With a hired crew now preparing the abandoned tower, I turn my focus to ordering vital supplies and planning the internal layout to transform it into a self-sustaining refuge.
The windowless first floor I leave mostly empty - open space to allow sightlines for observing any breaches, as well as laying traps against intruders. Minimal furniture also provides manoeuvrability in case of infiltrators.
The second level holds energy sustainability provisions - piles of coal briquettes, stacks of butane and propane tanks, and barrels of fuel stabilisers to maintain potency. Solar panels will later occupy the open rooftop as redundant backup power.
Additionally, the second floor houses an entire workshop of repair supplies - comprehensive tool sets for handling electrical, plumbing, carpentry, and mechanical issues. Stockpiles of spare parts, electronic components, wires, pipes, lumber, and metal stock to fabricate replacements for maintaining critical shelter systems.
Having lived through prior timeline collapses, I know scavenged machinery and technology erode without proper upkeep. So, this entire level supports keeping operational security intact long after societal infrastructures crumble.
The third floor I designate for stockpiling consumable supplies - palettes loaded with canned goods, giant sacks of rice and beans, crates of ammunition, and rows of shelving holding medicines, vitamins, tools, and hygiene items. Anything to sustain life indefinitely.
The fourth level provides mental sustenance and diversion - exercise equipment, games, musical instruments, painting supplies, and a small library full of textbooks on everything from philosophy to masonry. Keeping my sanity intact alone is equally vital.
The topmost fifth level I commandeer for living necessities – bedroom, kitchen, dining area, and a communications hub for monitoring external threats when technology persists. This aerie command post keeps me healthy and vigilant.
I spend hours finalising supply lists and drafting layout diagrams of the planned floors down to precise detail. Window exits, defendable areas of retreat - every architectural facet serves the single goal of riding out the apocalypse within these sombre towers turned towering fortress of survival.
With the interior floors and supplies now planned, I shift focus to fortifying the exterior perimeter of the abandoned tower that will become my apocalypse citadel. Survival also depends on self-sufficiency when all infrastructure and supply chains collapse.
The first priority is establishing durable barriers. I instruct the work crew to erect over two metres of reinforced concrete walls completely surrounding the property. Additional metal fencing and barbed wire across the top provide redundant exterior fortification.
Every few metres I order CCTV cameras installed back-to-back to provide unbroken lines of surveillance sight. A high-resolution rotating sensor above the armoured front entrance identifies any movement from all directions. No approach to this stronghold goes unseen.
The barricaded entrance itself resembles a military blast door, able to halt even a speeding truck with its rolled steel and internal honeycomb cross-bracing. Yet, it swings smoothly open at the touch of the custom keypad known only to me.
Seeing sustainability, the property also offers ample rear grounds to cultivate raised garden beds filled with nutrient-rich soil. Here, sprouts ripening fruit and vegetables watered from rain collectors supplement my canned stocks when ripe.
Additionally, a discreet soundproofed coop with mesh fencing at the back edge safely houses chickens, providing a renewable source of meat and eggs as well as suffer no predators.
I pace the interior, picturing these outer fortifications in my mind. Yes, with unbroken perimeter security and agricultural plots placed, this abandoned concrete tower and its grounds will soon become a stronghold supplying absolute sanctuary from the ravages without...an oasis preserving life amidst creeping death.
As the fortifications take shape, my thoughts turn to acquiring a critical supply nearly impossible to obtain through legal means in this country - weapons. Guns of any kind are strictly forbidden in South Korea.
In prior loops, when everything collapsed, I had tried raiding police armouries only to find them already ransacked by vigilantes and military defectors. Firearms disappear instantly from official channels once societal order unravels.
That leaves the shadowy black market networks as my sole remaining option if I hope to arm myself adequately against the human predators which emerge. The underground gun trade operates entirely through opaque channels requiring underworld contacts to navigate.
During my law enforcement days, we would occasionally place contraband weapons stings aiming to arrest the ruthless dealers funnelling arms illegally obtained from foreign crime syndicates. But now, ironically, as an outside-the-law prepper foreseeing civilisation's meltdown, the very same shadowy gun runners comprise my one supply source to obtain the illicit means for defence. How far the righteous man falls when disaster strikes.
Securing bulk antibiotics poses a similar dilemma. Stringent national regulations restrict antibiotic access to strict doctor prescriptions only. But the medical system grinds to a catastrophic halt once the outbreak cripples infrastructure. Again, that leaves the mercenary black market as my sole option for obtaining volume antibiotics to stockpile against injuries, infections, and diseases soon to run rampant.
Clearly, I must tap carefully into these dangerous criminal elements, obscuring the breadth of my intentions when inquiring discreetly about purchases. If word leaks out regarding the full scale of my efforts here from loose lips seeking to benefit, it sets off a wave of external attacks by every desperate faction imaginable.
No, utmost secrecy is paramount. The gear and provisions now in motion arm this bastion impregnably yet attract zero attention beyond its formidable walls once the wider death throes commence. This shining refuge repels ALL who try wresting control of these precious resources hoarded like an ark against the coming deluge.
I hear the rumble of a large shipping truck grinding its way up the long gravel drive. Peering out the slit windows of the fortified tower, I spot the vehicle pulling up and idle outside the towering concrete barricades surrounding the grounds.
The driver steps out, holding a clipboard, glancing around warily. Hardened eyes sizing up the ominous façade of the windowless citadel. Skyward sweeping spotlights met equally by sights monitoring him from above.
Finally, I buzz the reinforced portal open. The driver cautiously makes his way up the path.
Spotting me at the entrance and pausing, he says: "You are the one who ordered all them giant sacks of rice and cans?" His normally jovial face furrows. "Odd time of year for panic shopping your cellar full."
I force a smile. "One seeks comfort food in dangerous times, no?"
He scratches his head. "Suppose so..." But continues squinting dubiously around the imposing fortifications.
As he turns to set down the loads, I spot his face in the dim lighting.
Something about his features and build seems familiar. I rack my memory, trying to place him as I help stock the essential food provisions away.
Could he be...?
Yes - I'm almost certain this is Joon-ho, an old colleague from my police academy days. But out here now alone on the rural fringe of civilisation, encountering a fellow officer seems impossible.
Still, the memory nags me. As we finish, I decide to subtly probe just to ensure my secrecy remains intact out here. No harm being certain.
"Forgive me, but you do seem familiar," I say, handing him a container. "Did we ever cross paths in Seoul years back?"