Random&heart

I exhaled slowly. The important thing was that it wasn't a sigh of despair. The long, grueling experiments had finally concluded, and the remaining creatures had all been dissected to map out their physiology. It was a shame, in a way. Still, more monsters could always be captured. The results, as expected, confirmed my suspicions. Their organs had enlarged and were wrapped in flexible yet durable fibrous tissue to accommodate the rapid physical changes. The most striking feature was the heart—its atria and ventricles had swollen irregularly, resembling grotesque tumorous masses. This wasn't an individual anomaly; every specimen shared the trait. Those organs now floated in nutrient solution, electrodes attached, reduced to playthings for the researchers.

Aside from that, nothing had happened. Truly nothing. Ark No. 17 remained free of any irregularities, save for the routine incidents and accidents that occurred daily.

"Peaceful, isn't it..."

By now the administrative bureau had enough experience to handle most matters on its own, so it was only natural that my workload as the one overseeing the overseers had decreased. Unless the population suddenly surged again, no other survivor groups existed within the Ark's known range.

Crunch... crunch... Slurp...

Thanks to that, I could finally enjoy a rare moment of genuine rest, savoring cookies and coffee procured from the newly opened bakery inside the Ark.

"These cookies are quite good. Business should be booming."

"Haha. The owner knows how to run a business."

After all, if I heard that the head of state bought cookies from a particular shop, even I would be curious enough to visit. The taste was decent, so as long as they secured a loyal customer base, success wouldn't be difficult. A man in his forties nibbling cookies and sipping coffee in his office might look a bit pathetic, but one couldn't simply skip work just because there was nothing to do.

Boredom eventually drove me to rummage through the office computer's files, wondering if anything had been installed.

"Hmm... Not even Solitaire?"

The absence of even Minesweeper was mildly shocking. Yet as I continued digging, I found something odd.

"...What is this?"

Random&heart. A game? But no game should have been installed on a work computer.

"Interesting..."

The AI's response piqued my curiosity. I clicked the icon and folded my arms, waiting for it to load.

After a few seconds, the application filled the screen. The cute logo made it clear this wasn't meant for work. And finally, Random&heart revealed itself.

"Huh? What is this? It's a chat app."

A so-called "random chat" application—one of the few that had survived from its peak popularity in the 21st century into the mid-22nd. I remembered getting hooked on it myself when I was younger.

"Who installed this?"

There was a plausible explanation. Although this was technically a work computer, most tasks were handled by the AI mainframe's processing power. The office terminal only needed to connect to the mainframe; it didn't require supercomputer-level specs. Cost-saving measures often meant bringing in used machines. When one broke, it was simply replaced. This app was probably a remnant that survived the formatting process when the used computer was installed here. How that was possible, I couldn't say.

"Still... of all things, a random chat app..."

Random chat, by definition, required another person. Given the monsters' attraction to communication signals, transmission facilities would have been destroyed first. The app might run, but actual use would be impossible. Even if it worked, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠monsters would swarm the moment a signal went out.

Then something astonishing occurred.

"...Huh?"

"..Huh?"

What was I looking at? A chat invitation? The kind I was thinking of? That... that couldn't be possible...

I rubbed my eyes. The popup vanished without a trace. Of course. How could a chat invitation function in times like these? I must have been pushing myself too hard lately; my eyes were clearly fatigued.

"Ugh...?!"

My attempt at rationalization proved meaningless. The unknown sender was clearly desperate to speak with me—there was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠denying it.

"AI!"

"Begin screen recording immediately!"

Thump! Thump!

I didn't understand what was happening, but I couldn't ignore someone outside who still possessed functional communication equipment and was desperately trying to reach out.

*

A cheerful sound effect played as I entered. A dark, gloomy background greeted me.

"Uh..."

What should I type?

Before I could decide, the other side greeted me first.

I asked just in case. An automated responder would have been deeply disappointing. Fortunately, it wasn't.

The words struck me like a blow. The Data Center! How had I not thought of it? Naturally, data centers were among the nation's critical facilities. They possessed heavy security that monsters couldn't easily breach, and various equipment had been installed to disrupt signal interception, along with electromagnetic shielding that made detection by monsters nearly impossible. Good heavens, a data center! Perhaps I had been searching for survivors through too narrow a bureaucratic lens. If the emergency defense systems had functioned properly, survivors lasting half a year was entirely plausible.

This was a common story. I didn't know how much emergency rations had been stored, but feeding hundreds of data center staff for seven months would have depleted supplies by now. As an administrator, strong leadership hadn't been required, so control had ultimately failed, leaving only this survivor.

"AI. You recorded all of that, correct?"

"Excellent. Now convene an emergency meeting!"