7th Squadron, Scramble

The 7th Squadron reporting from the flagship. All systems nominal. Proceeding with launch.

Time had slipped by unnoticed. The sun that once scorched the horizon now hung directly overhead. Throughout the hours, the gunships had continued their ceaseless flights, ferrying survivors back to the Ark. The number of active squadrons had already exceeded seven. Roughly 3,300 people had been evacuated so far. Each time a gunship returned, the same grim scene repeated: emaciated survivors, barely able to stand, staggered out of the cramped cargo holds.

I wanted to watch until the end, but a Controller always had duties waiting. After seeing the third squadron return, I made my way back to the office on the first floor, handling minor administrative tasks on my tablet as I walked.

"Hmm. I wonder if the total will start with a seven or an eight once we've taken in everyone."

In an Ark chronically short on population, the difference between seventy thousand and eighty thousand was enormous. With the survivor count rising, perhaps a little optimism was warranted.

Of course, the AI refused to indulge my hopeful calculations. It always assumed the worst. Such a considerate machine.

"Even with thirteen thousand added, our original population was only around sixty thousand. Makes sense. Still, the fact that survivors were confirmed in Sieberstadt means other cities and towns likely have people left as well… Looks like we really will need to build an aerial refueling platform after all."

That was just talk. With the defensive wall still incomplete, an airport was out of the question. For now, the gunships alone were sufficient.

Once inside the office, I manipulated several holograms, tracking the movements of the 3,300 new arrivals. I wasn't monitoring the survivors themselves, but rather checking whether the Public Security Bureau and the Administration Bureau were properly managing their intake and control.

Half had already been taken to hospitals or cafeterias. Those still mobile were receiving clothing and necessities at the administrative center before being assigned housing. Those who had reached their quarters had collapsed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into bed, overcome by exhaustion. A few remained awake—not by choice, but because they were still locked in a state of extreme alertness and simply could not sleep.

"…"

Yet something felt off.

"AI. Map."

In an instant, the smaller holograms merged into a single massive map. As always, it centered on Ark No. 17, with Sieberstadt also displayed. Exactly 87 kilometers south of Sieberstadt lay Ark No. 23.

A soft chime echoed as the icon for Ark No. 23 pulsed on the map.

Despite being significantly closer to Sieberstadt than we were, it had conducted no rescue operations whatsoever. What did that mean?

"Hmmm…"

The chair hinges groaned as I leaned back, but that was the least of my concerns. For any Ark Controller, rescue operations were an obligation. I myself had already thrown troops into hell to save civilians. The survivors in Sieberstadt had contacted us after finding a government-issued manual listing emergency frequencies for contacting official agencies. Apparently, such manuals had been distributed to communication towers and facilities in preparation for this exact scenario.

That much I could understand. After all, 17 came before 23. As the map showed, Arks 1 through 16 were simply too far from Sieberstadt for reliable communication, and repeated transmissions would only draw the monsters. So the signal had eventually reached us.

But how to explain the five-month delay?

Three possibilities stood out.

1) The Ark had failed to activate during the initial evacuation, or had been rendered inoperable for unknown reasons.

2) The initial evacuation had succeeded, but subsequent internal or external problems had prevented normal operation.

3) For some reason, the Controller had abandoned the duty of rescuing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠survivors.

"Hmm…"

I ordered the AI to handle administrative tasks in my stead and began jotting notes directly onto the map, organizing my thoughts.

First possibility: failure of the initial evacuation and Ark activation.

"Honestly, the odds are low, but… there’s always that ‘what if.’"

Acryteum, the material used to construct the Arks, was the hardest substance humanity had ever created. The Arks had been built to house 1.6 million people precisely because making them any larger would have consumed too much Acryteum to be economically viable. If an Ark made of that material had failed to activate, it would have been a systems issue. Yet even that seemed unlikely. The Arks were programmed to maintain minimal functions until a Controller arrived, at which point full authority would be transferred. If no Controller appeared within the allotted time, the AI would conduct its own assessment and select the most suitable candidate. Without any personnel reaching the Ark, and with no drones available, it would simply remain a hollow shell repeating minimal operations.

I dismissed this scenario because of Ark No. 17’s own example. Even as the monsters advanced, military units had received the Ark’s location from higher command and successfully escorted civilians to safety. Why would Ark No. 23 have been any different? Only if its soldiers and civilians had been completely wiped out by sheer bad luck—but that still felt improbable.

Next, the second scenario: internal or external complications.

"This seems the most likely. Perhaps too few people evacuated, leaving them critically understaffed."

After all, Ark No. 17 had started with only 7,400 survivors. This was the most plausible explanation. Especially if, in the early chaos, they had broadcast indiscriminately to locate civilians and inadvertently drawn hordes of monsters to the Ark’s vicinity. Opening the outer walls or main entrance under those conditions would have meant the end.

Learning that the monsters could detect ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠transmissions made me quietly grateful that Commander Alfonso had brought the locations of civilian shelters early on. Because we already knew where they were, we hadn’t needed to emit signals ourselves. When we did transmit to make contact, every piece of communication equipment in the shelters had fortunately been damaged, preventing focused transmissions. The scattered, distorted signals had kept the monsters from pinpointing our location.

"Really… detecting transmissions. If we hadn’t known that, who knows what would have happened."

The monsters might not understand the content of the messages, but if they could simply detect that signals were being exchanged between specific locations, the game would be over. It would be like playing with map hacks enabled—completely helpless.

Therefore, I believed the second scenario was the most probable. If Ark No. 23 was effectively "trapped," there would have been nothing they could do whether they received our transmissions or not.

That left the third possibility. Frankly, it also seemed unlikely. An Ark operating without issues, with sufficient personnel, yet its Controller simply refusing to fulfill the duty? That bordered on impossible—at least for Controllers trained by international institutions like myself. We had been selected specifically for our ability to maintain composure and duty even under extreme conditions.

The only way this could happen was if the original Controller had failed to reach the Ark during the initial evacuation and someone else had taken the role. In that case, without the ingrained sense of mission, and having been an ordinary person until recently, they might lack the confidence to attempt the difficult task of rescuing survivors from a city dozens of kilometers away—even with the latest equipment and AI assistance. It would only make sense if this scenario overlapped with the second one, leaving even a capable Controller with no viable options.

"Haa… Damn it. Looks like we’ll have to make contact with Ark No. 23 after all."

Speculating endlessly was pointless. Meeting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them directly would be far better. But with the rescue operation still ongoing and the military already pushed to its limits by repeated external missions, all I could do was suppress my frustration and watch the Ark’s population counter continue to climb.