Hiding a House in the Apocalypse

Accidents happen without warning.

The generator broke down.

I realized it when I was finishing up my usual routine and went to start the generator to charge the capacitors.

It wouldn’t turn on.

“...”

Rather than fear or panic, what I felt was more of a resigned Ah, it’s finally happening kind of feeling when I discovered that the power button—something that had never failed me before—was now completely unresponsive.

I had always expected it to break down someday.

But I thought it would last at least five years.

There could be many reasons why it broke down sooner than expected, but my best guess was the synthetic fuel I had been using recently.

They claimed it was chemically formulated to be as close to diesel as possible, but no matter how advanced Korean chemical engineering was, it wasn’t as if they could create a perfect replica.

Tough machines like my motorcycle wouldn’t complain too much about a slight change in what they were "drinking," but the heart of my bunker was a different story.

After a brief moment of silence, I quickly regained my focus and pulled out the metal basket next to the generator, where I kept the manual.

According to it, the generator could {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} fail to start due to various reasons—control circuit failure, starter motor malfunction, preheater resistance disconnection, fuel injection issues, and so on.

I flipped to the troubleshooting checklist and started performing every self-repair step the manual suggested.

“Capacitor: functional. Starter motor: good. No coil disconnection. No issues with the nozzle pipes...”

What started as a simple repair attempt at sunset dragged on past midnight.

I wanted to sleep, but the generator was a critical issue.

If it stopped working, I wouldn’t be able to charge my capacitors. And if I couldn’t charge my capacitors, then I’d lose my internet access—and basically, everything else I relied on for my way of life.

Sure, there were small portable generators used by those poverty-tier survivalists, but that was nothing more than a temporary fix.

Forget air conditioning—it wouldn’t even provide enough power to run my motion sensors or other security systems in my territory.

More importantly, for me to survive here long-term, the heart of my domain had to keep beating.

Clatter, clatter.

Clang! Clang!

I popped two caffeine capsules and pulled an all-nighter.

Even though it was nighttime, I was drenched in sweat by the time I finally pinpointed the cause of the failure.

It was the shutdown solenoid.

According to the manual, this part controlled the fuel supply to the generator based on electrical signals. In short, it was what allowed the generator to shut down properly.

But it wasn’t responding.

Whether it was an issue with the control circuit or the solenoid itself would take more time to diagnose.

So, I did just that—inspecting the part, reading through the manual, and watching attached repair videos.

It wasn’t until early morning that I confirmed it.

The solenoid itself was busted.

“Phew.”

I hadn’t slept a wink. I hadn’t even eaten a proper meal.

Climbing down the ladder to the lowest level of the bunker, I reached the food storage area.

The freezer had been off since last year, but the small refrigerator was still running on capacitor power.

I grabbed a bottle of homemade chilled corn silk tea and chugged it, then pulled out a pemican from inside the fridge before heading back up to the main bunker.

I always ate at the table—or more precisely, in front of my computer.

I didn’t use to have this habit. But after spending so many years relying on the internet to combat loneliness, it had become second nature.

I soaked the pemican in warm water and forced it down with sips of water.

To be honest, it didn’t taste good.

I was just eating it.

For today, I decided to focus on protein and fats.

After my meal, I scooped out a spoonful of jam I had made last year and ate it.

Then, after taking a short break, I headed to the garage to find a replacement part.

I always kept at least three spare parts for every component of my generator.

I had three spare shutdown solenoids.

But—

“...Huh?”

The size didn’t match.

How the hell did this happen?

I checked the manual.

It was different.

I recalled the salesman’s attitude when I purchased the generator.

When I insisted on buying spare parts for long-term storage, the guy kept rattling on like a damn recording about how amazing their after-sales service was, saying I wouldn’t need any.

When I kept pushing, he let out a sigh and finally handed over some replacement parts—after making me wait 30 minutes.

Looking back, I must’ve been given the wrong ones.

“...Ha.”

Heat rushed to my head, but there was nothing I could do.

The guy was probably dead somewhere in the war, and getting pissed at a corpse wasn’t exactly a productive use of my time.

The only silver lining was that my generator was made by one of the most widely used brands in Korea.

When choosing it, the first priority had been performance, but the second had been popularity.

The more common a machine was, the easier it would be to find replacement parts.

Still, I had no intention of trading with people to get one.

Before getting my generator, I had no knowledge or interest in this field whatsoever.

And let’s be real—how many people in Korea actually knew how to maintain diesel generators used in small-to-mid-sized factories?

The answer was obvious.

Finding someone who could even recognize this type of machine was rare. And someone who had spare parts? Even rarer.

So, I decided to do what Defender always loved and excelled at.

Scavenging.

My generator model was commonly used in small factories with about 100 employees.

During the first two years of the war, scavengers had looted everything they could carry from every abandoned place.

But their priority had always been small, portable, immediately usable items.

Factory-grade industrial machines? Too heavy. Too complicated.

Even the most desperate scavengers wouldn’t mess with something they couldn’t carry—or sell.

I wasn’t exactly in the most convenient location, but this was the Seoul Capital Area, where half the country’s population had once lived.

That meant there were multiple industrial zones within a day’s travel.

I planned to explore one or two.

Bzzzt—

As I was selecting which industrial zone to search, the light bulb above me flickered and went out.

The capacitor power had finally run dry.

I retrieved a portable generator from the garage to provide emergency power.

Brrrr— Brrrr—

Starting the small generator was a pain in the ass.

People with experience could do it easily, but I was still an amateur at this part.

After pulling the starter cord over and over, I finally managed to get it running.

BWAAAAAAAHHHHH—

It might seem like a simple task, but in reality, it wasn’t.

Without electricity, there would be nothing to chase away the darkness inside my bunker.

Sure, I had recently patched things up with Kim Daram, which allowed me to reopen the main bunker entrance that I had previously buried under dirt.

Leaving the door open would let in some light.

But that was only for the entrance.

Without power, my bunker was nothing more than a sealed tomb.

While the small generator was running, I finalized my scavenging targets.

I picked two locations.

The first was a small industrial zone close to my territory—already heavily looted by scavengers, but easy to access.

The second was further away, to the southwest of my territory—in what used to be Gold’s domain.

A pristine area, untouched by scavengers.

I packed my weapons, gear, and food.

For today’s meal, I grabbed an MRE—one of the rations Rebecca had given me.

I wondered if Sue and Rebecca were still doing well.

With thoughts of the mother and daughter lingering in my mind, I mounted my motorcycle and headed toward the first site.

Beep— Beep— Beep—

Whenever I scout the area around my territory, I always bring a Geiger counter.

The radiation should have dissipated long ago, but I check just in case.

That said, the industrial zone wasn’t in good condition.

From a distance, it had seemed intact, but inside, the nuclear blast had roasted the factories to a crisp.

The Geiger counter signaled that it was safe to enter, but the interior told a different story—it practically screamed there’s nothing here.

I found several generators, their casings blackened with scorch marks, and used a voltage tester to check if they were functional.

“...Tch.”

Dead.

All of them.

Every last one.

I should’ve known. This place wasn’t far from the blast zone—there was no way any electrical systems would have survived.

I had taken nuclear bombs too lightly because I had personally gotten through the fallout without much issue.

But in places that weren’t prepared, nuclear attacks were pure annihilation.

It was said that China suffered the worst damage because of its high population density despite its vast landmass.

Ironically, Taiwan, which had been hit just as hard, had fared better in the end.

But both Taiwan and China were dead nations now.

Regardless, one thing was certain—there was nothing to gain from this industrial zone.

I quickly abandoned it and moved on to the next location.

The next target—Gold’s territory—had been a forbidden zone ever since the war ended.

To be precise, its status as a forbidden area was the result of a small miracle—a coincidence of circumstances.

Gold’s gang was undeniably powerful, but their territory had been abandoned as a battlefield during the war.

It held no real strategic value.

It wasn’t located along any key supply lines between Seoul and the major cities.

It was just far enough from Seoul to be considered an afterthought.

In other words, there was no reason to waste resources wiping it out.

And so, the land around it became an untouched paradise for beasts.

The sheer reproductive power of nature was incredible.

Wildlife was everywhere.

Not just the usual deer and boars, but feral dogs, stray cats—hell, even wild horses.

A whole herd was grazing peacefully in the open.

Judging by their long legs and well-proportioned, muscular bodies, they must have originally been racehorses.

I had no idea how they survived that brutal winter when even people were dying in droves.

But nature had a way of enduring.

One thing was clear—the great beast that once roamed these fields was gone.

Gold was dead.

And his child had left this land with the rest of its pack.

With a hunter too ruthless and overwhelming now claiming this domain, there was no longer a place for mutant dogs here.

The industrial zone I was heading toward was near the remnants of a Chinese military garrison.

Not quite inside their controlled territory, but close enough that a distant patrol could potentially notice me.

Nearby was DragonC’s abandoned bunker.

Advanced Materials Industry Complex No. 3203.

The rusted, broken sign confirmed that I had arrived at the right place.

In the distance, I could see the scattered silhouettes of factory buildings.

This was today’s main objective.

Knowing that Chinese troops were stationed nearby, I parked my motorcycle far away, hidden out of sight, and approached on foot.

There were no signs of recent activity.

No traces of people.

No signs of monsters.

Still, caution wouldn’t hurt.

Industrial zones weren’t laid out like old urban areas.

Instead, they were designed in a rigid grid pattern, with straight roads and neatly divided lots leased to corporations.

A well-organized layout might be great for driving, but for someone with a rifle, it meant clear, open sightlines—a sharpshooter’s paradise.

Walking through such an exposed area without thinking was suicidal.

I wasn’t going to loot this place like a common scavenger—I had to expand my domain as I moved.

I reached the first factory.

Even though it was technically outside Gold’s old territory, it had already been looted—probably twice, maybe more.

The scattered garbage, shattered windows, and factory machines wrecked by human hands made that clear.

However, the scavengers’ main focus had been the dormitories, cafeteria, and offices.

The factory equipment itself had been left relatively untouched.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find the model of generator parts I needed.

The place had used overpriced, impractical German-made generators, which had likely short-circuited during the war, as evident from the burn marks.

At least back then, sprinkler systems had still been functioning, preventing the fire from spreading.

Even though I left empty-handed, I had at least secured a safe zone in this complex.

I stood at the entrance, scanning my surroundings.

My focus was on two things: