Arknights: The Life Inside

Yoren felt himself surrounded by darkness, his mind drifting away. His consciousness blurred as he spun endlessly, as if gravity had abandoned him. A distant voice echoed in his ears.

"Her ideal is to save everyone. Even if she is misunderstood, even if she turns to ashes, she has never wavered. She is a naive and foolish girl. Human from another world, I have only one request. Before she sacrifices everything, please save her."

The voice resonated deep in his soul.

Who is she?

Then, in an instant, the darkness shattered into blinding white light. Gravity returned, and Yoren felt solid ground beneath his feet.

He opened his eyes.

Before him stretched a cityscape unlike anything he had ever seen. Under a gray sky, a prosperous town thrived. The buildings bore intricate geometric carvings, their facades painted in rich colors, with semi-arched doors and towering pilasters. It was foreign yet mesmerizing.

Yoren stood frozen, his mind racing.

What the hell? Just moments ago, he had been lying in bed, playing on his phone—

His phone!

His memory snapped back. The strange message on the screen. The voice in his head. The moment he pressed "yes."

No way… was this real?

He was so stunned that he didn't even notice the fruit stall directly in front of him.

"Ku..."

A cheerful voice called out from behind.

That voice—Yoren knew it all too well. He turned mechanically, his body moving like a rusty machine.

A petite girl with orange hair and squinted eyes stood before him, smiling her usual silly grin.

K…Kroos?

She beamed. "Haha, you're such a weird person! Kroos has been watching you for a while, and you haven't moved an inch. I thought you fell asleep standing up, just like me!"

Yoren's eyebrows scrunched together.

"Um… do you know me?"

"Nope!" she said with a laugh.

"..."

She tilted her head. "You look kinda pale. Are you feeling sick?"

"Uh, no. I'm fine."

"Well, if you're okay, I gotta run. Beagle's waiting for me. Bye-bye! Kroos loves ya!"

Yoren barely registered her departure. His thoughts were in chaos.

There was no denying it—he had been transported to another world. And if his gut feeling was right…

"Wait a minute." He turned back toward Kroos, who stopped and looked at him curiously.

"Yeah?"

"Where… am I?"

Kroos raised an eyebrow. "Huh? This is obvious. You're in Chernobog."

A chill ran down Yoren's spine. "Chernobog? You mean… the Ursus Empire?"

She gave him a thumbs-up. "Bingo!"

The cold northern wind howled through the streets, biting into his skin. Yoren sucked in a breath, his body trembling—not just from the cold, but from realization.

This wasn't a dream. This wasn't an illusion.

This was Terra.

He threw his head back and whispered to the sky, "Fuck, this is too real."

Natural disasters. Originium. The Infected. The very concepts he had once obsessed over in a mere game were now his reality.

A world teetering on the edge of ruin. A world where people bore the traits of animals. A world where massive catastrophes reshaped civilization itself.

And worst of all, the Infected—people cursed by Originium, outcasts shunned by society, forced into hiding or slaughtered outright.

Yoren reached into his pockets, searching for anything useful.

Nothing. No student ID, no keys, no money—and, most importantly, no phone.

Great. Other isekai protagonists at least got some overpowered system or divine artifact. Meanwhile, he got thrown here barefoot, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and shorts.

Hell mode.

Still, panicking wouldn't help. He needed to think.

Current known facts:

He had been forcibly transported to Terra. Whether he could return was unknown.

Some force had summoned him here. The voice had spoken directly into his mind.

The voice had asked him to save someone.

"Her ideal is to save everyone, even if she turns to ashes."

Amiya. It had to be her.

But what was he supposed to do about it? He wasn't some mighty warrior or brilliant tactician—just a broke college student who had failed to pull Eyjafjalla despite spending three 648s.

I just wanted my little sheep. Why did it come to this?!

He groaned and rubbed his temples.

No matter what, survival came first.

Yoren turned toward a nearby fruit stall, manned by a burly Ursus merchant with bear ears.

"Uh… boss, can you tell me what year it is?"

The merchant shot him a weird look. "1093."

Yoren stiffened.

 1093.

That meant…

He was three years away from the Chernobog Catastrophe.

A violent gust of wind carried snowflakes through the streets. Yoren shivered violently—partly from the cold, but mostly from the sheer weight of what this meant.

In three years, Reunion would seize Chernobog. The entire city would fall into chaos.

The catastrophe that kicked off Arknights' main story was looming over him.

He glanced around at the towering Ursus citizens strolling the streets, blissfully unaware of what awaited them.

Can I really change anything?

His fists clenched. He had no answers. No tools. No plan.

But right now, he needed food, clothes, and shelter.

He had to survive.

As he surveyed the street, a sharp scream tore through the air.

"Ahhh! Run! It's an Infected!"

On the streets of Chernobyl, every Ursus walked with a fearless expression. Their arrogant looks made it seem as if they were just short of hanging a banner above their heads that read, "Bearmen, fearless."

Yet, the moment a panicked voice screamed, "Run, it's an infected person!" their faces twisted with fear.

Ursus people were naturally strong, proud, and quick to anger. Their heroic spirit was undeniable, but so was their deep-seated hatred for the infected.

In Ursus cities, the fate of an infected person was never in question—it was always brutal.

No living creature waits patiently for death. Survival is instinctive. Just as the infected feared the Ursus, to the Ursus, the infected were walking threats.

As soon as the cry rang out, the owner of a fruit stall sprang into action. He slammed his stall shut and bellowed at the crowd, "Women and children, leave this street immediately! Military police! Someone get the military police!"

Grabbing an iron rod from behind his stall, he rushed toward the disturbance, joined by a group of burly men, their movements sharp with purpose.

Yoren curled his lips.

This wasn't the first time an infected person had appeared in broad daylight. The residents were well-prepared.

Nearby, a little girl with bear ears clutched her mother's hand. "Mom, what are the infected? Are they bad people?"

Her mother's expression darkened. "They're the worst people in the world. They hurt families and friends. And worse, they spread oripathy. Never go near them."

"Oh..."

Yoren, standing close by, overheard the conversation.

She wasn't wrong—the infected were dangerous. But she hadn't finished her thought.

People feared the infected, wanted them gone, but before they were infected, they might have been those same families and friends.

Angry shouts erupted in the distance.

"There's more than one! They ran!"

"Everyone, after them! They're wearing foreign clothes! Search them all!"

"Infected from other countries sneaking in? This is despicable! If caught, they should be executed immediately!"

Yoren had no intention of getting involved, but those words sent a chill through him.

He had no ears on his head, no tail on his body. He was human—a lone, unique existence. And most critically, he had nothing to prove his identity.

Even though he was sure he wasn't infected, if he were arrested as a suspicious outsider, he doubted he'd survive the "hospitality" of the Ursus people before they even completed a medical exam.

Rubbing his freezing feet, Yoren knew he had to avoid two things:

First, he couldn't get caught.

Second, while hiding, he absolutely couldn't run into a real infected person. He had no idea how contagious oripathy actually was.

He took a deep breath, then sprinted toward the other side of the street.

The panic had spread. Windows slammed shut. Mothers pulled their children indoors. Men with hardened expressions combed the streets, iron rods clutched in their fists.

Yoren slipped into an alleyway.

At the far end, a figure lay crumpled in the corner.

A large-bellied man with a flushed face, an empty wine bottle clutched in his hand. His eyes were closed, a blissful drunken smile on his lips.

A drunk.

Yoren exhaled in relief.

Without hesitation, he yanked off the man's oversized boots. A bit loose, but better than freezing barefoot.

Then he began peeling away the man's thick fur coat. Muttering as he worked, "Why's an Ursus wearing so much? Embarrassing."

Once bundled up, warmth returned to his body.

The drunk lay sprawled, belly exposed, snoring away. With his thick chest hair and sheer body mass, Yoren figured he wouldn't freeze to death before morning.

Just then, footsteps echoed behind him.

Yoren stiffened. Slowly, he turned.

A muscular Ursus man stood at the alley's entrance, iron rod clenched tight, eyes locked on him.

Shit. Busted.

Right now, Yoren wasn't just an illegal resident, a strange species, or a suspected infected—he had a new crime: suspected drunken assault. And he had been caught red-handed.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

The Ursus man stepped forward, each footfall heavy.

Looking at the thick muscles bulging from his arms, Yoren had no doubt he'd be beaten senseless in the next second.

His mind raced. Then, an idea.

With a deep inhale, he forced a fierce expression onto his face. Snatching up the wine bottle, he barked out, "Damn it, so he's just a drunk! I thought he was a damn infected!"

The Ursus man froze.

Before he could speak, Yoren cut him off. "Hey, brother, have you found anything over there? I've checked three alleys—nothing."

"Uh… no. Who are you?"

"I live in Xicheng District. Just had business here today. But no time for chit-chat, we need to find those infected bastards before they bring trouble to Ursus!"

The Ursus man hesitated. "You're Ursus too? Why're you so scrawny?"

Yoren scoffed, tossing the bottle to the ground. "Losing weight. All muscle under here, but I'm not stripping in this weather."

The man squinted. "Where're your ears?"

Yoren clicked his tongue, stepping closer. "Are you done? This is no time for chatting! A true Ursus man is out there hunting infected! Or… are you scared? Using this as an excuse to slack off?"

The Ursus man's expression darkened. "Fuck no! I hate infected! Anyone scared of them is a coward!"

Yoren clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit! You check that side, I'll take this one. We'll get those bastards before sundown! Move!"

"Right!"

The Ursus man stormed off, iron rod in hand.

As soon as he was gone, Yoren slumped against the wall, breathless.

"Damn..."