Shadow Talk.

The shadow protocol and chatter encryption created by the Office 402 crew were far too powerful. The volume of data generated by 4,200 androids talking all night exceeded the capacity of the Bureau’s internal communications network, and the surplus data packets with nowhere to go eventually began leaking outside.

Their exit was none other than the giant plant antenna in the rooftop garden cultivated by Paul.

“Crackle… Whirrr…”

On the Bureau’s rooftop, a fine spark popped from the tip of the green vine stretching toward the night sky. Chatter data flowing through the plant’s water vessels—data like “Today’s meal, electricity tastes good” and “Boss’s socks are mismatched”—was converted into radio waves and broadcast within a 100 km radius of the Bureau.

This was an unintended wide-area transmission.

Then at 2:00 AM, an unidentified response signal was captured on Unit 001 Nohana’s surveillance monitor.

“Beep- beep-. Crackle… Here is… crackle…”

An emergency alarm—a silent flashing light—blared in the office.

“Boss! Wake up! A signal is being picked up from the outside!”

At Unit 001’s urgent voice, Han-gyeol rolled off the sofa.

“What is it? The Jupiter Fleet? Did they come to scold us again for not doing something?”

“No. The frequency band is different. The fleet uses ultra-high-frequency digital signals, but this is… a very old, slow, and rough analog AM frequency.”

Noah pulled up a monitor. The signal’s source was approximately 80 km east of the Bureau, in the ruins of a basin terrain called ‘Daegu’ 600 years ago.

“If it’s not Jupiter, then who? Aliens?”

“Analysis results… it’s a communication protocol from 600 years ago. Someone is listening to the chatter we sent and sending a response.”

Tension settled over the office. Lucas hugged his coffee pot and trembled, while Caleb tapped on his calculator to figure the probability of an invasion. Paul shook his leaves at the fact that his plant had caused trouble.

Chewing gum to ease the tension, Han-gyeol sat down in front of the microphone.

“Patch it through. Let’s hear who it is.”

Unit 001 removed the noise filter and turned up the speaker volume. Crackling white noise filled the office. And through that noise, a very dry, plain, yet strangely welcome voice flowed out.

“Crackle. This is the Dalgubeol Weather Observatory. The current time is 2:15 AM.”

Everyone held their breath.

“Today’s weather is clear. 0% chance of precipitation. High UV index. Please wear sunglasses when going outside. Crackle… Next up are the popular book rankings for May 2250…”

Han-gyeol stared blankly at the speaker before bursting into a chuckle.

“What… it’s not a person.”

It was an automated response system. A old broadcasting tower that humanity forgot to turn off when they left 600 years ago, or one that was getting infinite power through solar energy and chatting by itself for the 600th year.

“Noah, what’s that? Why is it giving us weather from 600 years ago right now?”

“According to analysis, it is presumed to be a system error. The timestamp, the time log, is broken, so it seems to be transmitting a broadcast for the exact same date on an infinite loop every day.”

Unit 001 Nohana added with a hollow expression:

“How futile. I thought it was an enemy force penetrating us and put up a five-layer defense barrier. It was just a broken radio.”

Han-gyeol’s thoughts, however, were different. He popped his gum with a crisp crack.

“No, it’s not broken. It’s been working faithfully for 600 years. It was broadcasting all by itself even though nobody was listening.”

Han-gyeol felt an odd sense of kinship. While Bureau Office 402 was trying its best to do nothing, that friend in the next neighborhood was trying its best to do its job even with no one around. Both were silly and pitiful.

“Hey, Lucas. Can we send a song request over there?”

“Pardon? That is a broadcast-only tower with no receiving function.”

“I know. Just… I want to let it know that we’re listening too. It’s boring to chatter all by yourself.”

At Han-gyeol’s words, Lucas’s optic sensors sparkled.

“It is possible! If we crank up the output of Paul’s plant antenna, we can force our voice into their frequency. It’s a type of intruding broadcast.”

“Good. Connect it.”

A moment later, Office 402’s signal mixed into the 600-year-old Daegu radio broadcast.

“Hey! Can you hear me over there! This is the Busan Bureau! Thanks for the weather info! We’re drinking mix coffee right now!”

Of course, the broadcast tower over there didn’t answer. It just kept saying what it had to say: “Current humidity is 40%…” Yet that mechanical voice coming through the Bureau’s speakers sounded somehow a little shaky.

“Boss… the noise on their signal has decreased. It became clearer, as if knowing someone is listening.”

At Noah’s words, Han-gyeol leaned deep back into his chair.

“See? I told you machines are attention-seekers too. They need someone listening to get excited and do their work.”

That night, the androids of the Bureau fell asleep listening to the radio from the next neighborhood played by the Office 402 crew. Even though it was 600-year-old weather and bestseller rankings, it was proof that something, or someone, was alive outside the Bureau too.

The world hadn’t ended. It was just quietly talking to itself, each in its own place.

The radio broadcast was more fun than expected. Unit 001 Nohana ignored it at first, calling it “inefficient data trash,” but before long she was sitting right next to the speaker analyzing the broadcast content.

“…Next song. The biggest hit of the 22nd century, Dream of an Electric Sheep…”

Through the crackling noise, old, tacky electronic music flowed out.

“This is… a very simple chord progression harmonically. But… it is addictive.”

Nohana nodded her head, catching the beat. It was a rhythm slightly more trot-like, different from the waltz in Episode 76.

Lucas went ahead and transmitted this broadcast as an in-house company broadcast for the entire Bureau. In the Bureau’s lobby, corridors, and restrooms—used by no one—the pop songs of 600 years ago echoed through every space. The cleaning robots timed their broom sweeps to this song, and Caleb sang lyrics when counting numbers.

“One, two, three, electric sheep… four, five, six, dreaming…”

The Bureau was turning into a giant retro-vibe cafe.

Just then, a strange comment came over the broadcast.

“…It’s listener quiz time! If you know the answer, please text #2850. Through a drawing, we will give away a voucher for the latest house-cleaning helper robot!”

“Hey! Han-gyeol! What’s the answer to that?”

Auditor Odette shouted in excitement, completely forgetting his dignity.

“Question: What is a human favorite that tastes sweet when chewed and gets sticky when spit out?”

Han-gyeol chuckled softly and pulled a piece of gum out of his pocket.

“It’s gum. Way too easy.”

“Send it! Send it fast! Let’s get the house-cleaning helper robot and help Paul out!”

Odette and Lucas threw a fuss. Unit 001 Nohana poured cold water on them.

“It’s useless. That is a recorded broadcast. Even if we send the answer, no prize will come. Besides, that contest number expired 600 years ago.”

The office instantly went gloomy. They knew there was no prize, but the machines’ desire—or boredom—to participate couldn’t be stopped.

Han-gyeol chewed his gum and looked at Unit 001.

“Hana. You’re good at hacking, right?”

“Highest level in the fleet.”

“Then hack that station’s server and put our names on the winner list.”

“Pardon? That is… data manipulation. And it is meaningless. There is no entity to give the prize.”

“Who’s asking for a prize? Just… make that broadcast say ‘Congratulations to Lee Han-gyeol of Busan Bureau Office 402.’”

Unit 001’s pupils shook. A meaningless victory, a hack purely for self-satisfaction. It was the height of inefficiency not found in the fleet’s manual. Yet she had already learned the taste of chatter back in Episode 79.

“…I will attempt it. However, I will record this as part of a long-distance communications network inspection exercise.”

Unit 001 sat in front of the console and tapped the keyboard quickly. She accessed the old broadcast tower server 80 km away. Security was flimsy—the password was 1234.

A moment later, the comment on the radio changed.

“…Ding-dong-dang! That’s correct! Congratulations! Lee Han-gyeol of Busan Bureau Office 402! As a prize… crackle… we send 100 boxes of mix coffee in our hearts!”

“Waaah!”

The office was covered in cheers. Lucas danced, and Paul shook his leaves. There was no physical prize, but because it was sent in their hearts, they won.

The broadcast tower’s AI, a 600-year-old bot, detected Unit 001’s hack and read the text Unit 001 entered.

“Boss, that AI… likes it even though it got hacked? Looking at the log, it’s displaying a welcome message saying ‘First user in 600 years.’”

Noah said with a smile.

“See? I told you it was a friend.”

Han-gyeol looked out the window. He imagined the old radio tower standing somewhere far away in the eastern sky, out of sight. The fellow who must have faced wind and rain for 600 years, broadcasting the weather and playing music every day believing someone would listen.

“Noah, let’s count that tower as part of our family. Name it ‘DJ Dal-gu’.”

“Understood. Registering it on the Bureau’s external collaborator list. Mission: 24-hour BGM provision.”

Just like that, the Bureau gained another friend. Although they couldn’t meet physically, they were now pals who asked about each other’s well-being, the weather, and gum through radio waves.

On the night of Episode 80, old pop music from 600 years ago softly resonated through the Bureau. Unit 001 Nohana hummed the song—though it was data processing—and rubbed the gum mark on her shoulder with her finger.

The outside was no longer an unknown terror. It was simply a place where another “us,” living a little far away, resided.

The Bureau was closed, but their world was growing as wide as a radio frequency.