A low, heavy hum of machinery.

  In a dimly lit room, a man seated in a mechanical recliner gently opened his eyes, through which streams of digital information danced. His skeletal hand, wrapped in taut skin, came into view. Bathed in the glow of a wall-spanning monitor display, the hand appeared dyed black by the darkness.

  The man had no name. His original name had been stripped away, the nickname given by a friend in a hazy memory long forgotten. Assigned an alphanumeric identifier, he had let memories erode over countless years, piling up like dust in the recesses of his mind as he leaned back in his chair.

  Nameless… That was the word he used to define himself, unchanged even after a century. Whether the upper echelons of the Ark called him “N” or his official designation, N-WarBrain. NO.0, he uttered not a single word. Nameless was the sole self-ascribed identity he clung to, an inviolable sanctuary. It was the only resistance left to a man whose everything had been taken, whose life and death were at the mercy of others, sustained forcibly by nutrient tubes and life-support devices piercing his back.

  Operating the keypad, the man—Nameless—compiled blueprints for weapons of mass destruction. Closing his eyes again, he dove into the sea of electrons, peering through surveillance cameras in the residential district, isolated from his room. No matter how robust the security, locks and secrecy were meaningless to the man who had designed the Ark and built its operating system from scratch. Observing the residential area, Nameless watched children running through corridors and a loving couple walking hand in hand, the woman rubbing her swollen belly. Shifting his perspective, he reactivated a disabled surveillance camera.

  “…The upper echelons intend to keep us caged until we die,” a voice said.

  “But, Kamishiro, everything you say is mere speculation and conjecture. Listen—the Ark is humanity’s final bastion, our paradise. Why would the upper echelons destroy the paradise they built?” another countered.

  “No. The Ark is nothing more than a city-scale shelter created by a single genius. I hesitate to say this, but… the upper echelons plan to abandon us and build a new paradise. Here’s the proof.”

  The man called Kamishiro, dressed in a white coat, transferred data to a senior researcher in a private room, scratching his graying hair.

  Even data sent through a secrecy program was as good as an open invitation when transmitted over the Ark’s network. Nameless, effortlessly bypassing the highly proprietary security, instantly deciphered the upper echelons’ hidden plan and stored it in his standalone auxiliary brain.

  The T-Plan: a paradise governed by a perfect god. A scheme to escalate war, reduce the population, and lead only the chosen to a promised land ruled by a divine human. Scanning the simplistic plan steeped in eugenics and elitism, Nameless scoffed, mocking the foolish upper echelons while anticipating Kamishiro’s next words.

  “Are we supposed to live our entire lives in this shelter, only to die here?”

  No, that’s not it, is it? At least, I don’t think so. Nameless’ dry lips moved in sync with Kamishiro’s words.

  “You have children, don’t you? No, everyone here has children. Can we show them this future—this broken world—and expect them to pass it on to the next generation?”

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  That’s why we need to change it! We can’t let our sins be inherited by future generations, can we?! Kamishiro and Nameless spoke in unison, and Nameless let out a resigned chuckle.

  Idealists always appealed to emotion. They pushed forward without concrete plans or clear accountability, piling up excuses for inevitable failures. Long ago, in the dust-covered depths of his worn memories, Nameless’ friend had spouted similar impossible ideals.

  Everyone starts with determination, chasing beautiful dreams while ignoring the dirty footprints they leave behind, only to meet despair in the end. Just as Nameless had, just as his dead friend had… The scientists on the camera would chase their impossible ideals and drown in regret.

  The world doesn’t change. It resists change, fearing it, striving to maintain the status quo. Satisfied with the spectacle, Nameless exhaled and moved to cut the camera feed. Then he noticed Kamishiro staring directly into the lens.

  “…You all might think it’s impossible. That the Ark’s future is set, dictated by the upper echelons’ will. That’s why I’ll seek help… from him, alone.”

  “Him?”

  “The designer of the Ark, the man who killed and saved the most of humanity. You probably don’t even know he exists. But it’s no exaggeration to say that all our advancements in nanomachine and viral technologies began with him.”

  A bad feeling crept over Nameless. Kamishiro’s gaze seemed to pierce through the lens, as if he knew the man sitting on the other side.

  Pulling his consciousness from the digital sea, Nameless opened his eyes to find a bespectacled man in a white coat standing before him. Kamishiro, his face etched with deep fatigue, stood with his hands in his pockets.

  “N-WarBrain. NO.0… I’ve finally found you.”

  “…”

  “You saw the footage. Please… lend us your strength. Our plan cannot begin without you. I beg you… share your wisdom. For that, I’ll—”

  Manipulating the control panel, Nameless summoned dozens of self-defense turrets, locking their targeting systems on Kamishiro, his finger hovering over the fire command.

  “Wait! I know your name from a soldier’s video record! Nameless—that’s what it was! Please, just hear me out!”

  Nameless’ finger froze, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at Kamishiro.

  “…It’s been a while since I heard that name,” he said, his voice a strange blend of an old man’s rasp and a young man’s tone, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  “…Can I ask one thing?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “That soldier… what was his face like in the end? No, sorry. If he mentioned my name when he died, it must’ve been footage from before he left for the Eurasian front. But…”

  He didn’t send me that footage—how very like him. Gazing at the ceiling, Nameless recalled distant memories, his voice tinged with loneliness and sorrow as he chuckled.

  “…He said,” Kamishiro began.

  “…”

  “If anyone sees this footage, tell that idiot Nameless: don’t give up. The sky, the earth… the future is in your hands. If you need the footage—”

  “No need.”

  “…”

  “Why would I, with my past nearly worn away, need his footage? Sentimentality that pains the heart and wounds the mind is irrational. But… if that’s what he said in his final moments, then I must act. That’s how I should interpret it.”

  Without moving, Nameless operated the panel with his gaze and bony fingers, sending a research file to Kamishiro. “What you do with it is up to you. Use it wisely,” he said, making slight adjustments to the Ark’s security system.

  “This is…”

  “Unrealistic, reckless, trash… A research document the upper echelons rejected and denied. Call it the Holy Droplet or the Infinite Bug. No human was ever compatible with it, so the technology was never realized. It’s yours now, Kamishiro.”

  Even a perfected technology is worthless without a compatible host. Handing over what could be called his greatest masterpiece, Nameless closed his eyes and dove back into the digital sea.

  “…Thank you, Nameless.”

  “Save your thanks for after you succeed. If you fail, it’s just a dying wish.”

  “…One last thing.”

  “What?”

  “That soldier’s dream—the blue sky and green trees—I promise we’ll make it a reality.”

  With that, Kamishiro ran off. Nameless, watching him go with half-open eyes, browsed image data of the blue sky and green trees his friend had longed for, storing it in his data archive before altering the surveillance and monitoring systems.