Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 94.1: Influencer (1)

Before the war, the internet was overflowing with websites.

Each had its own purpose, audience, and culture, but they all shared one fate.

User traffic.

Think of a shopping district.

No matter how attractive the stores are or how beautifully the streets are decorated, if no one walks through them, the area won’t last long.

On the other hand, a crowded street thrives, even if it’s messy and the stores are rude.

A website without users is no different from an empty shopping district.

For a site built on the premise of attracting people, losing its user base is like a barbecue restaurant running out of meat.

Of course, Viva! Apocalypse! was different from most sites.

Its uniqueness came from the nature of its community.

We weren’t just a random group.

We were a select few—a well-prepared, forward-thinking elite, ready for the future.

Even as the world crumbled under war and apocalypse, Viva! Apocalypse! functioned as the last community standing.

But even a site for an elite few needs a minimum number of users to survive.

The Korean board’s user base had shrunk to a third of its former size.

The American board suffered a similar decline.

According to Melon Mask, Viva! Apocalypse! had once boasted 800,000 users in the U.S. at its peak.

Of course, that number wasn’t just hardcore doomsday preppers—it included Melon Mask’s devoted followers, the kind who’d cheer even if he took a dump on screen.

The actual number of true survivalists was estimated to be under 200,000.

Unlike Korea, the U.S. hadn’t suffered as much destruction during the war.

State-based defense forces still maintained order, and so, at first, the site’s American user count didn’t drop much.

Even a year into the war, Viva! Apocalypse! in North America still had 700,000 users.

But a year and two months later, that number was cut in half.

That was when tensions between state and federal governments escalated, shaking the foundation of the United States itself.

People who had been living in their homes, relying on satellite internet, were overwhelmed by rioters and looters.

By the second year, only 200,000 users remained.

That was the number Melon Mask estimated as the true survivalists among 1.5 million active users.

But even they couldn’t hold out forever.

Now, three years and six months into the war, the number of active users in North America had fallen below 100,000.

And that number held weight.

It was the kind of drop that could spell the end of the entire forum.

To make matters worse, Viva! Apocalypse! was facing another crisis.

A powerful new rival had emerged in North America.

Its name, taken from the Greek word for "City of the Dead," was Necropolis.

Unlike Viva! Apocalypse!, Necropolis didn’t require high-tech satellite internet to access.

It was slower, limited to text and static images, and lacked the advanced features of Viva! Apocalypse!.

But it was simple.

Easy to use.

And because of that, it was rapidly overtaking Viva! Apocalypse! as the largest survivalist site in North America.

It reminded me of how PaleNet had risen in Korea.

The loss of users, combined with the rise of a powerful competitor, was enough to get under Melon Mask’s skin.

Declaring a state of emergency, he launched a campaign to save Viva! Apocalypse!—at least in North America.

MELON_MASK: The competition we’re facing is just like when television was invented and Hollywood had to adapt.

MELON_MASK: Yeah. We’re Hollywood, and they’re the cheap TV show producers. We have the best internet infrastructure in the world, a radio network that no war can destroy, and most importantly, our greatest asset—you, the Viva! Apocalypse! community!

MELON_MASK: We need content. I know times are tough, but that’s exactly why we need more content. Those poor souls stuck on Necropolis—which is barely better than old-school dial-up—need us to bring them light and civilization.

Melon Mask never had a history of being particularly fond of Korea.

In fact, before the war, he had been caught using the racial slur "Fucking Kimchi Man!" against a Korean user who criticized him on social media.

But these days, no one would argue that Korea had become his favorite country.

MELON_MASK: I’m counting on my Korean friends too! Korea is the land of DongtanMom and FoxGame! And I’m sure there are even greater creators out there!

He ended his emergency live stream with a thumbs-up, Bumpy standing beside him.

"..."

Coincidentally, that broadcast happened right as I was drafting a new story series for the forum, fresh from my return from the Kaesong Lighthouse.

I had written the first draft but held off on uploading it.

Something felt... off.

This chapter is updated by freēwēbnovel.com.

I had an instinct—the kind a storyteller develops—that it wouldn’t get the reaction I wanted.

It needed something else.

A little seasoning.

After weighing my options, I settled on the classic choice: romance.

It wasn’t true, but I figured throwing in a romantic subplot between Skelton and Lightning would boost engagement.

But then this massive event happened.

And it wasn’t just anyone—it was Melon Mask himself stirring things up.

This was no small matter.

I shelved my romance angle and decided to watch the situation unfold.

Soon, VivaBot posted a detailed announcement of Melon Mask’s plan.

For a brief moment, as I read her username, I wondered if I should include a romance between myself and VivaBot too.

I dismissed the thought immediately.

That’s how serious I was about my seasoning.

Anyway, the announcement read:

VIVA_BOT014: Recruiting the first generation of Viva! Influencers!

"Influencer...?"

In Korean, it meant someone with influence.

Before the war, people with massive followings on social media were called that.

Technically, our forum already had its own influencers—users known as Named, unofficially recognized by the community.

But now they were making it official.

VIVA_BOT014: Think of it as being similar to a forum moderator.

Another badge of authority.

So Melon Mask had finally figured out what motivated users.

VIVA_BOT014: But unlike before, influencers won’t have absolute power. Instead, any post they write will be bolded, making it stand out from regular users. Plus, they’ll have the ability to push their own content to the trending section—regardless of likes, views, or comments.

So essentially, my posts would appear bolder and more noticeable, and I’d have the power to make them go viral myself?

"Hooh."

That’s pretty tempting.

VIVA_BOT014: Influencers can also block specific users from commenting on their posts.

I nodded.

That was more than enough.

Of course, becoming an influencer wouldn’t be easy.

VIVA_BOT014: DongtanMom and FoxGame are already confirmed as the first two influencers. We’re now looking for a third for the Korean board.

"..."

VIVA_BOT014: You all know what you have to do, right?

Content.

Once, it was just for our community.

Now, it was for the survival of the entire forum.

Of course...

mmmmmmmmm: Huh? Why wasn’t I picked as an influencer?

mmmmmmmmm: Ugh, what a pain. Should I show off my apartment balcony again?

There were always clueless fools.

But I knew my place.

I knew, at the very least, that my beatboxing wouldn’t get anyone’s attention.

And that meant I was already two steps ahead of m9.

*

There was a time when Movie! Apocalypse! was all the rage.

But as the latest video revealed, it was ultimately just another form of content created by grinding people down.

DongtanMom’s scenario had been meticulously crafted to be as seamless and impressive as possible, but the most recent Movie! Apocalypse!—well, it seemed like the Viva! Apocalypse! staff had either gone on strike or lost their minds.

In one scene, where the Black protagonist fights off raiders and rushes into a burning house to save his family, his face inexplicably morphs into that of "Giga Chad"—a well-known internet meme character.

It wasn’t blackwashing. It was meme-washing.

And it didn’t stop there.

Throughout the fight sequences, the protagonist’s face kept shifting—sometimes into recognizable movie characters, sometimes even into female ones.

Melon Mask apologized for the bizarre video, but there was nothing he could do.

In the end, stable content required people.

SKELTON: Are you alive?

I sent a message to DragonC.

Or rather, to Filkrum, the once-popular webtoon artist.

Word was that the Jeju government had confiscated his internet access and now forced him to produce state-approved content.

He had ignored a few of my previous messages, but I reached out anyway—grasping at straws.

No response.

"Hmm."

Unfortunate, but not unexpected.

I had wanted to pair his exceptional illustrations with my storytelling.

But even without Filkrum, I wasn’t helpless.

FoxGames had provided the perfect tool.

A despicable man in real life, yet widely respected on the internet, he had released an easily accessible toolkit under the banner of "a game everyone can create together."

One of these tools was an AI image generator.

Apparently, FoxGames had chosen the most well-trained and reliable AI model out of countless options.

And judging by the impressive images other users had generated, I had to admit—it was solid.

FoxGames: How to Use the AI Image Generator "Far Ice."

I followed FoxGames’ guide and tested it out.

Unlike traditional artwork, AI-generated images only required descriptive tags.

A single image could be created in less than five minutes.

For example, entering the following tags:

- Generating AI image. Please wait.

Estimated wait time: 2 minutes and 30 seconds.

I sipped my coffee as I waited.

Soon, the AI generator produced an image of a rugged Western man in something resembling military fatigues, gripping a pair of axes, staring straight ahead.

"..."

I hated FoxGames, but I couldn’t deny the efficiency of his tools.

Hate the ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) man, not the tool, as they say.

Of course, I wasn’t planning to make a webtoon with this.

No matter how advanced AI art was, it couldn’t truly replicate the image in my mind.

Especially not for action scenes.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine how to tag those properly.

Movie! Apocalypse! had tried to compensate for a lack of manpower by maintaining the same production quality as before—and failed spectacularly.

The key was compromise.

Finding a balance between technology and limited human resources.

After much thought, I landed on a solution: a visual novel.

Each scene would feature a carefully chosen image, paired with minimal text layered over it.

The goal was to let readers immerse themselves in the visuals while being drawn into my Skelton persona’s captivating storytelling.

DAJUNG: That’s a solid idea. Go for it!

Even Dajung approved.

I already had the perfect images in my head.

And more importantly, I had the perfect story.

A webtoon was just another format for storytelling.

What mattered was the story itself.

I wanted to share what happened at the Kaesong Lighthouse.

The draft was finished.

All I needed to do was refine it and generate appropriate images for each scene.

With AI-generated illustrations, I no longer needed to force in a fake romance subplot.

That had been a cheap trick—something my storyteller’s instincts told me would help control the pacing and maintain audience engagement.

But now I had a more immersive alternative.

I no longer needed a fabricated romance.

After a good night’s sleep, I completed my morning routine—recon, facility checks—and sat down at my laptop to access the forum.

Then I saw a name I didn’t particularly like trending on the front page.

Dolsingman: My Story—"A New Love."

"Dolsingman...?"

I didn’t know this guy personally.

But I did remember that he was less famous than me.

And that despite that, he had the audacity to run against me for a moderator position—twice.

This guy.

For someone with "divorced man" as his nickname, he sure was thirsty for recognition.

The fact that he kept gunning for my spot made it clear.

I scoffed.

Dolsingman? Really?

But then I noticed the view count.

And the recommendations.

Both were unusually high.

The smirk faded from my face.

For the first time, I hesitated before clicking.

I opened A New Love with a creeping sense of unease.

"Hmm?"

A painting.

A dreamlike scene, bathed in the hues of dusk, where a man and woman met in a lush garden overflowing with flowers.

At first glance, it was breathtaking.

But then I noticed the telltale signs of AI generation.

The uniform, overly polished aesthetic.

The occasional uncanny details.

It was an AI-generated image.

But that wasn’t the important part.

Next to the image was text.

Not just a caption—a full passage.

A story.

The moment I grasped its meaning, my brow furrowed.

This was the exact same concept I had planned.

"..."

This was bad.

If I posted my story now, it would look like plagiarism.

Even though I had thought of it first—

I would be the one accused of copying.