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 Arclight Squad’s third member.
What should I call it…
Fear of bringing it up?
It might just be my imagination, but that vibe was strong.
“…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-o.
Code name: 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.
‘Destroyed on an op 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 other member later.” “…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 purposely not asking?” “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.” “Priority is fixing the ark’s situation first.” I stood up, wrapping up the meeting.
“Okay, then.
Let’s start with restoring the D-7 Underground Water Plant.
When can we begin mass-producing the mass-produced Echoes?” “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.” “Summary?” “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 Blast Operation and handed it all to the zombies-no, dumped it outside.
Didn’t they think about the people they left behind?
Were they just that eager to die?
‘Could be.’ 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 dodging responsibility.
Blast Operation might’ve been one such case.
The problem was, it left me with this ark dumped in my lap, headache and all.
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 Echoes, arm them up, and clean house in the ark, but…
The Money Compass I’d brought to this world lacked the gacha pull function—the heart of any collectible Echo game for “Echoes of Humanity.” Ridiculous, right?
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ <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 Echoes are made?’ Synthetic skin formed over the frame in place of real flesh, artificial muscle fibers twitched 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 fully formed.
‘I knew the setting was 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.
“Why so serious, our Commander?” 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?’ I might not fully grasp this world yet could be naive.
But even so, I didn’t want to treat Echoes born from my decisions like mere products with words like “assembly” or “production.” “Sigh, whatever.
Our Commander acts like he’s from another world.” “…Huh?” “Where’d you even train to tickle the Echoes’ hearts like this?
Ugh…!” Her chest pressed closer, something firmer pressing against me.
“Our Commander made my nipples hard again.
Wanna bite ’em?
Or should I use my mouth?” Pomen smirked, her eyes signaling just give the order.
The moment I reached for her breast- “Commander?” Arva appeared from the side, data pad 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 her own chest wrapped around my arm.
“Why?
Commander likes this stuff.” “Wh-what?!” Maybe Arva’s reaction sparked her mischief?
Pomen clamped my arm between her breasts and started shaking it.
Strange feeling.
Never imagined getting an arm massage from tits in my 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 Echoes, right?
So can Arva squeeze and shake the Commander’s arm like this?” That must’ve been the limit.
Arva’s face turned beet red, and with a pop, she froze.
“Oh dear, broken again.
Commander, wanna have some fun while she’s out?” …Sigh.” “I’m always ready—ah.
Leaking again.” Playing the game, I’d laugh at the Echoes’ chemistry.
But living it?
Headache city.
Even so, Defender-7 was busy equipping herself and learning her gear’s manual from implanted knowledge.
Like a kid growing up fast.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Underground Water Plant repair: just me, Arva, and Defender-7.
“Ah, no-why me?!” Pomen was benched.
We needed someone to guard the Central AI and monitor the isolated zombies inside the ark-no choice.
“Then let’s move out.” D-7 sector was west of Command.
Leading was Defender-7, now named “Alpha,” thudding along with heavy steps.
(Yeah, I named her.
No other ideas, and she loved 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?” “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.’ But one curiosity lingered.
Not everyone on the ark was military.
Where’d the civilians go?
I was about to ask when an old notebook caught my eye, discarded like trash.
“Arva.” “Yes, Commander.” She picked it up along our optimal path, dusted it off lightly, and handed it over.
‘Damp-ink’s unreadable.’ Later pages were legible, though.
Seemed the owner managed the water plant.
Flipping to the stained final page: [Tomorrow, it’s all over.
Finally escaping this suffocating ark— Let’s wrap it up quick.] Scrawled madly, laced with insanity.
Mindset of those who’d lived through humanity’s fall?
Gave me chills—I snapped it shut.
“Commander, heart rate up to 98 bpm.
You okay?” “Yeah, fine.” I nodded at Arva’s worried voice and chucked the notebook aside.
Holding onto crap like that might drag me into despair too.
“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, melted the hinges of the massive sealed steel door.
Boom!
What d’you call a door that big for blast-proofing?
Blast door?
Inside smelled different right away.
“When did Blast Operation start?” “Twenty days ago.” “…Twenty days.” Yet metal corrosion stench mixed with sour stagnant water stinks—it’s 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 concluded: “Main pump needs replacing.” “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 drains.
“Corrosion is severe.
Full filter mesh replacement needed.
At this state…
Command might not have enough materials.” I could only chuckle bitterly.
“What the hell did these ark idiots drink to survive?” No way they chugged vodka like water like the Russians?
Arva answered my mutter.
“Previous commander and troops drank vodka.” It was true.
“Civilians?” “Left for Ark 72 a month before Blast Operation.
Not sure after.” “So survivors in Ark 72?” “…Ark 72 is now the Crawler Queen’s nest.” Apocalypse.
No thoughts when it was just game or novel fodder.
But this world showed even a shred of hope was luxury.
That’s why we had to forge our own.
“I’ll help with 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.