Restoring Tarnished Hope
"......"
In response to my question, Arva fell silent for a moment.
Her eyes flickered faintly, as if she were searching through some massive database.
What is it?
In stark contrast, Pomen, standing beside me, had a slightly tense expression on her face.
It felt like she didn't want to talk about the Arclight Squad's third member.
What should I call it...
Fear of bringing it up?
It might just be my imagination, but there was a strong vibe like that.
"...According to the records, Arclight Squad's third member does exist."
Finally, Arva spoke, her voice a tone lower and more subdued than usual.
Model Name: Aegis-0. Codename: Noah.
Arva paused for a moment before adding,
"But, Commander."
"Hm?"
"Searching for her... would be pointless right now."
What did she mean by that?
"Hmmm..."
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed.
A new original ECHO was exactly what we needed right away. We couldn't run the vast Ark 69 with just these two.
Was she destroyed on a mission outside? Or...
Various hypotheses popped into my head and vanished.
But seeing Arva and Pomen's expressions, and the odd tension between them, I decided not to press further.
Eh, they'll tell me when they're ready.
The real urgent issue was the terrifying reality that we only had enough purified water for 13 days.
"Alright, we'll talk about Arclight's third member at a later date."
"...Thank you, Commander."
Arva nodded, a look of relief crossing her face.
Pomen glanced at me briefly, then gave a meaningful smirk.
"Heh, you're not going to ask, really?"
"You'll tell me when you're ready. It's not like we need another original ECHO right this second."
"So considerate… I might just fall for you even harder."
"Our priority is fixing the ark's situation first."
I stood up, wrapping up the meeting.
"Okay, then. Let's start with restoring the Underground Water Plant in Sector D-7. When can we begin the production of the mass-produced ECHOs?"
"Two hours once the factory line is up."
With the heavy topic of Noah gone, Arva slipped back into her role as the squad's capable leader.
"Start production right away."
"Understood. With the ECHO parts we have, we can make up to two units max. It'll take about two and a half hours from production to combat deployment. Once Defender production is done, we'll be left with small sensor modules and auxiliary drive frames."
"To summarize?"
"If they take damage in combat, repairs will be impossible."
I thought for a moment, then shook my head.
What if Arva or Pomen got hurt fighting zombies?
Just imagining it was horrifying.
"...Even if it takes longer to restore, let's make just one."
"Understood."
At this point, I couldn't help but resent the former fleet commander and officers who'd stripped every last resource for that so-called Operation Blast and handed it all to the zombies— no, just dumped it all outside.
Didn't they think about the people they left behind?
Were they just that eager to die?
That’s also a possibility, I guess.
I recalled the game's early setting.
With zombies, mutants, and mechanical monsters, humanity's extinction was already a foregone conclusion.
Plenty of soldiers had gone off seeking ‘honorable deaths’ or worse— dodging responsibility.
Operation Blast might've been one such case.
The problem was, it left me with this Ark 69 dumped on my lap with all the responsibility. It was giving me a massive headache.
Zombies that had gotten inside during combat were isolated internally— we couldn't even sweep them out. We hadn't dared approach in case they noticed us.
And that was just the start.
The warehouse was empty. We barely had any water or the high-concentration nutrient paste that passed for food.
"What a bunch of deadbeats."
Muttering at the ceiling, my eyes drifted to the Money Compass.
At least we had that. If we scrimped with the cash we'd gathered so far, we could last a few months.
I wanted to crank out more original ECHOs, arm them up, and then clean out the Ark of all the zombies, but...
The Money Compass I'd brought to this world lacked the gacha pull function— the heart of collectible games like ‘Echoes of Humanity — ECHO’.
It was utterly ridiculous.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
<Arva: Commander. Defender production prep is complete.>
<Where do I go?>
<Arva: To the ECHO hangar.>
At Arva's message, I headed to the ECHO maintenance hangar.
Rows of massive transparent cylinders lined the hangar bay.
Inside them, pale turquoise culture fluid sloshed, and shapes blending organic and mechanical elements slowly took form.
This is how ECHOs are made?
Synthetic skin formed over the frame in place of real flesh, artificial muscle and fibers twitching like living tissue.
Finally, the exoskeleton locked into place, completing a single unit.
This was my first time seeing an ECHO's birth process.
In the game, they'd just sparkle out of the culture fluid, already fully formed.
I knew the setting was ECHOs humanoid combat units mixing artificial lifeforms and androids, but...
Watching one actually come together felt weird.
To be precise, a chill settled in one corner of my heart.
The idea that a life would move at my command— and might die by it.
That was when it happened.
A soft sensation and familiar scent wrapped around my waist.
"Commander, why do you look so serious, huh?"
Her warm breath tickled my ear.
"First time seeing an ECHO being born."
"...Born? Not assembled or produced?"
Pomen rested her chin on my shoulder, tilting her head as she eyed Defender-7, who was getting her gear painted.
Can you really call that assembly or production?
Maybe I was acting a bit naive for this world’s standards…
But even so, I didn't want to treat ECHOs born from my decisions like mere products with words like ‘assembly’ or ‘production’.
"Sigh, whatever. Our Commander often acts like he’s from another world."
"...Eh?"
"Where'd you even train to tickle the ECHOs' hearts like this? Ugh...!"
Her chest pressed closer, something firmer and pointy pressing against me.
"Our Commander made my nipples hard again. Wanna bite 'em? Or should I use my mouth again?"
Pomen smirked, her eyes signaling to just give the order for her to service me.
The moment I reached for her breast—
"Commander?"
Arva appeared from the side, datapad in hand.
The instant her gaze locked between Pomen and me, her expression hardened.
"Arva's here?"
"Wh-Wh-What?! Pomen, you're too cl-cl-close to the Commander!"
Arva's eyes zeroed in on Pomen’s chest wrapped snugly around my arm.
"Why? Our Commander likes this stuff."
"Wh-What?!"
Maybe Arva's reaction sparked her mischief?
That’s why Pomen clamped my arm between her breasts and started shaking those jugs obscenely.
It was a very strange feeling.
I never imagined getting an arm massage with tits in my entire life.
"Uh, uh-uh, uh..."
"Does our little Arva's small chest mean she can't do this?"
"My breasts are D-cup— not small at all. By human female standards, they're quite large."
"But we're ECHOs, right? So can Arva squeeze and shake the Commander's arm like this?"
"...!!!"
That must've been the limit for the poor ECHO.
Arva's face turned beet red, and with a pop, she froze stiff in place again.
"Oh dear, broken again. Commander, wanna have some fun while she's out of it?"
"...Sigh."
"I'm always ready— ahhh! I’ve started leaking again…"
While playing the game, I often laughed at the chemistry the ECHOS shared.
But now that I was actually experiencing it? It was headache-inducing.
Even so, Defender-7 was using the manual knowledge implanted in its mind to equip itself and learn how to operate its gear.
It looked like a kid growing up in real time. An absurd and wondrous feeling.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
After some discussion, it was decided that only me, Arva, and Defender-7 would go to repair the Underground Water Plant.
"Ah, no— why exclude me?!"
Pomen was benched. We needed someone to guard the Central AI and monitor the isolated zombies inside the ark. Our hands were tied, really.
"Then let's move out."
Sector D-7 of the Ark was west of the Command Center.
Leading ahead was the Defender-7, now named ‘Alpha’, thudding along with heavy steps.
For the record, it was me who had named her.
I gave her a name because I didn’t want to call her by her model name and the newly produced ECHO seemed to really, really like it.
Her floodlight sliced the pitch-black darkness, revealing the Ark's dust-and-cobweb-choked state in stark detail.
"...What a mess."
"D-7 wasn't maintained even under the old Command."
"Why? They needed water too, right?"
"I’m not sure about the reason."
Arva's short reply somehow felt sufficient.
Water was the ark's lifeblood— abandoning it like this...
They never planned to survive from the start, huh…
But one curiosity still lingered in my mind.
Not everyone on the ark was military personnel. Where'd the civilians go?
I was about to ask her when an old notebook caught my eye, discarded like trash.
"Arva."
"Affirmative, Commander."
She picked it up with optimal, flawless movement, dusted it off lightly, and handed it over to me.
It’s so wet that I can’t even make out the writing.
Later pages were legible, though.
From the rought notes, I deduced its owner to be the water plant manager.
I flipped over to the very last page, stained heavily with rot.
Tomorrow, it's finally going to be over.
Finally escaping this suffocating ark—
Let's just end it all quickly.
"......"
The madly scrawled words seemed to reflect the insanity and instability of the writer’s mind..
Was this the mindset of those who had directly experienced the extinction of humanity? I got an uneasy chill and immediately snapped it shut.
"Commander, your heart rate is up to 98 bpm. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I’m fine."
I nodded at Arva's worried voice and chucked the notebook aside.
Holding onto crap like that might drag me into despair too. Just like the notebook’s owner.
"Proceeding with plant restoration."
"Approved."
At my order, Defender-7 stepped forward.
Her arm-mounted plasma cutter glowed blue as it heated, then with a piercing screeeech, she melted the hinges of the massive sealed steel door.
Boom—!
What did you call that huge door again?
A blast-proof door or something?
The smell inside the room, barred by the steel door, was different from the very start.
"When did Operation Blast start?"
"Twenty days ago."
"...Twenty days."
Yet the stench of corroded metal mixed with sour stagnant water permeated the air. It was headache-inducing.
How neglected was this place?
Arva's red optical sensors flashed, scanning every visible machine.
Soon, after crunching dozens of data points, she came to a singular grave conclusion.
"Main pump needs replacement, Sir."
"Got it, Alpha. You up for it?"
"Affirmative, Commander."
With a mechanical edge to her voice, Alpha hefted the heavy motor and set it beside the rusted pump housing.
Plasma torch ignited; seized bolts melted, filling the air with burning metal.
Meanwhile, Arva navigated the web of pipes, opening control valves in sequence.
Each time, rusty water and black sludge poured from the clogged drains.
"Corrosion is severe. Full filter mesh replacement needed. At this state... we might not have enough materials in the Ark."
I could only chuckle bitterly at the conclusion she reached.
"What the hell did these bastards even drink to survive?"
No way they chugged vodka like water like the Russians now, did they?
Arva answered, perhaps after hearing my muttering.
"The previous Fleet Commander and the soldiers drank vodka."
It was actually true???
"What about the civilians?"
"Left for Ark 72 a month before Operation Blast. I am unaware of their preference after their departure."
"So the survivors are in Ark 72?"
"...Ark 72 is now the Crawler Queen's nest."
"......"
Apocalypse.
When I’d only experienced it through games or novels, it hadn’t invoked much thought…
But this world showed even a shred of hope was a luxury.
That's why we had to forge our own hope.
"I'll help with the repairs."
Arva's eyes turned to me.
Her database probably warned of the inefficiency of a human commander doing manual labor.
But she said nothing.
Just silently handed me the best-conditioned work gloves.
With that unspoken support, I began the labor to craft our first oasis from this ruin of despair.