I’ve never raised animals.

    I spent too much time in places where keeping pets was impossible, and dealing with mutations regularly made it hard to view animals in a positive light.

    Among hunters with war experience, none have pets.

    Meanwhile, a small number of users in our community do raise animals.

    Those who actively raise and care for animals are typically part of group survivalist efforts.

    Anonymous424: "Our dogs."

    Dies_irae69: "Check out my pups."

    These friends, who form groups with like-minded people or family members, tend to control large territories, often centered around exposed houses rather than bunkers.

    The more mouths to feed, the faster food reserves are depleted, forcing them to farm—and farming inevitably requires large stretches of land.

    Well-trained dogs help secure that territory.

    They serve as sentries, threatening and driving off wandering outsiders, and, in some cases, can even be used in combat.

    But their love never lasts long.

    Dies_irae69: "My dogs... I killed them all... with my own hands...."

    There’s no other choice.

    Allowing an animal to start mutating is nothing short of suicide.

    In this way, keeping animals in the age of ruin requires resolve.

    You either need the resolve to kill an animal when it begins to change,

    Or the resolve to accept the mutated animal as it is, no matter how monstrous it becomes.

    There’s someone in our community who made the latter choice.

    He raised sea monkeys.

    *

    I learned about Sea Monkey Papa around the time I started growing accustomed to life in the apocalypse and began accepting ruin as part of daily existence.

    In the early days of the war, I was rigid.

    Even a suspicious shadow on the horizon would have me holding my weapon, ready for hours. I obsessively checked and rechecked my equipment, teetering on paranoia.

    It was the first apocalypse I faced as an individual, not as a hunter, so I was constantly on edge.

    As time passed, I adapted to the changing circumstances and gained experience, eventually loosening up.

    That was also around when I transitioned from being a lurker in the community to posting my own threads.

    At the time, Sea Monkey Papa was an unpopular user with a style similar to mine.

    He worked hard on creative projects, hoping to draw attention, but never received the recognition he sought.

    In my case, I chalked it up to bad luck, but Sea Monkey Papa’s issues stemmed from the very concept he chose to pursue.

    After all, who feels moved or charmed by something as obscure as sea monkeys?

    Most people who clicked on his posts were likely just curious about what sea monkeys were. And when they discovered that sea monkeys were essentially invisible flea-like creatures floating in a tank, they immediately clicked away without a second thought.

    Sea monkeys, officially known as brine shrimp, are primitive crustaceans.

    They’re hardy, easy to care for, and very active, which made them popular as ornamental pets in the late 20th century. But their popularity faded quickly. Now, they’re typically short-lived science projects for kids, doomed to die in a plastic tank—or worse, flushed down the toilet.

    "The sea monkeys are swimming so energetically! These creatures are so hardy they’ve even been found in the Dead Sea, also known as the Sea of Death! But! If you try to raise them in fresh water!! They’ll die!!! Even if they seem okay at first, they’ll eventually die!"

    Sea Monkey Papa was skilled at video editing. Every video he uploaded featured detailed explanations and care tips, aimed at educating viewers about the mysterious creatures known as sea monkeys.

    He used exclamation marks excessively.

    Naturally, his content had no traction.

    Perhaps aware of his poor reception, Sea Monkey Papa set out to create his magnum opus.

    It was a labor-intensive and technically challenging project.

    He fed his sea monkeys glow-in-the-dark food to make them shine in the dark, adjusted the lighting meticulously so his camera could capture them clearly, and paired the footage with beautiful New Age classical music.

    The video showcased glowing sea monkeys swimming in coordinated formations, filmed from multiple angles, in slow motion, and accompanied by painstakingly detailed subtitles—plus a generous dose of exclamation marks.

    The result was an intricate video he uploaded to the forum.

    SeamonkeyPAPA: “Behold the luminous, magnificent nocturnal group dance of the sea monkeys—‘danse en groupe.’”

    At the time, I was about to post my own content and clicked on his thread out of curiosity.

    In his post, Sea Monkey Papa wrote that it had taken him 18 hours of work to create the video and added a sheepish reflection about his effort.

    Eighteen hours.

    My own video had taken me barely a minute to make.

    His dedication was remarkable.

    But as usual, reality was cruel.

    Reenacting the scene back then might look something like this:

    Unicorn18: "Red Archive Hotaru-chan.jpg"

    SUNBI: "A tantalizing Western girl’s barely covered hips."

    SeamonkeyPAPA: "Behold the luminous, magnificent nocturnal group dance of the sea monkeys—‘danse en groupe.’”

    Defender: "Proof."

    Anonymous118: "Super Mario No-Install Edition."

    SKELTON: (Skelton video) “Skelton’s Beatbox (3)”

    At first glance, the thread titles look no different from what you’d find on the forum today.

    But checking the view counts reveals a stark reality:

    Unicorn18: "Red Archive Hotaru-chan.jpg" (22 views)

    SUNBI: "A tantalizing Western girl’s barely covered hips" (93 views)

    SeamonkeyPAPA: "Behold the luminous, magnificent nocturnal group dance of the sea monkeys—‘danse en groupe.’” (8 views)

    Defender: "Proof" (232 views)

    Anonymous118: "Super Mario No-Install Edition" (1,023 views)

    SKELTON: (Skelton video) “Skelton’s Beatbox (3)” (5 views)

    That’s right.

    Sea Monkey Papa’s magnum opus garnered a mere eight views.

    Eight.

    He poured 18 hours of work into a video that only eight people clicked on.

    Surely, it must’ve been a coincidence.

    It had to be.

    But still, I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.

    After all, Woo Min-hee had always been someone who enjoyed lurking in obscure online communities.

    I, on the other hand, barely participated in group chats.

    While I was busy reflecting on my exchange with her, chaos was unfolding on the forum.

    Defender: "I’m telling you, just kill them all. Can’t you tell they’re dangerous? They’re obviously mutated."

    SeamonkeyPAPA: "Shut up, you parentless, ill-mannered murderer! What right do you have to tell me what to do with MY babies? They’re MY kids! I raised them! They’re MY babies!"

    Defender and Sea Monkey Papa—two users who rarely intersected—had erupted into an all-out flame war.

    Watching their heated exchange, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

    It was disillusioning, to say the least.

    Until now, I’d always imagined Sea Monkey Papa as a quiet, composed middle-aged man—a reserved yet dignified gentleman.

    His voice had an air of sophistication, his tone calm and measured.

    Even the glimpses he shared of his shelter suggested a certain affluence and space.

    In my mind, he was a man in his early fifties, perhaps a retired professional, living comfortably despite the apocalypse.

    But the person revealed through his keyboard was someone entirely different.

    The "real" Sea Monkey Papa wasn’t dignified at all.

    He was petulant, immature, and downright vulgar.

    His barrage of insults, filled with crude and obscene language, was almost embarrassing to read.

    Thirty percent of his tirade consisted of expletives referencing genitalia.

    Another thirty percent was devoted to profane insults about Defender’s parents.

    The remaining forty percent? Profanities embellished with his trademark exclamation marks.

    When I applied the forum’s profanity filter, this was all that remained of his posts:

    SeamonkeyPAPA: *"You ****!! You ********!!! ****!!!! ********!! **************!!"

    Meanwhile, Defender’s responses remained calm—at first.

    But everyone knew Defender’s patience had its limits.

    Defender: "Look, I’m saying this for your own good. If you want to die, go ahead, but don’t drag the rest of us down with you. Oh, and by the way, those photos of the reservoir? I know where that is. I can find you."

    Suddenly, I could vividly picture Defender’s cold, calculating glare.

    This wasn’t just idle banter anymore.

    Everyone on the forum could sense it—Defender was serious.

    If I were Sea Monkey Papa, I would’ve apologized or at least stepped away from the keyboard.

    But Sea Monkey Papa did neither.

    SeamonkeyPAPA: "********!!!!"

    “Ah.”

    Defender: "You’re dead."

    SeamonkeyPAPA: *"You ***********!!!!"

    “This is going too far,” I muttered.

    Sea Monkey Papa had crossed the line—far beyond it.

    Even though Defender had a reputation for never harming fellow forum users, this was an exception.

    I immediately sent Sea Monkey Papa a private message.

    SKELTON: "Come on, man. Defender’s actually right this time. Those things are dangerous. Just apologize and end this. What’s the point of fighting like kids?"

    It was my attempt at mediation.

    If necessary, I was even willing to help smooth things over with Defender.

    After all, no matter how annoying Sea Monkey Papa might’ve been, he was still part of our community.

    The thought of losing another member didn’t sit well with me.

    But the reply I received from him was anything but conciliatory.

    SeamonkeyPAPA: "********!!!!"

    With the profanity filter still applied, his words barely registered as human language.

    In that moment, I no longer saw him as a person.

    He was just another sea monkey—nothing more, nothing less.

    SeamonkeyPAPA''s Message: *"No fun **** born **** *****."

    SKELTON: "********"

    *

    Defender: ?????? (Verification)

    Two days later, Defender''s post felt like something straight out of a horror movie—chilling, mysterious, and unsettling all at once.

    Defender had used the coordinates from the reservoir as a guide to track down SeamonkeyPAPA''s shelter.

    Whether he meant it genuinely or was just trying to save face, Defender claimed that his original intent was to shake hands and accept an apology. Perhaps even post a picture as proof of their reconciliation.

    It wasn’t hard to locate the shelter.

    The entrance to the bunker was wide open, and inside, Defender found SeamonkeyPAPA’s beloved seamonkey setup, an old, battered laptop, and various bits of equipment.

    But SeamonkeyPAPA himself was nowhere to be found.

    And it wasn’t just him who was missing.

    The inside of the bunker exuded a palpable sense of deprivation—of poverty and despair. The kind of hopelessness that clung to every surface like a damp, suffocating shadow.

    Defender: "That guy... he barely had any food or supplies left. Judging by the state of the boiler, he hadn’t had heating for who knows how long. The fact that he was even posting on the forum... man, that’s impressive in and of itself."

    Defender’s search revealed SeamonkeyPAPA’s “supplies”: a week’s worth of moldy hardtack, two crates of soju, and half a bottle of seventeen-year-old whiskey spilled across the floor, its cap nowhere in sight.

    Remembering the infamous photo of the reservoir that SeamonkeyPAPA had posted, Defender decided to drain it—to kill every last one of those grotesque mutations.

    When the water was fully drained, there wasn’t a single seamonkey left to be found.

    Instead, in the mud, amid the thick, foul-smelling sludge, lay a single skeletal corpse.

    Its bony remains were rigid, standing almost at attention, like an exclamation mark punctuating the grotesque scene.

    The thought hit like a cruel punchline: "Seamonkeys die in freshwater," the carefully crafted subtitle from one of SeamonkeyPAPA’s old videos replayed in Defender’s mind.

    He hadn’t lied. The seamonkeys were truly gone. Only a tragic, twisted echo of their presence—and their keeper—remained.