flooded the chat with their reactions:

gordonfreiman: Oh. Interesting.

XDs_Grrrrr: Not bad.

L-V-R-M: Why use a howitzer? Isn’t there something better? No rockets?

Anonymous666: Kind of boring... just a hunt.

Zebusika: That looks delicious.

Al_nasru_Alipasha: Clap, clap, clap.

mmmmmmmmm: Heh.

SKELTON: Hm.

The general atmosphere was one of mild praise, but the enthusiasm was lukewarm at best.

“...Hm.”

The hunt was... too predictable.

Using a howitzer was an interesting choice, but everything after that was just a run-of-the-mill hunting video.

There was no excitement, no emotional impact.

The "hunt" itself lacked dynamism; it was nothing more than delivering a finishing blow to an already dying beast.

The final scene, where the men sat around grilling pork belly, felt like a rehash of those extreme survival job documentaries I used to watch as a kid.

For this, I’d give it a 2 out of 10 on the Skelton Scale.

The next contestant was someone with the username berkut_break—a pompous leader of the so-called snobs.

These guys always huddled in the corners of the board, waxing poetic about "discourse" and flaunting their intellectual takes on philosophy and ideology. They were so far removed from my world that I often treated them as non-existent.

I wondered what this bore had prepared for his video.

The live stream began, showing a cramped bunker.

Trying to flaunt some pseudo-intellectual vibe, the guy had crammed a bookshelf filled with books behind him. Most of the books were in English or German—titles I didn’t recognize but that looked sufficiently pretentious.

The speaker didn’t appear on screen.

Instead, a voice rang out:

"Hello, this is Berkut Break. Today, I’ll simplify and summarize Marcuse’s concept of authority and family so that everyone can understand."

The voice, thin and nasal, carried a hint of phlegm and an undeniable undertone of creepiness. Judging by the fact that he wasn’t showing his face, I could guess he had learned from years of personal experience that his reflection wasn’t broadcast-worthy.

But as always, there were people more observant than me.

unicorn18: Huh? What’s that at the bottom of the bookshelf? Are those Japanese books?

Sure enough, in the corner of the shelf was a conspicuous cluster of books that seemed out of place.

A user presumed to be Japanese responded.

makoto44: Those are gravure idol photo books. Next to them is Shocking Cowgirl Summer Night’s Dream. Below that...

Makoto44 didn’t get to finish.

Berkut abruptly ended the stream.

The screen cut back to Melon Musk, who pouted and shook his head disapprovingly. Without saying a word, he transitioned to the next contestant.

The scene shifted to a city rendered in shades of gray.

It was Dongtanmom.

Visually, Dongtanmom held a clear advantage over other streamers.

His home was a ship floating through a devastated world.

Simply living in this apocalyptic future gave him a two-step lead over his competition.

But even Dongtanmom wasn’t invincible.

He had already done two broadcasts with the same concept: starting in first-person, dangling from a crane while escaping zombies, securing food, and making a daring getaway. It was thrilling at first, but people don’t enjoy watching the same thing twice.

"...Hmm."

It’s possible he’d stick to the same style again.

Honestly, what else could he do in a place with just one ship?

The fact that he was still alive and turning it into content was already a miracle.

I shifted my gaze to the screen, not expecting much.

As always, Dongtanmom was silently walking across the enormous ship, Hope.

Was he about to do another food-gathering show?

Suddenly, a sketchbook filled the screen.

[We are living in despair.]

Dongtanmom zoomed in on the desolate streets of Shanghai, filled with overwhelming hopelessness.

A pale, slender hand flipped the page.

[Shanghai: a hell where no one can survive.]

The camera panned down, showing a rusted iron deck, its worn and faded state adding to the melancholy.

Silence followed, stretching on for a long time.

Then Dongtanmom raised his head.

The sketchbook displayed another message:

[But!]

A gentle melody began to play.

The soft, rhythmic drumbeats echoed faintly, resembling the pulse of a heartbeat.

As the melody swelled, Dongtanmom’s wife turned the page of the sketchbook.

[We received a fragment of hope from Melon Musk.]

“Hm?”

A fragment of hope?

What did he mean?

With the rising melody, Dongtanmom walked into the ship’s interior.

The dark corridors were lined with people—tired, hungry, and beaten down.

As Dongtanmom passed, they silently raised their fists in support.

Without a word, he walked past them, heading toward the ship’s engine room—the heart of the ship.

Of course, the engine was silent.

Dongtanmom approached it, his gloved hands resting on the cold metal.

He knocked on the engine, but naturally, it didn’t roar back to life.

The rising melody suddenly softened, the rhythm fragile and uncertain.

The sketchbook appeared again.

[Let’s use the fragment of hope.]

The melody shifted, growing more vibrant and rhythmic.

The scene changed.

The once-empty engine room was now filled with people.

Those who had been lurking in the corridors now stood at their stations, wielding tools and equipment.

At the center of it all stood Dongtanmom, holding an unfamiliar component in his hand.

As the melody reached its crescendo, Dongtanmom pushed the part into an open hatch and pulled the lever beside it with all his strength.

Thud!

For a brief moment, the ship’s heart throbbed.

[We are moving forward.]

The camera panned to a baby cradled in its mother’s arms, its innocent laughter echoing.

The melody swelled to its peak before abruptly cutting off.

Darkness.

That was Dongtanmom’s live stream.

coral8103: What the hell? Is he shooting a movie now?!

XD_Grrrrr: Dongtanmom! Is he a god?!

Anonymous13: Singing hope in the midst of despair... what an emotional video.

L-V-R-M: Incredible. I don’t know who Dongtanmom is, but I can’t help but root for him.

mmmmmmmmm: Oh.

Anonymous100: Truly, he’s the treasure of our board.

Zebusika: Dongtanmom! GOAT!

SKELTON: Hm...

gijayangban: ?

It was impressive.

No, it wasn’t just him.

It was probably thanks to his wife.

Maybe one of the survivors on the ship was a former TV producer.

Whatever the case, it left my face flushed.

It had been a while since I’d seen something this stirring.

It was as if they force-fed me forgotten seasonings of hope and anticipation in this desolate era.

But why?

Why couldn’t I fully rejoice in this masterpiece?

“...Ha.”

This wasn’t good.

I shook my head.

Dongtanmom... why did he have to produce another masterpiece on such an important day?

I might actually lose this election.