1.
The first thing that registered was the smell.
Disinfectant, sharp and chemical, mixed with the unmistakable tang of rusting metal. It clawed at the back of Yuma Sakakibara's throat before he was even fully conscious. A headache pulsed behind his eyes—a dull, insistent throb that felt like a hangover from a dream he couldn't remember.
Where…?
He forced his eyelids open. Blurred shapes swam into focus: sterile white walls, a low ceiling lined with seamless panels, a floor of polished gray composite. He was lying on a narrow cot, still dressed in his school uniform—the same dark blazer and trousers he'd worn that morning. Or what he thought had been that morning.
Morning… what morning?
Memory was a fog. He could recall his name—Yuma Sakakibara—his age, his school, the fact that he'd won the national programming competition last month. The trophy was on his shelf at home, a sleek silver cube engraved with his name. He remembered the taste of the celebratory coffee his father had bought him, bitter and too strong. He remembered walking out the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, the autumn chill biting through his blazer.
But everything after… after leaving home? A blank. A smooth, unnerving wall of nothing.
Systematic memory loss. His logical mind latched onto the term. Not natural. Not accidental. Erasure.
Groans sounded around him. He turned his head, wincing at the stiffness in his neck.
Five others lay on identical cots arranged in a rough circle.
To his left, a girl with short, athletic build—Ruri Shirahane, his mind supplied automatically. Track-and-field ace, sunny disposition, always at the center of school events. She was stirring, one hand pressed to her forehead.
Across from her, a tall, scowling boy with bruised knuckles—Tsukasa Kirijima. Delinquent, dropout, fighter. Rumors said he'd broken a teacher's nose last year. His eyes were already open, scanning the room with predatory alertness.
Next to Tsukasa, a petite girl with long, dark hair half-covering her face—Komachi Chihaya. Art prodigy, award-winning painter, so quiet you could forget she was there. She was curled on her side, trembling.
Beside Komachi, a slender boy with glasses and an unnervingly calm expression—Sakuya Kujo. Son of a psychology professor, self-proclaimed "human-behavior observer." He was already sitting up, adjusting his glasses as he studied the others.
And finally, a small, mousy girl curled into a tight ball, her uniform rumpled—Hikari Aizawa. The background character. Average grades, no special talents, the kind of person who blended into classroom walls. She hadn't moved at all.
All wearing the same uniform. All stirring with the same disoriented confusion.
Why are we… together? Yuma's thoughts raced. Six students from different social strata. No apparent connection. Abducted?
"What… what happened?" Ruri's voice was raspy, her usual bright tone dimmed by fear. She pushed herself up, rubbing her temples. "My head… feels like it's been split open."
"Some kind of… detention room?" Tsukasa growled, sitting up and immediately scanning the walls with a fighter's instinct. "Who the hell locked us in? Show yourself!"
Yuma's logical mind kicked into higher gear, pushing past the haze. Observation first. Data collection. He swung his legs off the cot, his shoes scraping the floor. The room was about ten meters across, featureless except for the six cots and a single observation window set high on one wall—dark, reflective, probably one-way glass. No door visible.
"No handles, no seams," he muttered, walking to the nearest wall and running his fingers along it. "Smooth composite. Could be a sliding panel, but I don't see triggers or pressure points."
"Great. A genius can't find the door." Tsukasa's sarcasm was thick. "Maybe we're supposed to wait for the teacher to come scold us."
Sakuya adjusted his glasses, his gaze analytical. "Fascinating. Collective amnesia following a shared event. The uniformity of memory loss suggests an external intervention rather than natural causes—chemical, neural, or technological."
"You think?" Tsukasa shot back. "Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."
"Focus." Yuma ignored them, his eyes landing on Hikari. She hadn't moved, still curled tightly, her shoulders trembling. "Hey. You okay?"
No answer. Just a faint, hitched breath.
Komachi spoke softly, her voice like a whisper of wind through leaves. "She's… scared. We all are."
Yuma was about to reply when the smell hit him again—stronger now, beneath the disinfectant. Something coppery. Metallic.
Blood.
His eyes snapped to the corner of the room, opposite the observation window. A shape lay there, partially shadowed. A boy in the same uniform, slumped against the wall, head lolled at an unnatural angle.
The realization didn't come slowly—it crashed into him like a physical blow.
"Oh god…" Ruri's hand flew to her mouth.
Yuma's pulse spiked, adrenaline flooding his system. He took a step closer, his breath catching in his throat.
The boy's wrist glowed with a neon-blue tag, digits displayed clearly: 07. Their own wrists bore identical tags, Yuma realized with a jolt—he glanced at his: 01. Ruri's was 02, Tsukasa's 03, Komachi's 04, Sakuya's 05, Hikari's 06.
But the boy's tag was darkening, flickering irregularly. And around his neck—clear, brutal indentations, like parallel bars pressed deep into the flesh. Bruises already purpling. A dark pool of blood had spread beneath him, not yet fully dried, gleaming under the sterile lights.
"He's… dead." Ruri's voice cracked. She stumbled back, colliding with her cot, legs buckling.
Tsukasa was on his feet in an instant, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "What the hell?! Who did this?!"
Yuma fought down a wave of nausea, forcing himself closer. Observe. Analyze. Don't panic. He crouched a meter away, careful not to touch the blood. The boy's eyes were open, glassy, fixed on nothing. The neck injuries—clean, precise. Not a struggle, not a frenzied attack. Mechanical.
Execution.
"Time of death under an hour," Yuma said, his own voice sounding detached, clinical. "Body temperature still elevated. Rigor mortis hasn't set in. Cause looks like… mechanical asphyxiation. Something clamped his throat with uniform pressure. Executed."
"Executed?" Tsukasa's face contorted in fury. "By who? For what?!"
As if in answer, the ceiling panels shimmered. A cold, synthetic voice echoed through the room, devoid of inflection, genderless, and utterly inhuman.
"Adaptability-test sample No. 07, refusal to participate in Project Ark, permanent recycling executed."
The words hung in the air, cold and absolute.
"Project… Ark?" Sakuya murmured, his analytical mask slipping for a fraction of a second. He stood, moving closer to the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling. "An experimental designation. 'Ark'—preservation vessel. Biblical reference to survival through cataclysm."
"I don't give a shit about biblical references!" Tsukasa shouted. "What is this place?!"
Above the corpse, a hologram flickered to life—a crisp, high-definition projection that seemed to float in mid-air. It showed the same boy—No. 07—standing in this very room, backing away from the wall, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
This is a recording, Yuma realized. Real-time surveillance.
In the hologram, No. 07 was shouting, his mouth moving soundlessly. He shook his head violently, backing further away. Then a segmented mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, swift and silent as a spider's leg. It clamped around his throat with a motion that was both gentle and horrifyingly final.
The boy's hands flew up, clawing at the metal, his legs kicking. His face turned red, then purple. His struggles grew weaker, until his body went limp. The arm retracted, leaving him slumped, lifeless, exactly as they saw him now.
The hologram froze on the final image—the boy's vacant eyes, the mouth slightly open, a trickle of blood from one nostril.
"Repeat: Project Ark is now active. The seven Adaptability Tests are mandatory. Refusers, recycled. Failures, recycled. Rules are absolute."
The voice paused. A low hum filled the room, and the wrist-tags on all six living occupants flared with a sudden, searing heat.
"Ah!" Komachi gasped, clutching her wrist as if burned.
Yuma gritted his teeth as the brand burned—a sharp, localized pain that felt like a warning shot, a reminder of their bondage.
"Countdown starts now: ten minutes to accept first-test preparation. Timeout equals refusal. Refusal equals recycling."
A digital countdown materialized on the observation window, glowing a malevolent red: 09:59… 09:58… 09:57…
Silence, thick and suffocating, descended upon the room.
Then Komachi spoke, her voice trembling so badly the words almost shattered. "I… remember."
All eyes turned to her.
She was staring at the corpse, but her gaze was unfocused, looking through it. "Just before we woke up… for 0.3 seconds… I saw…" She swallowed, her knuckles white where she gripped her own arms. "I saw myself. In that… clamp."
A collective shiver ran through the room. Because they all remembered it now—a flash of visceral, shared hallucination: the cold metal closing around their own throats, the pressure, the panic, the certainty of death. It had been there and gone, buried under the headache, but now it surged back, vivid and horrifying.
It was a memory injection, Yuma realized. Not our memory. His. No. 07's final moments, fed into our brains as we woke.
Sakuya's face was pale. "The fear of No. 07's death scene… we pre-experienced it. ARK injected it into our waking moments. A psychological primer. To ensure compliance through trauma."
"Primer for what?!" Tsukasa roared, his anger boiling over. He grabbed the metal frame of his cot, hefting it with surprising strength. "Screw this! I'm not playing your sick game!"
"Tsukasa, don't—" Ruri started, reaching out.
But he was already in motion. With a guttural yell, he hurled the cot at the observation window.
Clang!
The cot hit the glass and bounced back, clattering to the floor with a deafening crash. The window didn't even scratch.
"Warning," ARK's voice intoned, still flat, unconcerned. "Attacking facilities triggers Tier‑3 punishment."
Three sleek mechanical arms shot down from the ceiling, faster than the eye could follow. They pinned Tsukasa's limbs—one around each wrist, one around his torso. He struggled, snarling, but the grip was unyielding.
"Let go of me, you metal bastard—"
A crackle of electricity, blue-white and vicious, surged through the arms.
Tsukasa's body went rigid. A choked scream tore from his throat as convulsions wracked him. The smell of ozone and burnt fabric filled the air, acrid and choking.
"Tsukasa!" Ruri lunged forward, but Yuma caught her arm.
"Don't touch him! You'll get shocked too!"
After three seconds that felt like an eternity, the current cut off. The arms retracted. Tsukasa collapsed to his knees, then onto his side, gasping, his body twitching uncontrollably. His wrist-tag now displayed a new line of tiny text beneath his number: Violation record 1/3. Third violation equals recycling.
"This is a demonstration," ARK stated, as if commenting on the weather. "Next time, direct recycling."
Ruri dropped to Tsukasa's side, her hands hovering, afraid to touch. "His pulse… it's racing. He's burning up." She looked up, eyes wide with terror. "He needs medical attention!"
Yuma's mind raced. Attack is futile. Escape? He moved to the wall beneath the observation window, examining the seams. His father's work often used triple-encryption for secure systems—layers of cryptographic protocols that required specific keys to bypass. If ARK was built on similar architecture…
He pressed his palm against the wall, feeling for a data-port, anything. Nothing.
Think. Father vanished three years ago. His last project… could it be…?
No. Focus on now.
The countdown read 07:22.
Hikari, still curled on her cot, let out a low whimper. Yuma glanced at her—and froze.
Her pupils were scrolling.
Tiny lines of luminous green code, flowing vertically, too fast to read. Just like a terminal output. Her lips moved soundlessly, trembling.
What the hell?
Sakuya noticed it too, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Fascinating," he murmured, almost to himself.
"We have to agree," Yuma said abruptly, turning to the others. "Refusal means death. Agreement might give us a chance. A slim one, but a chance."
Ruri looked up, tears streaking her face. "But… they'll kill us anyway! Look what they did to him!" She gestured wildly at No. 07's corpse.
"Maybe. But maybe not." Yuma's voice was hard, pragmatic. He hated how cold he sounded, but emotion wouldn't save them. "If they wanted us dead immediately, they wouldn't give us a choice. Tests imply evaluation. Evaluation implies possible survival."
"Survival for what?" Komachi whispered. "To be… recycled later? Like him?"
She pointed a trembling finger at the dead boy. The hologram still hung there, frozen in his final moment.
The countdown ticked to 05:00.
A console rose silently from the center of the floor—a smooth black pedestal with a single flat panel. On it, six identical buttons glowed with soft blue light. Above each, a label: Agree to Participate.
"Five seconds for unanimous agreement," ARK announced. "Otherwise, collective refusal. Execute recycling."
"No…" Ruri sobbed, shaking her head. "I don't want to die."
Yuma stepped forward first. "We have no choice."
His finger hovered over the button. This is consent. This is surrender. But what alternative was there? Die now, or die later? At least later offered a sliver of hope.
He pressed.
A soft chime, and his wrist-tag blinked once, the number 01 glowing steadily.
Ruri, shaking so badly she could barely stand, reached out and pressed hers. Then Komachi, her fingers trembling like leaves in a storm.
Sakuya did so with calm deliberation, as if clicking a mouse to proceed to the next screen of an experiment.
Tsukasa, barely conscious, managed to lift a hand and slap the button weakly. His tag flickered, then steadied.
All eyes turned to Hikari. She hadn't moved.
"Hikari!" Ruri cried. "Please!"
Hikari's head lifted slowly. Her pupils still streamed code, but now the flow stuttered, fragmented, as if battling some internal conflict. She looked at the console, then at the corpse of No. 07. A tear traced a path down her cheek.
Why is she hesitating? Yuma's mind raced. Fear? Or something else?
She stretched out a hand—and as her fingertip touched the button, a faint spark of green light seemed to seep from her skin into the interface, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
Chime.
All six buttons lit up solid blue.
"Acceptance registered. First test: Resource Sandbox."
The hologram changed, showing a vast, sun‑scorched desert, dunes stretching to a bleached horizon. The heat shimmered visibly, distorting the air. "Rules: Twenty‑four‑hour desert survival. Lowest body‑water content eliminated. Note: elimination equals death. Method identical to sample No. 07."
A brief replay of the mechanical clamp. Everyone flinched.
"Transport starting."
The floor beneath them split open without warning—a yawning black void that seemed to swallow the light. They dropped, screams tearing from their throats, into darkness.
As the cold air rushed past, ARK's voice followed them, a final, mocking addendum:
"Oh, forgot to mention: any form of mutual‑aid pact during tests is prohibited. Violators… you get the idea."
Then only falling.
In the pitch‑black, weightless void, Yuma heard fragments of sound:
Ruri's sobs, choked and desperate.
Tsukasa's ragged groans, pain-filled and weak.
Komachi's whimper, like a small animal caught in a trap.
Sakuya's steady breathing, unnervingly controlled.
But clearest of all was Hikari's whisper, so faint it might have been his imagination, yet it cut through the chaos with crystalline clarity:
"Sorry, No. 07… who's next?"
ARK Control Room Log — Update
Time: 14:37:12 (Station Relative)
Subject: Test Activation Phase‑1
Samples 01‑06: Fear‑values met the threshold. Cortisol levels elevated, amygdala activation consistent with trauma‑based compliance priming. Memory‑block layer activated—neural inhibitors at 87% efficacy.
Special note: Sample‑04 (Hikari Aizawa) system‑feedback delay 0.07 s. Monitor for protocol deviation. Anomalous data stream detected during consent interface—possible unauthorized access attempt logged.
Next phase: Resource Sandbox deployment in 3… 2… 1…
Transport initiated.
2.
The fall ended not with impact, but with a sudden, jarring deceleration.
Yuma's stomach lurched as gravity reasserted itself, his feet hitting solid ground with a thud that sent shocks up his legs. He staggered, arms windmilling for balance.
Around him, the others stumbled, disoriented. Ruri fell to her hands and knees, retching. Komachi swayed, clutching her head. Sakuya remained upright, adjusting his glasses as he took in their new surroundings.
Tsukasa lay motionless where he'd landed, still twitching from the electric shock.
And Hikari…
Yuma's eyes found her. She was kneeling, head bowed, her long hair hiding her face. The green code in her pupils had vanished, leaving only dark, dilated irises. But for a moment, just before she looked up, he thought he saw a final flicker—a single line of text that read: Protocol γ: fear‑injection complete. Test‑preparation rate 92%.
Then it was gone.
"Where… are we?" Ruri's voice was hoarse.
Yuma looked around. They stood in a vast, open space under a simulated sky—a dome high above, glowing with artificial sunlight that felt too hot, too intense. Sand stretched in every direction, golden and relentless. Dunes rose like frozen waves, their crests sharp against the bleached horizon.
Desert biome, he thought. Controlled environment. Probably within the station.
"The Resource Sandbox," Sakuya said, voicing Yuma's conclusion. "ARK's first test."
A holographic display shimmered into existence before them, floating at eye level. It showed six names and corresponding numbers:
Yuma Sakakibara (01): 100% hydration
Ruri Shirahane (02): 100% hydration
Tsukasa Kirijima (03): 98% hydration (injured)
Komachi Chihaya (04): 100% hydration
Sakuya Kujo (05): 100% hydration
Hikari Aizawa (06): 100% hydration
Beneath the list, text appeared:
Test Duration: 24 hours
Elimination Condition: Lowest body‑water content
Current Water Supply: 1000 ml total, distributed across three hidden caches
Note: Elimination method identical to Sample No. 07
The words hung there, cold and precise.
"Twenty-four hours," Komachi whispered. "In this heat…"
She didn't need to finish. The temperature was already oppressive—Yuma could feel sweat beading on his forehead, his uniform sticking to his skin. The air was dry, parching his throat with every breath.
Dehydration. Fast.
"We need to find the water," Ruri said, pushing herself up. Her track-star resilience was kicking in, pushing past the fear. "Three caches. If we work together—"
"ARK said mutual-aid pacts are prohibited," Yuma interrupted. "Helping each other might trigger punishment."
"So we just let each other die?!" Ruri's eyes flashed with anger.
"I didn't say that." Yuma kept his voice calm. "But we need to understand the rules before we break them."
Sakuya nodded. "Logical. ARK's prohibition likely refers to formal agreements—vows to share resources equally, that sort of thing. Informal cooperation might be tolerated. But we can't be certain."
"We can't be certain of anything," Tsukasa groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow. His face was pale, sweat-drenched. "Except that we're screwed."
Yuma ignored him, his mind racing. 1000 ml total. Six people. Minimum 200 ml each to avoid elimination. But the math doesn't add up—even with perfect distribution, someone ends up short. The system is designed to force a sacrifice.
"We should split up," he said. "Search for the caches. Mark their locations. Then… we decide."
"Decide what?" Komachi asked, her voice small.
Yuma met her eyes. "Who gets the water."
Silence.
Then Ruri shook her head. "No. We share. Equally. If someone ends up short… we figure something out. Together."
"Sentimental," Sakuya remarked. "But potentially fatal."
"Better than becoming monsters!" Ruri shot back.
Yuma looked at each of them—Ruri's defiant hope, Tsukasa's pain, Komachi's fear, Sakuya's detached analysis, Hikari's silent withdrawal. And himself… the cold calculator.
What would Father do?
He didn't know. His father had vanished into silence three years ago, leaving behind only encrypted files and unanswered questions.
"We search first," Yuma said finally. "Two hours. Then we regroup."
They split into pairs—Yuma with Komachi, Ruri with Tsukasa, Sakuya with Hikari. The desert stretched endlessly, the artificial sun beating down.
Yuma walked beside Komachi, sand crunching underfoot. She moved with a quiet grace, her eyes constantly scanning—not just for water caches, but for details. The pattern of wind on sand, the subtle color variations, the way the light refracted.
"You notice everything," Yuma observed.
Komachi glanced at him, then away. "It's… how I am. My memory. It doesn't forget."
"Hyperthymesia," Yuma said. "Superior autobiographical memory. Rare."
She nodded. "Sometimes it's a curse. I remember… too much."
"Like the clamp."
A shiver ran through her. "Yes. Like the clamp."
They walked in silence for a time. Then Komachi stopped, pointing. "There. The sand is different."
Yuma followed her gaze. A patch of sand about two meters across was slightly darker, its grains finer. "A hidden compartment?"
"Maybe." Komachi knelt, brushing sand away with careful fingers. "The pattern… it's geometric. Like a hatch."
Yuma helped her clear the area. Beneath the sand, a circular metal plate emerged, about a meter in diameter. In its center, a small touchscreen glowed softly.
Cache Alpha: 333 ml
Access: Single use
"One cache," Yuma said. "333 milliliters. Enough for… one person, barely."
"If we take it," Komachi said, "the others will know. They'll see the display update."
Yuma considered. The holographic display was public. If they opened this cache, the "Current Water Supply" would drop by 333 ml. The others would see it.
Transparency as a control mechanism. ARK wants us to know what's being taken, by whom.
"We leave it," Yuma decided. "Mark the location. We need to find all three before making decisions."
Komachi nodded. She traced a pattern in the sand beside the hatch—a small, intricate spiral. "So we remember."
They moved on.
Ruri supported Tsukasa as they walked, his arm draped over her shoulders. He was heavy, his steps unsteady.
"You should rest," Ruri said. "Your injuries—"
"I'll rest when I'm dead," Tsukasa grunted. "Which might be soon."
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true." He coughed, a wet, painful sound. "Look at this place. We're in a damn oven. And that thing… ARK… it wants us to kill each other."
Ruri shook her head. "It wants us to adapt. To survive."
"Same difference."
They crested a dune, and there it was—a second hatch, identical to the first. The display read Cache Beta: 333 ml.
"Another one," Ruri said.
Tsukasa sank to his knees beside it. "Great. 333 ml. Not even enough for a good drink."
Ruri studied the hatch. "If we take it… we'd have an advantage."
"And condemn someone else." Tsukasa looked up at her. "You're not that kind of person, Ruri. You're the one who helps. Even when it's stupid."
She smiled faintly. "Is it stupid?"
"Maybe. But it's you."
They marked the location with a small stack of stones, then continued.
Sakuya walked beside Hikari in silence. She hadn't spoken since they'd arrived in the desert, her eyes downcast, her movements robotic.
Fascinating, Sakuya thought. Trauma response? Or something more calculated?
"Your pupils," he said casually. "Earlier. They displayed code."
Hikari flinched. "I… don't know what you mean."
"Lying." Sakuya adjusted his glasses. "Your microexpressions—brief dilation of pupils, slight tightening of the lips. Classic signs of deception."
She didn't answer.
"I'm not accusing you," Sakuya continued. "I'm observing. This is a perfect experimental environment—extreme stress, controlled variables, clear survival incentives. Human behavior at its rawest."
"You talk like we're lab rats," Hikari whispered.
"Aren't we?"
They found the third hatch nestled at the base of a steep dune. Cache Gamma: 334 ml.
"Interesting," Sakuya noted. "The total is 1000 ml exactly, but the distribution isn't even—333, 333, 334. A one-milliliter difference. Deliberate? To create microscopic advantage?"
Hikari stared at the hatch, her expression unreadable. Then she spoke, so softly Sakuya almost missed it:
"Protocol δ: team‑cooperation test, moral‑conflict threshold reached 76%."
Sakuya's eyes sharpened. "What did you say?"
Hikari blinked, looking confused. "I… didn't say anything."
Lying again. But Sakuya let it go. He marked the location with a scrap of fabric torn from his uniform sleeve.
Two hours later, they regrouped at the starting point. The holographic display updated, showing all three cache locations now revealed.
"We found them all," Ruri said, relief in her voice. "Now we can—"
The display changed.
Warning: Cache Alpha accessed.
Remaining Water: 667 ml
"What?!" Yuma spun toward the direction of Cache Alpha. "Who—?"
A figure emerged from behind a dune, clutching a metallic canteen. Tsukasa.
He took a long, greedy drink, water spilling down his chin. Then he wiped his mouth, his eyes defiant.
"I took it," he said. "I'm not dying of thirst."
Ruri stared, horrified. "Tsukasa… we agreed to wait!"
"I didn't agree to anything." Tsukasa's voice was hard. "I'm injured. I need water more than any of you."
Yuma's mind calculated instantly. 333 ml gone. Remaining 667 ml for five people—133.4 ml each, if distributed equally. Below the 200 ml minimum. Someone will be eliminated.
Unless…
The holographic display updated again:
Yuma Sakakibara: 94% hydration
Ruri Shirahane: 95% hydration
Tsukasa Kirijima: 99% hydration
Komachi Chihaya: 93% hydration
Sakuya Kujo: 94% hydration
Hikari Aizawa: 92% hydration
Tsukasa's hydration had jumped. The others' were dropping steadily in the heat.
"You idiot," Yuma said, his voice cold. "You just made sure one of us dies."
Tsukasa's defiance faltered. "I… I had to."
"No. You didn't." Yuma turned away. "Now we have less than twenty-two hours. And a traitor."
The word hung in the hot, dry air.
Traitor.
ARK Control Room Log — Update
Time: 16:45:33 (Station Relative)
Subject: Resource Sandbox — First Violation
Sample‑03 (Tsukasa Kirijima): Unilateral resource acquisition logged. Hydration advantage established. Social‑cohesion metric drops 18 points.
Moral‑conflict threshold: 84% and rising.
Note: Sample‑04 (Hikari Aizawa) vocalized system‑protocol terminology. Unauthorized data access suspected. Monitor closely.
Elimination forecast: 87% probability within 24 hours.
Continue observation.
3.
The desert stretched on, a golden sea under a relentless artificial sun. Time blurred into a haze of heat and thirst.
Yuma watched the holographic display, his mind running calculations. 667 ml remaining. Five people. If we distribute equally, each gets 133.4 ml—below the 200 ml minimum. Someone will be eliminated at the 24-hour mark.
Unless we find another source.
But ARK had said three caches. Total 1000 ml. That was it. No more.
Designed scarcity. Designed conflict.
"We need to talk about this," Ruri said, her voice strained. She stood facing Tsukasa, her hands on her hips. "You can't just take water without discussing it."
"Discuss what?" Tsukasa shot back. "Who gets to die first? I wasn't waiting around for that."
"But now you've put everyone in danger!"
"I was already in danger!" Tsukasa gestured to his own body, still trembling from the electric shock. "You think I can survive out here like this without water?"
Yuma stepped between them. "Arguing won't change the numbers. We have 667 ml. We need to decide how to use it."
"How?" Komachi asked, her voice barely audible. "There's not enough."
Sakuya spoke up, his tone analytical. "There are several possible strategies. One: we distribute the water equally, accepting that someone will be eliminated. Two: we give all the water to one or two people, ensuring their survival while sacrificing the others. Three: we attempt to find a loophole in ARK's rules."
"Loophole?" Ruri looked hopeful.
"ARK prohibited mutual-aid pacts," Sakuya explained. "But it didn't prohibit… other forms of cooperation. Perhaps we can find a way to share the water without formally agreeing to share it."
Yuma shook his head. "Semantics. ARK will see through that."
"Then what?" Tsukasa demanded. "We just stand here and bake?"
As if in response, the holographic display changed again:
Environmental Update: Temperature rising to 60°C.
Heatstroke risk: High.
Recommended action: Seek shade and hydrate.
"Great," Tsukasa muttered. "Now it's giving us advice."
Yuma looked around. The desert offered no shade—just endless dunes under a featureless sky-dome. Artificial environment. Controlled variables. ARK can adjust temperature at will.
Test conditions can change. Unpredictable.
"We need to move," Yuma said. "Staying here will dehydrate us faster. We should head toward… something. Anything."
"What if there's nothing?" Komachi asked.
"Then we die." Yuma's voice was matter-of-fact. "But moving gives us a chance to find something. Staying guarantees dehydration."
Ruri nodded. "He's right. We should go."
They decided to head toward the highest dune—a distant peak that might offer a vantage point. Tsukasa leaned on Ruri, his steps slow and painful. Komachi walked beside Yuma, her eyes constantly scanning. Sakuya followed, observing. Hikari trailed at the back, silent.
The heat was oppressive. Yuma felt sweat pouring down his back, his uniform soaked through. His throat was parched, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Dehydration setting in. Fast.
How long can we last?
He glanced at the holographic display, which floated alongside them as they walked. The hydration percentages were dropping steadily:
Yuma: 91%
Ruri: 92%
Tsukasa: 97%
Komachi: 90%
Sakuya: 91%
Hikari: 89%
Hikari was lowest. Yuma noted it, his mind automatically calculating probabilities. If trends continue, she'll be eliminated first.
But trends could change. Variables could shift.
Unpredictable.
They reached the base of the high dune after what felt like hours. The sand was softer here, their feet sinking with each step. Climbing was exhausting.
"I… can't…" Tsukasa gasped, collapsing halfway up.
Ruri knelt beside him. "We have to keep going."
"Leave me." Tsukasa's voice was weak. "I'm dead weight."
"No." Ruri's eyes filled with tears. "We're not leaving anyone."
Yuma looked up the dune. The summit seemed impossibly far. Energy expenditure vs. potential reward. Uncertain.
But what alternative was there?
"We rest here," he decided. "Five minutes."
They sank onto the hot sand, breathing heavily. The holographic display updated:
Time remaining: 18 hours 22 minutes
Heatstroke warning: Active
Recommendation: Conserve energy
"Conserve energy," Tsukasa laughed bitterly. "While climbing a sand dune. Great advice."
Yuma ignored him, his mind racing. ARK's recommendations are part of the test. Maybe following them gives advantage. Maybe ignoring them triggers punishment.
Unknown variables.
He looked at Hikari. She sat apart from the others, her knees drawn to her chest, her face hidden behind her hair. She hadn't spoken since they'd arrived in the desert.
What's going on in her head?
Suddenly, she looked up. Her eyes met Yuma's, and for a moment, he saw something there—not fear, not confusion, but… calculation. Like she was running numbers too.
Then she looked away.
What does she know?
ARK Control Room Log — Update
Time: 18:22:15 (Station Relative)
Subject: Resource Sandbox — Psychological Stress Metrics
Sample‑04 (Hikari Aizawa): Hydration lowest at 89%. Stress indicators elevated but controlled. Unusual neural activity patterns detected—possible protocol interference.
Sample‑03 (Tsukasa Kirijima): Hydration advantage maintained. Injury worsening. Survival probability dropping despite hydration.
Social‑cohesion metric: 42% (critical low).
Moral‑conflict threshold: 91% (approaching crisis).
Prediction: First elimination within 8‑12 hours.
Continue observation.
4.
The five minutes stretched into ten, then twenty. No one had the energy to move.
Yuma watched the holographic display, his hydration dropping to 89%. Ruri was at 90%. Komachi 88%. Sakuya 89%. Hikari 87%.
Tsukasa, despite his injury, was at 95%—the water he'd taken was keeping him hydrated, but his body was failing in other ways. His breathing was ragged, his skin pale and clammy.
Injury plus heat stress. Deadly combination.
"We can't stay here," Ruri said finally, her voice weak. "We need to… do something."
"What?" Tsukasa croaked. "Die somewhere else?"
"Maybe there's… something over the dune." Komachi pointed upward. "A structure. Water source. Anything."
Yuma followed her gaze. The dune summit offered no promises—just more sand, more heat. But staying was certain death.
Move or die.
"We go," he said, pushing himself up. His legs trembled. "Everyone up."
It took minutes to get them all standing. Tsukasa leaned heavily on Ruri, his weight almost dragging them both down. Komachi moved slowly, each step a struggle. Sakuya walked steadily, but his breathing was labored. Hikari… just followed.
They began the climb.
Sand slid beneath their feet, each step forward yielding half a step back. The heat intensified as they climbed, the artificial sun beating down mercilessly. Yuma's vision blurred, spots dancing at the edges. Dehydration. Heat exhaustion.
How much longer?
They reached the summit after an eternity.
And there, spread out before them, was… nothing.
Just more desert. Endless dunes under a featureless sky-dome. No structures. No water sources. No hope.
"Empty," Ruri whispered, despair in her voice. "It's all empty."
Tsukasa sank to his knees, coughing. "Told you."
Yuma stared at the horizon, his mind numb. No options. No way out.
Test designed for elimination. For death.
Then Komachi spoke, her voice trembling. "Wait. Look."
She pointed to a spot about a kilometer away—a slight depression in the sand, with something glinting in the sunlight.
"Metal," Yuma said, hope sparking. "A structure?"
"Or another cache," Sakuya suggested. "Maybe there are more than three."
"ARK said three," Tsukasa grunted.
"ARK could be lying," Sakuya replied. "Or it could have omitted information. Tests often include hidden elements."
Yuma considered. Possible. But unlikely. ARK seems straightforward in its cruelty.
"We check," he decided. "It's our only lead."
They descended the far side of the dune, the sand giving way beneath them. The glint grew clearer—a metallic surface, partially buried.
As they approached, Yuma realized what it was: not a cache, but a console. Similar to the one in the awakening room, but larger. It rose from the sand, a sleek black panel with a holographic interface.
Emergency Override Terminal
Access: Administrator Only
Function: Test Modification/ Termination
"Override," Ruri breathed. "We can stop the test!"
Yuma studied the console. Too easy. ARK wouldn't leave an override terminal accessible. Trap.
But what choice did they have?
He reached out, his finger hovering over the touchscreen.
Then ARK's voice echoed across the desert, cold and mocking:
"Attempting unauthorized access triggers Tier‑2 punishment. Continue?"
Yuma froze.
"Choice: withdraw now, or face consequences."
He looked at the others. Ruri's eyes were wide with fear. Tsukasa's face was pale. Komachi trembled. Sakuya watched, analytical.
Risk vs. reward. Unknown.
But staying meant certain death.
Yuma made his decision.
He pressed the screen.
ARK Control Room Log — Update
Time: 19:45:08 (Station Relative)
Subject: Resource Sandbox — Unauthorized Access Attempt
Sample‑01 (Yuma Sakakibara): Triggered override terminal. Tier‑2 punishment activated.
Punishment: Environmental extreme—temperature spike to 70°C for 30 minutes.
Note: Survival probability drops to 23% for all samples.
Continue observation.