Another survivor exists.

    Melon Musk discovered this right after killing the first zombie and securing the Water Module.

    “Someone’s in the Workshop Module?”

    Melon’s expression twisted in disbelief.

    “That’s impossible. They’re all dead. Every single one of them—except me!”

    When asked if it could be a stowaway, Melon vehemently denied it.

    “Impossible. Even the most skilled stowaway couldn’t hide in this sealed space for half a year without being spotted by six other people.”

    One user, ohio, suggested:

    ohio: “How about closing all the shutters for now?”

    Following the suggestion, Melon sealed the shutters of both the Living Module and the Water Module. As the shutters descended, spreading the dark, viscous zombie blood into spherical droplets in zero gravity, we all stared at the circular window of the Workshop Module, waiting.

    But nothing appeared at the window again.

    Still, the fact remained—someone had appeared there.

    Melon Musk was visibly shaken. The thrill of killing a zombie and the fear sparked by an unknown survivor were too much for his weakened body to handle. He slumped against a wall, nibbling on newly secured space rations to recover his strength.

    Despite his exhaustion, his attention-seeking nature persisted. As he ate, he rambled about how the space food was made, the methods involved, and how it tasted.

    While Melon recovered, the Viva! Apocalypse! chat buzzed with wild speculation about the mysterious survivor.

    The dominant theory? A stowaway.

    If, as Melon claimed, all the crew members were dead, then the only explanation was that someone had hidden aboard.

    But how could anyone sneak onto the Plus Ultra, traversing tens of thousands of kilometers through the vacuum of space at -270°C?

    Vension: “Maybe one of the crew secretly brought along a family member. If they conspired to hide someone without telling Melon, it would make sense.”

    Melon rebutted this theory, explaining that for six months prior to the incident, all food, water, and supplies were strictly monitored. Furthermore, the CCTV feed we were watching was equipped with facial recognition technology—directly sourced from China.

    “And you know how good they are at that stuff, right?” Melon added with a hint of pride.

    Some users proposed an alternative:

    Jekyll: “What if it’s a zombie? Maybe it just looks human because of the lighting or some coincidence.”

    Melon Musk dismissed this but decided to wait and see. For now, recovering his strength and resupplying his nutrients took priority.

    Thus, the space mukbang began.

    Melon’s appetite exceeded my expectations. For quite a while, he diligently devoured space rations, chewing with gusto. Finally, he patted his stomach and stood up.

    “Alright, time to find out who—or what—they are.”

    Melon operated the computer terminal to analyze the recorded face from the camera.

    “What the...?”

    His reaction was immediate—he recoiled from the screen in shock.

    “Donald?!”

    He leaned back toward the monitor, practically pressing his face to the screen to confirm.

    “It’s him. It’s Donald. The same Donald who said he couldn’t work with me and left for space!”

    We couldn’t answer why Donald was there.

    We weren’t on the Plus Ultra. We didn’t know the environment or how external access worked. That mystery was for Melon to solve.

    After pacing around, Melon seemed to piece something together. He nodded to himself and murmured:

    “He must’ve cut the lifeline and jumped straight to the Workshop Module. From my perspective, it looked like he drifted into space, but with the Plus Ultra’s donut-shaped structure, he must’ve moved to another module and entered through its hatch.”

    The mystery unraveled surprisingly quickly. The real issue was what came next.

    “Donald. What’s he planning...? Oh no.”

    Melon’s body trembled.

    “He’s going to take the rocket and return to Earth—alone!”

    The chat erupted with questions:

    “Isn’t the return rocket secured with strict protocols?”

    Melon nodded.

    “It is. But before he went into space, I gave Donald the Master Key. Why? To repair the communication system. He fixed it, and that’s why I can talk to all of you now.”@@@@

    Melon hadn’t yet considered the possibility that Donald had killed the other crew members. Someone needed to bring him back to reality.

    Theoretically, Donald might realize his mistake and reconcile with Melon, but the odds of that happening were as slim as finding breathable air in the vacuum of space.

    Three hours.

    As the final countdown ticked away, the Viva! Apocalypse! users brainstormed frantically to save Melon.

    Yet, most suggestions were impractical, requiring risks that the fragile Melon simply couldn’t take.

    The most viable option was to eject the Workshop Module from the Plus Ultra entirely, but that would leave Melon adrift in space forever.

    Sure, Melon’s company might send another rocket to rescue him someday, but the chances of that were even slimmer than Melon defeating Donald in hand-to-hand combat.

    Time flew by in the rising tension. One hour passed, then two.

    The chat continued to fill with user suggestions:

    ohio: "Turn an oxygen tank into a flamethrower. Ignite it as soon as Donald steps in."

    Daniel Flix: "What about the net strategy? It worked on the zombies. If you throw it just right..."

    dongtanmom: "Yum."

    HashireV4: "Why not use the vacuum of space? Secure yourself with a tether and open the external hatch to eject him into space."

    X’Ds_Grrrrr: "Lure him into the Mutation’s room. Sure, you might die, but it’s a 50/50 chance, right?"

    mmmmmmmmm: "What if we exploit the incline?"

    None of the ideas were promising.

    Melon, his energy drained, merely stared blankly at the chat, unable to muster the strength to argue.

    There had to be another way.

    Something to help the helpless Melon defeat that murderous Donald.

    I stared at the CCTV feeds again, hoping for inspiration. The environment was already familiar, but perhaps there was something new to spot.

    And then I saw it—a massive, brown, furry mass clinging to the skeletal framework like a spine.

    Bumpy.

    The mutated sloth, once deemed the root of all evil aboard the Plus Ultra.

    Motionless, like any good sloth, the massive creature loomed silently. As I stared at it, a sudden thought struck me.

    What if Bumpy wasn’t the bad guy?

    What if Bumpy was actually friendly, a potential ally to Melon?

    Like the bond I had with Gold, or the cat mom with her designer-brand-named felines.

    Maybe the solution lay there—with Bumpy.

    But first, I had another problem to solve.

    Click-clack.

    [Would you like to request unban privileges?]

    Click-clack.

    SKELTON: YES.

    Click-clack.

    SKELTON: YES.

    A video chat window opened.

    On the screen was a dimly lit office. A woman in a suit sat silhouetted against the light, her piercing gaze fixed on me.

    It was her—the Viva! Apocalypse! mod who had banned me.

    She leaned forward, typing:

    VIVA_BOT014: "Explain yourself, Skelton. Why should I lift your ban after three counts of disruptive behavior?"

    I typed back:

    SKELTON: "I’ve found a way to save Melon."

    The woman crossed her legs the other way, her expression sharp.

    VIVA_BOT014: "It’s not just about the method. It’s about your credibility. Who are you?"

    She leaned closer, her face now fully visible—a striking mix of Asian and Western features, no older than her early twenties.

    Her face was pretty enough, but her dominant expression was one of contempt.

    She looked down on me.

    I removed my cap—a $69 black one from my beatboxing days—and stared at my phone, synced to the Obelisk system.

    Click-clack.

    SKELTON: "How do I prove it?"

    The woman, in slightly broken Korean, spoke:

    "Are you a hunter?"