Welcome to Ark No. 17 (1)
Thud. Thud. My footsteps were heavy. Among the more than three hundred Arks, I might have been the only Controller who arrived at the right place at the right time. Of course, the odds of that were vanishingly small. It was also impossible to rule out that the people who had taken refuge in Ark No. 17 were humanity’s final survivors.
“System.”
Administrator privileges confirmed. Controller Lim Hyuk-soo. Welcome to your posting at Ark No. 17.
A mechanical, inorganic voice greeted me. It belonged to the artificial intelligence that managed this Ark. Without it, I would lose all control authority over the facility.
“Lights.”
Power supply to lighting initiated.
Click. Click-click. The office lights came on after a slight delay. As the darkness receded, my mind settled a little. I sat down and studied the dozens of holograms spread across the table. Graphs and statistics painted in various colors—indicators of the Ark’s status. After staring at them long enough to commit the rough outlines to memory, I asked the AI about the initial refugee numbers.
“Refugee count?”
Current refugees: 6,000 military personnel and 1,400 civilians. Most of the soldiers are remnants of the government forces, with a few police mixed in.
“I see. The civilians…”
Occupations and genders vary. Almost none have military experience. Approximately thirty technicians possess skills necessary for Ark operations, but none are capable of maintaining core systems or the mainframe.
“Haa…”
The initial refugee count was exactly 7,400. No more, no less. Well, including myself that made 7,401. The thought only deepened my gloom. I sank halfway into the chair. Its excessive softness felt pointless. A low hum sounded, but the AI had no reason to care about my mood. Fresh holograms rose, showing ragged survivors gasping for breath and civilians trembling with fear.
“…What is their current condition?”
Based on breathing patterns, vocal pitch, and wound severity, they appear to have fought intense battles. Without proper medical care, half the injured will die.
“Can you connect to the speakers?”
Affirmative.
“Do it.”
Connecting…
A brief burst of static lingered in my ears. My gaze remained fixed on the soldiers clutching blood-soaked rifles with shaking hands and the child staring blankly at the ceiling. From this moment on, I was their Controller. I had to feed them, house them, wash them, educate them, and preserve humanity’s trace inside this Ark—no matter the cost.
Speakers connected.
Even after the confirmation, I stayed silent for a long while. What should I say first? Tell the defeated soldiers who had lost their comrades that they were lucky to be alive? Welcome the survivors who had lost their families? I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Fear and trembling gripped me. Yet duty remained, and I had to act. That was the reason I existed. I cleared my throat and activated the broadcast.
“Welcome to Ark No. 17. I am Lim Hyuk-soo, Controller of this facility.”
My voice echoed through the speakers. People began looking around in unison. Once they spotted the ceiling speakers, every gaze turned upward.
“I know everything that happened on the surface. The end has come for humanity. We may be the last of our kind.”
The defeated soldiers lowered their heads. It was a heartbreaking sight.
“You will receive proper medical care and provisions. Various welfare programs, including vocational training, have been prepared to ensure a comfortable life here. Ark No. 17 currently houses 7,400 people—far below its designed capacity of 1.6 million.”
Even though the Ark could shelter over 1.6 million, fewer than ten thousand had arrived. Martial law had been declared and evacuation orders issued, yet this was all that made it. If the routed soldiers hadn’t known the Ark’s location, even those 1,400 civilians would never have entered.
“I don’t know how to console you for the loss of your families and comrades, but I can promise you this: this Ark is humanity’s final stronghold, the sum of every territory we once held, engineered to respond perfectly to any threat. Seven thousand four hundred survivors—this place is safe.”
At those words, the quarantine partitions opened and maintenance robots strode in.
“Do not be alarmed. The robots will guide you to your designated areas. The injured will be taken to the hospital; the hungry will be led to the dining hall.”
Tension visibly eased. Some soldiers were too severely wounded to walk, requiring dozens more robots, but when lives were at stake, what did a few machines matter? I ended the broadcast. I had nothing more to say. The starving and exhausted needed rest and food first.
With my eyes closed, I tried to think about what came next when a robot opened the office door and delivered today’s meal.
Today’s menu: mushroom soup and salmon steak with tartar sauce.
The AI kindly announced the menu. It changed daily to meet nutritional requirements, nothing more. It was an energizing spread. Honestly, I had no appetite, but a Controller skipping meals would only lead to declining stamina. I had to stay ready at all times, so I forced the soup down.
Slurp. The familiar taste—therefore comforting—spread across my tongue. Once I began eating, my long-tensed stomach finally loosened a little, settling with a quiet relief. Frightened by the sensation, I shoveled in more soup until the nausea eased.
“Haa…”
How could I protect thousands of citizens when even eating left me this drained? A wave of self-loathing crashed over me. Rubbing my forearm, I felt goosebumps rise. In the end I finished the salmon steak without tasting it, then sat motionless, lost in thought, until the robot returned to clear the dishes.
Where were the living, and how many remained? Was organized resistance still happening? Had the quarantine seals closed properly? How should personnel be assigned to restart the Ark’s basic life-support cycles…? The questions chained together until I understood what it truly meant to be buried in thought.
Then the AI’s cold mechanical voice broke my reverie.
Controller, medical treatment, meals, and housing assignments for all refugees have been completed.
“Hm? Ah… I see.”
Now that basic necessities were secured, people’s conditions would gradually improve. The Ark was vast—4.5 kilometers underground and 1.7 kilometers above ground. It contained ample recreational facilities, everything needed for people to survive a century without losing their minds. Of course, whether we could actually endure a hundred years remained an open question…
“Current stockpile levels?”
Sufficient. Ark No. 17’s storage is at 100% capacity. Even without internal production or external resupply, current population levels could be sustained for 1,600 years.
“Good… that’s enough. Vocational training and assignments… let’s begin in one week. People still need time.”
Curriculum adjusted per Controller’s orders.
That gave me a measure of relief. The world had truly met its end—an unspeakable catastrophe. I wanted to believe that if I closed my eyes and opened them again, all of this would be a dream and peaceful days would return. But that could never happen. On the way to Ark No. 17, I had seen hell: monsters devouring people, helpless civilians slaughtered, soldiers fighting desperately only to be torn apart and forced into endless retreat. I had fled toward this Ark, leaving them behind. Yes—fled. In the end, these people and I survived, but everyone else I had seen was dead. The pain was unbearable. How could such a disaster strike humanity without any warning or omen? Once more I sank into deep, bottomless despair. There was no future in sight. No—not that the future was invisible. Hope itself had vanished.
Controller, Colonel Alfonso, the highest-ranking surviving officer, requests an audience.