"Where… is this place?"
The question slipped out of Michael's mouth before he fully regained consciousness.
Thump. Thump. Thump…
A dull, rhythmic sound echoed in his ears, heavy and persistent, like something massive colliding again and again in the distance. The sound wasn't chaotic—it was steady, mechanical, almost deliberate. For a moment, his thoughts were sluggish, tangled, unable to distinguish reality from imagination.
Instinctively, Michael raised his hand and pinched his own cheek.
"Ouch…!"
The pain was sharp and immediate, grounding him far more effectively than fear ever could.
"…So this really isn't a dream, is it?"
The throbbing in his head slowly faded, replaced by a cold clarity. Michael exhaled, steady and controlled, and forced himself to sit up. His palm pressed against the ground—and a piercing chill shot up his arm.
Cold.
Hard.
Metallic.
Michael frowned slightly and stood, his legs a little unsteady but not weak. As he brushed off his clothes, he lifted his head and finally took in his surroundings with careful, methodical eyes.
Just as he had glimpsed when he first opened his eyes, he was inside an enclosed Ark compartment.
The space was long and narrow, constructed entirely of reinforced metal. The walls were dark, lined with faint seams and structural joints that hinted at something far more durable than ordinary steel. There were no decorations, no seats, no unnecessary furnishings—only cold efficiency. Everything here existed for one purpose.
Survival.
He stepped toward the side and looked out through one of the windows.
Beyond the thick glass stretched an endless wasteland.
Cracked earth extended as far as the eye could see, broken into jagged plates as though the land itself had been torn apart by some unimaginable force. Ruins dotted the horizon—indistinct shapes half-buried beneath dust and debris. Above it all hung a dim, lifeless sky, devoid of sunlight or stars.
There was no movement.
No wind.
No life.
Not even the illusion of hope.
A faint sense of oppression pressed down on Michael's chest—not panic, but pressure, like the quiet weight before something catastrophic.
"…This place isn't normal."
As the thought crossed his mind, a low mechanical hum resonated through the Ark.
The air trembled slightly.
Then, without warning, a cold, emotionless voice echoed inside the compartment as lines of pale-blue text materialized before his eyes—precise, orderly, unquestionable.
[All survivors have awakened.]
[Survival Ark rules are now being broadcast.]
1. Abandoning your Ark is strictly prohibited.
2. Every 24 hours after departing a Checkpoint, all Arks will arrive at a new platform zone.
3. Upon arrival, Arks may remain at the platform for up to 3 hours.
- During this period, Ark Controllers may choose whether to disembark automatically.
4. Collect resources.
-Resources can be used to upgrade your Ark's level. Each level upgrade will trigger the selection of a new upgrade Protocol.
5. Do not leave the Ark after the departure countdown begins.
.
.
.
6. Survive.
[Rules broadcast complete.]
[Compliance is mandatory.]
...
The text lingered in the air for several seconds before slowly fading away, leaving behind a silence far heavier than before.
Michael stood still, his expression tightening—not in fear, but in understanding.
"So… this really is a survival game."
No negotiation.
No appeal.
Only obedience—or death.
Turning back inside the Ark, his gaze swept across the compartment once more. Aside from the reinforced walls and empty space, only one object truly stood out.
At the very front of the Ark was an oval-shaped device, smoothly integrated into the floor. Its surface was sleek and metallic, faint lines of light tracing its edges like restrained veins of energy. Above it hovered a bright screen, casting a pale glow across the compartment.
On the screen were several large words:
[ARK CONTROL SYSTEM]
Michael didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward and placed his hand on the device. The screen flickered, reacting instantly to his touch.
[ Ark Control System at your service.]
[ Currently controllable options: ]
[ • Ark Controller Information ]
[ • Ark Details ]
[ • Lounge ]
[• Trading Area ]
"…A system?"
His eyes lingered on the options for only a second before stopping on one in particular.
"Lounge?"
The moment he selected it, the interface shifted.
[Current number of people: 10,000 / 10,000]
Before Michael could fully process the number, messages exploded onto the screen.
"You—who are you?! Let me go! I have money! My foster father is very rich! Let me go back quickly!"
"Where are my medicines?!"
"Husband, husband, where are you? I'm Rebica!"
"What's going on? Did I transmigrate?"
"Hahaha! Great! Tomorrow I finally don't have to go to work and see the boss's face!"
The chat flooded endlessly, emotions colliding chaotically—fear, panic, disbelief, excitement. The human response to being stripped of certainty.
Michael watched silently, his expression calm, detached. He didn't scroll frantically. He didn't type. He observed.
Suddenly, one message stood out among the noise.
"Ah, they're really a bunch of idiots. Pretending to be real—do they think I'm stupid? This must be your program's variety show, right? I've seen documentaries before. First it was about going to space, now it's about being trapped in a vehicle. How unoriginal. I'm getting out right now. I don't believe you dare hurt me!"
Replies came almost immediately.
"Brother, calm down! What kind of variety show team can kidnap 10,000 people?!"
"Let him try. Maybe it'll be real."
"The person above is the second biggest idiot."
Less than a minute later, the messages from that person stopped appearing.
At the same time, a subtle change occurred on the interface.
[10,000/10,000] → [9,999 / 10,000]
"…Dead?"
Michael didn't know the answer.
He didn't need to.
Reality had already answered.
He shook his head lightly and closed the lounge interface, choosing not to dwell on it. Wasting thought on the dead was inefficient. He switched to another option.
[Ark Details]
[Level 1 Survival Ark]
[Sections: None]
[Speed: 20 km/h]
[Crafting Table: Level 1 (Can be retrieved)]
[Chassis: Level 1]
[Propulsion System: Level 1]
[Upgrade Requirements:]
• 100 kg Wood
• 150 kg Metal
• 50 Mechanical Components
…
Michael frowned.
"Speed…?"
If the Ark was guaranteed to arrive at the next Platform in exactly twenty-four hours, then speed shouldn't matter.
And yet, it was clearly displayed.
Ten thousand people meant ten thousand Arks. How massive would such a Platform have to be?
Michael glanced back toward the window, eyes narrowing slightly.
"…Does that mean if the Ark is too slow, something will catch up?"
He didn't like that thought.
Continuing to scroll, he opened the final interface.
…
[Ark Controller Information]
[Ark Controller's Name: Michael]
[Identification Number: E-3-1102]
[Ark in Charge: Level 1 Survival Ark]
[Mental Energy: 100]
[Physical Energy: 100]
[Note: Can be naturally restored through eating or resting. Below 10: enters an extreme state of lethargy.]
[Abilities: None]
[Ark Modules: None]
Michael's gaze paused.
A warning line expanded beneath his attributes.
[Note: Mental Energy below 80 will cause mental fatigue; below 50 will trigger mental confusion; below 20 will result in mental instability; below 10 will cause mental breakdown; at 1, unknown effects may occur; at 0, death is highly likely.]
Michael's pupils constricted slightly.
"…So mental energy is my lifeline."
As the thought settled, the interface refreshed once more.
A new line appeared.
[Innate Talent: Enhancement]
Below it, a detailed description unfolded.
[Enhancement: Consumes Mental or Physical Energy to enhance or evolve any existing object, structure, or system under the user's control. No restrictions on form, category, level, or condition.]
Thump…
Thump…
Michael's breathing slowed, controlled, deliberate.
"Enhance… everything?"
The meaning behind those two words was far heavier than it first appeared.
He immediately opened the Lounge interface and searched using a single keyword.
Talent.
Messages flooded the results—confusion, panic, arguments—but none mentioned abilities, enhancement, or anything similar.
Not a single one.
If everyone possessed a talent like this, someone would have already shouted about it.
But there was nothing.
Which meant only one thing.
"…So I'm an exception."
[A/N: Please enjoy my novel! By voting power stones and puting leaving review can inspire me even more :)]