NIKKE: The Apocalypse Arrives, But the System is 100 Years Late

"Hmph, you better understand what's at stake. Otherwise, don't blame me for not warning you in advance," Papillon threatened Burningum with unwavering confidence.

As the deputy chief's assistant, Papillon was privy to many of the Ark's darker secrets.

Her words carried weight because she held leverage over many high-ranking officials, ensuring their compliance.

"U-understood," Burningum stammered. Then, after a pause, he added, "Papillon, there's one more task I need you to handle."

"What task?"

Papillon's irritation was palpable, but the thought of a promotion and a pay raise tempered her impatience.

A faint gleam flickered in Burningum's narrow eyes, betraying a shrewdness that belied his seemingly timid demeanor.

"Obtain Mo Chen's DNA."

Mo Chen was undeniably human, yet his abilities far surpassed the limits of human physiology.

The next logical step was to study the secrets of his body. However, he was unlikely to reveal anything willingly.

Thus, extracting his genetic material was the only option.

"DNA?" Papillon's eyes widened, her temper flaring. "Why don't you just send me to sleep with him while you're at it?"

Realizing she had raised her voice, she quickly lowered it.

Burningum froze momentarily before hastily waving his hands. "N-no, it's not like that! Just a hair strand or a bit of skin tissue will do."

"Hmph, fine," Papillon huffed, glaring at Burningum without a shred of respect.

Perhaps it was the time spent around Mo Chen, but she found herself increasingly displeased with her superior.

Compared to Mo Chen's decisiveness and competence, Burningum seemed cowardly, indecisive, and lacking the authority befitting a deputy commander. He spent most of his time issuing orders from the safety of his office.

And that perpetually smug, pudgy face of his—she found it revolting.

What she didn't notice, however, was the glint of calculation in Burningum's eyes. His plump face bore an ominous shadow of resolve.

Mo Chen was a prize he would claim at any cost.

Silence lingered in the room.

Burningum realized something unusual—Papillon, who was quick to end calls, hadn't terminated the transmission this time.

Curious, he glanced at the screen and immediately froze.

The once-clear image had become distorted, with ripples, static, and strange visual glitches.

"Zzzzt… zzzzt…"

Papillon remained at the center of the screen, her head slightly lowered. In the dim lighting, her features were obscured, as though the surrounding light had been swallowed into darkness.

She stood utterly still.

The office was dead silent.

The only sounds were faint static and the eerie hum of her breathing through the transmission.

A growing unease gnawed at Burningum.

He called Papillon's name several times, but she didn't respond.

Then, faint footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby.

"Bang!"

The sound of a heavy slam startled him: the office door had shut itself.

"Click."

It locked.

Burningum's heart leaped into his throat. He shot up from his chair, rushing to the door to pull at the handle.

It wouldn't budge.

The door had been locked!

He pulled out the access card from his pocket and swiped it on the control terminal.

The system emitted an error warning sound.

It was invalid!

Burningum's pupils contracted slightly.

His access card was of the highest level in the Ark, capable of unlocking any area. Had it been hacked?

"Guards! Security!"

Realizing the gravity of the situation, he shouted loudly for the guards outside.

Yet, there was no response.

Through the window, he could see the corridor outside, eerily empty except for the dim, flickering lights that barely illuminated a small area.

The Combat Command Center, being one of the Ark's highest-security locations, was typically heavily guarded, with sentries stationed every few meters.

Now, however, there wasn't a single sound or sign of anyone.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Burningum pounded forcefully on the door.

"Someone, respond!"

The echo of his pounding reverberated through the room, amplifying the eerie silence within.

The ceiling lights flickered erratically as though malfunctioning, casting unsteady and ominous shadows that seemed to forewarn impending danger.

Even with his normally strong will, he couldn't suppress the cold sweat running down his back in the face of such a bizarre scenario.

"Ring—ring—ring!"

The sudden ringing of the phone shattered the stillness!

He flinched at the sound, startled.

His heart leapt with hope. There was still a signal!

He quickly rushed over and picked up the receiver.

"Beeep—beeep—beeep—"

From the other end came nothing but meaningless busy tones.

It sounded as though the call had been abruptly disconnected.

Burningum had just put down the phone when it rang again.

He was growing more frustrated by the second. Who was playing such a cruel prank?!

He snatched up the receiver, but all he got was another series of busy tones.

His anger flared.

He slammed the phone down with force, gripping it tightly as he waited.

"Ring—ring—ring!"

The phone rang again, and Burningum, quicker than lightning, picked it up and shouted furiously,

"Who are you?! What do you want?!"

"Beeep—beeep—beeep—"

The same busy signal met his ears.

He cursed into the receiver, letting out a torrent of expletives before smashing it down onto the desk.

"Ring—ring—ring!"

The eerie sound of the phone ringing filled the air once more.

But this time, it wasn't the phone in his hand. It came from another phone on his desk.

To ensure communication security and prevent interception by Raptures or terrorist groups, the Ark's offices still used the oldest wired systems, with multiple phones installed for redundancy.

He hurried to answer, but again, only the haunting busy tone greeted him.

And then—

"Ring—ring—ring!"

"Ring—ring—ring!"

One by one, the phones in the office began to ring in succession!

The cacophony was deafening in the deathly quiet room, piercing through the suffocating stillness.

Despite the sealed environment of the office, a bone-chilling draft seemed to sweep through, sending shivers down his spine.

Sweat began to bead on Burningum's forehead, trickling down his temples.

Suddenly, his gaze flicked to a monitor on the side. His pupils constricted, his face turning ashen as cold sweat poured down his back.

On the screen, centered in the image, was Papillion, her head lowered, completely motionless.

But in the crimson fog swirling around her, distorted figures began to appear.

Bloodied arms reached out from the haze, curling around her body—grasping her face, shoulders, legs, and the pale curve of her neck.

Those crimson hands didn't just stay confined to the screen.

No.

Burningum's eyes widened in shock, his face drained of all color as his chest heaved.

The hands were actually reaching out of the monitor, extending toward him!