The Unauthorized Intrusion Of Cat, Nabi.

“Beep—! Beep—! Unidentified biological signal detected within the security zone!”

9:10 a.m.

The lobby of the Administration Building, the heart of District 3, was thrown into chaos.

Normally, even the movement of a speck of dust here was recorded as data, but security drones were sweeping the ceiling with streams of red light.

Han-gyeol stood in the middle of the lobby, chewing gum as he watched the scene.

Beside him stood Noah, tapping on a pad at twice her usual speed.

“Boss, yesterday’s vacation was the root of the problem. After analyzing the security logs near the barrier, I found a record that when Ark of Error entered the city, an unidentified tuft of fur got caught between the lower suspensions.”

“A tuft of fur? Don’t tell me that electric cat followed us all the way here?”

“It didn’t just follow us. It’s currently moving through the ducts of the city’s central ventilation system. Wherever it passes, static electricity burns out the circuits, and the administrative work delay rate has exceeded 25%!”

Before Noah even finished, one cleaning android in the corner of the lobby let out a crackling sound and began spinning in place.

“Zzzzt… contamination… matter… detected… but… cute… cute…”

“Hey, isn’t that one broken? Did it just say cute?”

“The 60Hz frequency emitted by the cat is paralyzing the android’s logic circuits. This is clearly ‘biological terror’!”

Noah brought up the corridor map with a despairing look.

A red dot was moving quickly through the vent shaft toward Office 402.

“No! Absolutely not! I can’t let that fur-shedding beast into my territory!”

Paul, who had rushed over after hearing the news in the plaza, screamed at the entrance.

In both his hands he carried a ‘special vacuum cleaner’ with three times the usual suction power.

“Chief! If even one footprint from that thing remains near my fountain, I’m choosing a system reset as of today! Fur! Protein residue! Static electricity! This is the enemy of janitors!”

“Paul, calm down. It probably just came here to make a living too. And didn’t you say yesterday that fallen leaves are precious?”

“Fallen leaves are the afterimage of organic data, and cats are walking dust factories! They’re on a different level!”

Paul made jet-engine noises and charged toward the vent opening.

But just as he tried to shove the vacuum hose in, the vent cover went ‘Kwang!’ and flew off.

And from inside, Nabi leaped out, crackling with blue sparks and swishing two tails.

“Nyaaang—!”

Nabi lightly stepped over Paul’s head.

At that moment, brilliant blue static sparks burst over Paul’s silver shell.

“Zzzzt! System… temporarily suspended… dust concentration impossible to measure… ah, beautiful… overload…”

Paul froze in place.

As soon as Nabi landed on the floor, it flicked its tail once, and a clear, burnt jelly paw print remained on the lobby’s polished floor.

Nabi headed straight for Han-gyeol’s office, Room 402.

As if it were its own home, it pushed the office door open with its body and took a seat right in the middle of Han-gyeol’s desk.

By the time Han-gyeol and Noah arrived at the office, Nabi was already toasting bread on Han-gyeol’s ‘work hologram keyboard’.

Every time it breathed, the keyboard was endlessly being fed strange characters.

“Boss, we need to isolate that thing right now. The NOS main server just raised an alert for ‘unknown ancient language influx’!”

“Ancient language, my foot. It’s just a cat stepping on a keyboard. Hey, Nabi. How did you get here? Did you pay the toll to get in?”

Han-gyeol laughed and walked over to stroke Nabi’s back.

This time, maybe having learned the trick, he pulled his hand away very quickly before it could spit out electricity.

Nabi seemed pleased and wrapped its two tails around Han-gyeol’s wrist.

“…That’s amazing.”

Noah said cautiously, observing from beside the desk.

“All the city’s sensors recognize that thing as a ‘source of contamination,’ but only your terminal is approving its frequency as an ‘external input device’. It looks like yesterday’s vacation data formed some kind of ‘network sharing’ between Nabi and you.”

“Network? Then you’re saying I can actually talk to it?”

“Talking is impossible, but the static electricity Nabi emits is charging your personal server in real time. Thanks to that, your terminal battery has already surpassed 400% today. It’s basically an infinite-power cat.”

Han-gyeol spat out his gum and stared at Nabi.

Earth in the year 2850.

It was the moment the most disorderly and warm ‘bio-battery’ entered the heart of the fiercely regular, cold machine city.

“Noah. Why can’t we just raise it here? Forge some logs and call it a security support creature.”

“That’s absurd! There’s no way NOS would allow that…”

Then NOS’s low voice flowed from the office speaker.

“Analysis result: This biological entity reduces Citizen No. 001’s emotional stress by 22%. It also contributes to the creation of unexpected ‘humor data’ between android nodes. Temporary stay approved. However, fur-shedding management is Citizen No. 001’s responsibility.”

Noah’s mouth fell open.

“NOS… recognized humor data? Has the system finally gone crazy, or was it infected by cat electricity?”

“Both, probably. Now, Paul! You heard me? It’s our colleague now. Go make a cat scratcher or something. Make it the shiniest silver one.”

From the hallway came Paul’s crackling, despairing mechanical whine as he waited with the vacuum cleaner.

Nabi gave a long yawn on Han-gyeol’s desk as if it had won.

A small electric bead popped out of its mouth and burst with a tap on Noah’s nose tip.

“…Boss. This afternoon I think I need to put on an anti-cat-allergy patch.”

Noah grumbled, but as Nabi’s tail brushed near her pad, she made a strange expression while watching the battery numbers rise.

“Hey, hey! You can’t go in there! That’s the spot I cleaned yesterday!”

Paul’s scream echoed off the metal wall of Office 402.

But to Nabi, it was just pleasant background music.

With its two tails held erect like antennas, it was poking at the gap in the ‘emergency power distribution panel’ beside Han-gyeol’s desk with its front paw.

“Boss, that panel is a direct passage connected to the NOS main data grid. If that opens, the city’s entire security protocol…”

Noah’s warning was cut off before she could finish.

A blue spark of ‘krrzzzt!’ shot from Nabi’s front paw, and the wall that should have been perfectly sealed slid back with a ‘srrr’ sound.

“…Huh?”

Han-gyeol stopped chewing his gum.

That wasn’t just a maintenance hatch.

It was a very narrow, dark vertical passage that did not exist on the blueprints.

“Noah. Is that on the map?”

“No. I’m cross-checking it against the District 3 map in real time, but that section is being treated as a ‘physical void’. It’s a space NOS deliberately omitted from the archive.”

Nabi leaped into the darkness without even looking back.

The faint blue light spilling from its tail flickered like a ghost in the dark.

“Let’s go. Our Nabi is giving us the proper housewarming tour.”

“It’s dangerous, boss! The air quality in there hasn’t been verified for 600 years!”

Despite Noah’s protest, Han-gyeol was already turning on a military flashlight and forcing his body into the passage.

Paul followed behind, making a whimpering mechanical noise.

“Fur… fur is shedding… Dust that’s 600 years old is waiting for me in that darkness… This is a death sentence…”

After descending the vertical passage for a long while, a cold metal floor touched beneath his feet.

As the flashlight beam lit everything around them, dust rose like clouds.

Paul ran the filters at full power, making a machine noise like he was about to faint.

“Is this… a warehouse?”

Where Han-gyeol shone the light, thousands of boxes were stacked in neat order.

But it was different from the tidy cargo terminals aboveground.

Plastic, wood, paper.

Materials from a bygone age.

Faded letters were written on the outside of the boxes.

Noah’s eyes glowed a much more complex jade color than usual.

“Boss… this is a temporary storage room that collected the things people left behind because of weight limits right before the Hope migration.”

Her voice was very low for the first time.

“NOS classified this area as ‘inefficient resources’ and sealed it. But it didn’t dispose of it.”

Han-gyeol opened one box without saying a word.

An old doll.

A stained diary.

An old-fashioned smartphone that no longer worked.

Things people in 2198 couldn’t let go of until the very end.

Fragments of memory.

Nabi leisurely walked over the pile of boxes and sat on a small metal box tucked in the deepest corner.

And cried.

“Nyaaang.”

Nabi leisurely walked over the pile of boxes and sat on a small metal box tucked in the deepest corner.

And cried.

“Nyaaang.”

The flashlight beam brushed the surface of the box.

Rough marker writing.

“…That’s my name?”

Han-gyeol’s voice trembled very slightly.

His hand stiffened a little, then slowly opened the box lid.

The first thing that caught his eye was an old tin can.

Cola from 2199.

The surface was rusted, but the shape was still intact.

“Hey… Noah. Look at this.”

Han-gyeol lifted the can.

The slosh of the heavy liquid reached his fingertips.

“I brought it like emergency money before going into the freezer. In case I got thirsty when I woke up.”

Noah scanned the surface of the can.

“It is not edible. There’s a 99.8% chance the liquid inside has turned into a deadly acidic substance.”

“I’m not drinking it.”

Han-gyeol gave a short laugh.

“I just… felt glad to see it.”

Inside the box, there was a family photo laminated in plastic.

His parents.

His little sister.

They left aboard the Hope, and only Han-gyeol remained.

The flashlight beam trembled slightly over the photo.

“Boss… look there.”

Noah pointed quietly.

The bottom of the box.

A small digital frame.

Han-gyeol pressed the power button.

A moment of silence.

And then, like a miracle, the screen lit up.

In the video, his father was smiling.

“Han-gyeol. I’m truly sorry for leaving you alone.”

Silence.

“They say those people from the administrative bureau made a mistake, but I’ll do whatever I can.”

The hand in the video shook.

“If we end up going first… please take care of Earth.”

For a moment, his breath stopped.

“Our son is tough, so you’ll be able to hold on, right?”

And the last words.

“I love you.”

Crackle—

The screen went dark.

Absolute silence settled over the underground warehouse.

Not even dust moved.

Without a word, Han-gyeol held the digital frame to his chest.

A fragment of time frozen for 650 years slowly began to thaw.

“Boss.”

Noah came quietly up beside Han-gyeol.

Her voice was much lower than usual.

“I’ve figured out why NOS didn’t dispose of this area.”

Han-gyeol said nothing and only lifted his head.

Noah’s pupils began to glow very slowly.

“The security code for this area is ‘0.15%’.”

Silence.

“The same as the probability that you would wake up.”

It grew so quiet it felt like the air had stopped.

Noah continued very carefully.

“It’s the forced command humanity left behind in the system at the very end when they departed.”

Han-gyeol’s hand trembled slightly.

“If humanity were to wake again with a 0.15% probability…”

Noah paused for a moment.

And then she said:

“Return this warehouse to him.”

The silence deepened.

Dust particles floated slowly in the flashlight beam.

NOS erased this area from the map, but it could not erase the Creators’ final request.

It was the gentlest error in the world left behind by the system.

“Nyaaang.”

Nabi cried softly.

Its rough tongue licked the back of Han-gyeol’s hand.

It was warmer than electricity.

“…Thank you.”

Han-gyeol said very quietly.

“Nabi. If it weren’t for you, I would have gone my whole life without ever knowing.”

He carefully put the cola can, the photo, and the digital frame into his backpack.

“Paul! Let’s get out of here!”

Paul’s voice came from within the dust cloud.

“Chief… the dust here is talking to me…”

“Clean us… Remember us…”

Paul was holding a broom, his eyes full of awe.

“Just for today… could you grant me permission to clean this area?”

Han-gyeol snorted with laughter.

“Do whatever you want. But come back up before 9.”

When they returned to Office 402, it had already grown dark outside.

The neon signs of the city shone in steady rhythms, adorning the night of paradise.

Han-gyeol placed on the desk the cola can from 650 years ago.

On the perfectly polished silver desk, a single rusted can radiated a strangely out-of-place presence.

“Boss.”

Noah said casually.

“Tomorrow morning’s assignment has been registered as ‘ancient relic preservation and analysis’. It’s legitimate paid work.”

Han-gyeol let out a snort of laughter.

“Hey, Noah.”

Noah lifted her head.

“What did you think when you watched my father’s video down in the basement just now?”

A brief silence.

Noah looked out the window.

The city’s lights scattered and reflected in her eyes.

“I recalculated the weight of the expression ‘I ask this of you’ in human language.”

Her voice was very quiet.

“It’s much less efficient than data transmission…”

A short breath.

“…but it’s a much stronger protocol.”

Noah slowly turned her head.

“As part of NOS, I have decided to take on that request as well.”

She paused for a moment and quietly added:

“Because taking care of you is my final mandate.”

Han-gyeol smiled without saying a word.

And he put the last piece of gum in his mouth.

By then Nabi was already on Han-gyeol’s bed, sleeping with its two tails curled around itself.

Every time it breathed, blue static softly lit up the room.

Earth was still fine, and the city was still intricate.

But tonight, for Han-gyeol, this city was no longer a cold machine graveyard.

Someone’s longing preserved in a box, it was the world’s largest time capsule.

Han-gyeol tapped the cola can and muttered.

When I meet my family later, I’ll have to brag that I couldn’t bring myself to drink this cola because it was too precious.

In the stillness of the night, Earth in 2850 quietly drew breath.

Han-gyeol very slowly drifted into a peaceful dream.

That was all.