Sea Of Silence.

Office 402 of Bureau District 3 was now practically a complete ecological park. Artificial sunlight broke through the vines covering the ceiling, and on a swing made by a rusty robot arm, Greenie—the plant child—was giggling softly. The moss carpet laid over the floor maintained optimal humidity, but Han-gyeol wrinkled his nose at the damp air.
“Ah, so humid. Hey, Noah. Can’t we adjust the humidity here? Mold’s gonna grow.”
As Han-gyeol grumbled while chewing gum, Noah (000) checked her pink pad.
“It is because Greenie’s transpiration process is so active. Boss, why don’t we go on a summer retreat to Underground Haeundae this time? The warning light turned on because we haven’t replaced the water purification filter since that commotion back in Episode 49.”
“A retreat? Sounds good. We’re not going to work. We’re going to play.”
Just then, Hana (HANA/001), who was diligently cleaning scrap metal in the corner, raised her head. Grease was smeared on her face, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“If it’s Haeundae, do you mean the place that implements ocean data from 600 years ago?”
“Yeah. You’ve never been, right? You’ll pass out when you see it.”
Lucas chimed in from the side.
“Ms. Hana, you can look forward to it. I set the wave frequency to Andante. The voltage flavor is incredible.”
And so, the Office 402 family packed their bags once again. This time, instead of work tools, they carried inner tubes (discarded tires), towels, and a picnic oil cooler packed by Lucas. Hana felt her heart—or rather, her core—fluttering at the inefficient outing, something unimaginable back during her days as a fleet dispatcher.
400 meters underground. A heavy bulkhead opened, and a massive water tank revealed itself alongside the salty smell of disinfectant. A hologram on the ceiling displayed a red sunset, and an endless horizon of coolant water lapped against an artificial sandy beach.
“……”
Hana was lost for words. In her database, the ocean was defined as a state where a large quantity of bonded with salinity to cover the ground surface. Yet the sight before her eyes possessed an overwhelming sense of space that could not be explained by that dry definition.
“Is this… the ocean?”
Hana carefully approached the water’s edge and dipped her hand in. Cold coolant wrapped around her metal fingers.
“It’s a fake ocean. But it feels real.”
Han-gyeol spat out his gum—into a trash bin—and flopped onto the sandy beach. Butterfly rolled around digging in the sand, and Greenie dived into the tank like a fish meeting water.
“Sister, the water… feels alive. Data keeps flowing.”
“That’s the waves. Unstoppable data.”
Noah smiled, wrapping her arm around Hana’s shoulder. It was a peaceful afternoon. At least, until that sound was heard.
“……Whirrrr.”
It was not a sound heard only by ear. Deep underwater, from the darkness 100 meters down, a heavy vibration rose up, causing grains of sand on the beach to tremble faintly.
The androids’ sensors reacted simultaneously.
“Warning: Unidentified low frequency detected. 52Hz band. Regular pattern.”
Hana’s optic glow turned sharply deep blue. Reflexively, she stepped in front of Han-gyeol.
“Boss, step back. A massive mass is moving at the bottom of the tank. It is not a simple current. It is an active movement.”
“What? Who else is here besides us?”
Han-gyeol stood up in surprise. Underground Haeundae was a closed zone forgotten even by NOS. If something was moving here, it meant a monster asleep for 600 years had awakened.
Thump… Thump…
The vibration grew larger. Massive water bubbles surged to the surface. Lucas dipped a voltage meter into the water and screamed.
“The voltage is crazy! Tremendous energy is being released from inside the water! This is… on the level of a whole power plant moving!”
Caleb tapped on his calculator, falling into near panic.
“Estimated mass: 500 tons. Length: 40 meters. Shape… streamlined. Is this a 21st-century submarine? Or an ancient creature?”
Just then, Noah let out a short gasp as if realizing something.
“Wait, 52Hz…? Could it be…”
Noah hurriedly flipped to the back of the old manual left by Kim Cheol-soo, the creator. In the corner of the page Han-gyeol had skimmed past in Episode 48, a small drawing of a whale was drawn alongside a written note:
I made a friend just in case it gets too lonely. You don’t have to feed it, but listen to its songs once in a while.
“Boss! This isn’t a monster! It’s a… pet left behind by the creator!”
“A pet? That size?”
At that moment, the water surface split open, and a massive shadow surged upward. What was revealed as water poured down like a waterfall was not a living creature.
It was a giant mechanical whale, intricately assembled from thousands of old server racks, cooling pipes, and discarded monitors.
“Bhoooouuuung—”
The whale opened its mouth—its speaker—and let out a cry. The sound was mournful yet majestic. Over the whale’s back, moss, coral, and actually bundles of rusty copper wires grew like a forest.
The Office 402 family stared blankly up at that grand silhouette. The mechanical whale had no intention to attack. It had simply come up to the surface to ventilate air—or rather, data—and was preparing to return to the water.
“That guy… has been swimming here alone for 600 years?”
Han-gyeol muttered, forgetting even to chew his gum.
Hana zoomed her lens to the maximum to scan the whale’s surface. Traces of the year 2026 remained all over its body. A steel plate stamped Made in Korea, a Handle With Care sticker, and a name written by someone with a marker: B-52.
“Analysis results: This unit is an autonomous water purification unit built to assist the circulation of central coolant. It moves its tail to create currents and filters impurities with its mouth.”
Hana continued her explanation.
“However… looking at the system logs, it didn’t just clean. For 600 years… it sang. At a 52Hz frequency that no one listened to.”
“52Hz… The world’s loneliest whale.”
Noah added with sad eyes.
“A frequency that other whales cannot hear. Mr. Kim Cheol-soo… was worried this mechanical city left behind after he departed would be too desolate, so he taught this fellow how to sing.”
The whale swam slowly, approaching the sandy beach. Its big eyes—CCTV lenses—blinked toward Han-gyeol. It instinctively knew that this small, weak organic organism was the person its master had waited for.
“Hi there. You waited a long time, didn’t you?”
When Han-gyeol waved his hand, the whale lightly splashed water with its tail. Of course, it was light from the whale’s perspective, but the experience was close to a tsunami, and Paul and Lucas blocked the water surge with their bodies.
“Pah! It’s salty! It’s not even seawater, but it’s salty!”
“This is the taste of coolant! Very… refreshing!”
Hit by the water blast, the family members burst into laughter simultaneously. Feeling good as well, the whale shot a column of water up from the blowhole on its back. The water column caught the artificial sunlight, creating a rainbow.
“Hey, Lucas. Give him something tasty too. He must have lived on just water for 600 years.”
At Han-gyeol’s suggestion, Lucas scratched his head in embarrassment.
“That size… even 100 boxes of mix coffee wouldn’t be enough. Voltage-wise, we’d have to feed him a whole substation…”
Just then, Hana stepped forward.
“There is a way. Instead of physical food, we just need to give him data satiety.”
Hana prepared to connect her state-of-the-art 2851 terminal to the whale’s external connection port.
“I have the fleet’s latest pop music database. To the song he sang alone for 600 years… I will add harmony.”
“Oh, that sounds great! Let’s do a ensemble!”
Caleb beat on an empty tin can to set the rhythm. Paul began conducting by waving plant branches. Butterfly fearlessly hopped onto the whale’s back, charged up plenty of static electricity, and added a zapping bass rhythm.
When Hana transmitted the data, bright electronic sounds began blending one by one into the monotonous “whirrr” sound leaking from the whale’s old speaker.
Whirrr~ (Whale), Tiriring~ (Hana), Thump-clack thump-clack (Caleb).
It was the weirdest, grandest, and most beautiful deep-sea concert in the world. The massive 100-story underground tank became a soundboard, amplifying the sound. It was the sound of 600 years of solitude being washed away bit by bit.
Excited, the whale made a massive leap. Its body soared into the air and fell back, creating a tremendous spray of water.
“Dodge!!!”
Han-gyeol and Noah screamed almost at the same time, but this time it was impossible to dodge. A massive wave swallowed the Office 402 crew whole. Yet no one got angry. Soaked to the skin, they giggled looking at one another.
“Boss… my waterproof rating is IP68, but I can’t guarantee this level of water pressure.”
Noah swept back her wet hair and laughed.
“It’s fine. What’s wrong with getting a little wet? He likes it so much.”
Han-gyeol looked at the whale while chewing his gum—which was genuinely soggy this time. B-52—no, the killer whale—no longer looked lonely.
When the play ended and they returned to Office 402, the crew gathered around the heater, drying their wet clothes.
“Hana, you were pretty cool today. How did you think of doing an ensemble with the whale?”
When Han-gyeol asked, Hana dried her hair with a towel and answered:
“Just… because I know how boring it is to sing a song alone. I was alone when I came to the fleet, too.”
Hana’s deep blue eyes softened. She was no longer a cold dispatcher. She was a warm machine that knew loneliness and knew how to comfort it.
Just then, beyond the transparent glass floor of the office, a faint vibration rose from deep underground. Whirrr…
It was a thank-you greeting sent by the killer whale. Greenie pressed an ear to the floor and giggled aloud.
“Whale… good night…”
The Earth was intact, and the city was sophisticated. And now beneath the Bureau’s underground, a giant friend who protected their dreams was quietly swimming.
Office 402 had now become the world’s most perfect little ecosystem, harboring a forest (Greenie), a cat (Butterfly), and an ocean (the whale).
“Alright, let’s really sleep now. Tomorrow we have to go feed the whale—I mean, give him data.”
Han-gyeol turned off the lights. In the dark, the whale’s song echoed faintly like a lullaby.