He activated his leg suppressors—silent mechanisms dulling the impact of his steps. The corridor lights shut down, plunging the space into absolute darkness.
For Simon, it made no difference.
His sensors adjusted instantly, turning the world into a sharp wireframe of heat and movement, outlining every object, every twitch of motion. The creature stood there, unaware, searching—
Simon struck.
With blinding speed, he severed the creature’s head, the ceramic blade slicing through sinew and corrupted flesh in a single, fluid movement. But it didn’t die immediately.
Even headless, its remaining arm jerked violently, spasming in unnatural, erratic convulsions.
Simon moved fast, circling to its side, his foot sweeping out in a calculated arc.
The creature collapsed onto its back, its movements now frantic, uncoordinated, its remaining limbs twitching uncontrollably.
Simon came down on top of it, his other blade snapping free from his forearm.
With precise, mechanical efficiency, he drove the blades down, piercing both of the monster’s arms, pinning it to the floor. The gel-infested limbs twitched, struggling to break free, but he didn’t give it a chance.
From the embedded blades, structure gel slithered downward, its inky tendrils creeping over the abomination’s flailing form.
Simon watched as the gel began its work—
It drained the last vestiges of lingering energy, absorbing the current running through the creature’s body. The spasms grew weaker, the limbs shuddering, convulsing—
Then, at last, it stopped.
The structure gel hardened, its organic sheen fading into a cold, dead mass. Whatever animating force had kept the husk moving was gone.
Simon rose to his feet, retracting the ceramic blades, their edges slick with congealed, blackened gel.
He took one last look at the lifeless remains beneath him.
The storage compartment on Simon’s back opened, and his rat companion scurried onto his shoulder, its whiskers twitching, its tiny nose wrinkling as it sniffed the air cautiously.
Simon scratched under its chin, feeling the soft, bristly fur. "Don't worry, there’s one more of those things around here, but I closed the door."
The rat paused, tilting its small head toward him before turning left and right, its black eyes scanning the area as if verifying his words.
Simon did the same.
Ahead, the hallway had been sealed shut by a hardened wall of structure gel. He could probably force it open—infusing it with energy, commanding it to shift aside. But according to the Omicron schematics, the room beyond was just a storage area. Not worth the trouble.
To his left, a door led to the hexagonal room—the one with balconies lining its edges.
He would head there soon. But first...
Simon turned right, stepping down a short hallway.
The door at the end hissed, its mechanical seals disengaging as it slid open.
Simon took in the grotesque scene before him.
The decompression chamber was a slaughterhouse.
Four bodies lay sprawled around it, their heads obliterated—exploded from the inside. Meat, bone, and brain matter painted the floor and walls in a macabre display of crimson splatter. Two of them were still in their diving suits, their helmets cracked, the remains of their skulls plastered against the visors, frozen in a gruesome final moment of agony.
Time had already begun its work. The blood had darkened, dried into thick, congealed smears, the bodies dehydrated, their flesh tightening over brittle bone.
Simon moved with practiced efficiency. He retrieved his DNA extractor, pressing the device against each corpse. With each sample collected, he logged their genetic data, storing it safely.
If—or when—he attempted to bring back humanity, he would need as much genetic diversity as possible. Better to do this now.
Unfortunately, the DNA extractor didn’t work on the mutated creatures. Their genetic material was too far gone, corrupted beyond recognition.
With the samples secured, Simon retraced his steps, making his way back to the hexagonal chamber.
Two doors waited—one to the left, one to the right.
He turned left, heading toward the dining hall.
The room was eerily still, save for the faint hum of dead electronics.
Simon walked toward the corpse slumped against a table.
His rat hissed, its small body tensing on his shoulder.
Simon could guess why.
The rat recognized her scent.
"Sorry for what he did to you, little buddy," Simon murmured, rubbing a soothing finger along its back. "But she’s dead now. Consider your revenge taken."
The body lay motionless, its upper torso slumped forward, her arms limp at her sides. A laptop rested beside her, its screen dark, stained by the same crimson spray that painted the rest of the table.
Her head—like the others—was gone, exploded, leaving only a grisly aftermath.
Simon pressed the DNA extractor against her back, feeling the slight vibration of the device as it collected the genetic imprint.
The name appeared in his HUD.
Julia Dahl.
He logged the data and turned his attention to searching the hall for supplies.
"Hey, buddy, let’s get you some food."
The rat perked up, rubbing its small paws against its snout, as if understanding.
Simon sifted through cabinets and drawers, pushing aside long-expired rations and shattered containers until he found something usable.
He pulled out a pack of dried biscuits and a few sealed packets of ramen.
He tore open a biscuit, placing a crumb in front of the rat. It immediately snatched it up, nibbling happily.
Simon chuckled, slipping the ramen into his storage compartment for later.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
As he sat down at the table, watching the rat devour its meal, a thought crossed his mind.
"I should give you a name."
The rat paused mid-bite, its nose twitching, its tiny eyes flicking up at him.
Simon tapped his metal fingers against the table in thought.
"What do you think about Jerry?"
The rat lifted its head for a moment—considering—before returning to its meal.
Simon chuckled, leaning back slightly.
"I’ll take that as a yes."
He wasn’t alone from now on.
After a brief respite, Simon returned to the hexagonal chamber and approached the right door.
The storage compartment on his back slid open.
"You better head inside, Jerry. Once I’m done, you can come out," Simon murmured.
The rat hesitated only for a second before scurrying inside, the compartment sealing shut with a soft click.
Simon stepped into the narrow hallway, following the glowing sign that read:
POWER ROOM.
The door hissed open, revealing a massive chamber, a labyrinth of heavy machinery, pipes, and energy converters—the beating heart of Omicron’s power grid. Some of the systems were nuclear, their reactor cores humming faintly beneath layers of reinforced plating, casting a low, mechanical thrum that resonated in Simon’s frame.
A serpentine pathway twisted through the industrial maze, forcing him to navigate carefully through sharp 90-degree turns every few meters. Left. Right. Left. Right.
His sensors flickered as he stopped beside a control panel.
A body lay slumped at its base.
Simon’s gaze darkened as he took in the grotesque state of what was once a man.
A large portion of the skull had been pierced, structure gel spilling from the wound like coagulated oil, its dark tendrils slithering downward, burrowing into the neck and chest like parasitic roots.
The body breathed.
Shallow. Inconsistent. Artificial.
But at this point, Simon knew—there was nothing left to save.
This man was not alive.
Not in any way that mattered.
His body was just another husk, another shattered puppet held together by the WAU’s insatiable will to preserve.
Simon placed his hand on the control panel, his fingers pressing into cold metal.
A pulse. A command.
The connection severed.
The structure gel twitched—then froze.
The tendrils recoiled, their dark sheen fading, the corrupt energy bleeding away like a dying ember. The body stiffened, its artificial breaths stuttering—
Then, silence.
For the second time, this man died.
But this time, it was for good.
Simon exhaled, retracting his hand.
There was no room for regret. No room for hesitation.
Only the practical necessity of finishing what needed to be done.
He retrieved his DNA extractor, pressing it against the corpse’s shoulder.
His HUD blinked: Sample Acquired.
Without another glance, Simon turned and walked forward, deeper into the heart of Omicron, leaving the lifeless shell behind.
Then, his audio sensors picked it up.
A wet, gasping sob, echoing through the metal corridors.
Simon killed the lights.
The room plunged into absolute darkness.
His leg suppressors activated, silencing every footstep.
Simon moved like a ghost.
The source of the sobbing came into view.
A monster—similar to the one he had slain in the narrow hallway when he first entered Omicron.
Simon moved swiftly.
The blade flashed.
The head dropped to the floor with a wet thud.
The body twitched.
Then—it turned.
Black gel sprayed from the gaping neck wound.
The corpse lunged, its arm slamming into Simon’s frame, then wrapping around his forearm, trying to crush him.
But his robotic body wouldn’t break.
Simon exhaled, his voice calm, almost pitying.
"Rest in peace."
His blade plunged deep into the creature’s chest, the tip sinking into the twisted mess of gel-infested tissue.
Structure gel slithered from his weapon, tendrils creeping into the abomination’s form, draining the energy that animated it.
The struggles weakened.
The thrashing slowed.
The grip on Simon’s arm went limp.
Finally, the body collapsed, a lifeless husk.
Simon knelt, carefully moving the corpse aside.
He reached for his DNA extractor and pressed it to the intact flesh.
This one still had large portions of unmutated human tissue.
Not like the patchwork monstrosity he had encountered earlier.
The device hummed.
His HUD blinked: Sample Acquired.
Simon stood up, sparing one last glance at the body.
Then, he turned and walked away.
It was time to head to the next site.
And there, he knew, things would not be as easy.
Simon descended to Omicron’s ground level, making his way to the robot repair bay.
There, he planned to build Jerry his own little submarine.
But something stopped him.
As he reached the hallway, his gaze froze on a figure slumped against the wall.
His chest rose and fell.
He was breathing.
Simon’s fist clenched, but he forced himself to steady his emotions.
He stepped toward the man.
The man wore a blue jumpsuit, his head completely bald, devoid of hair. Simon’s gaze dropped lower.
Or at least—it had been once.
More than half of his abdomen had been replaced with wires, pipes, and cables, twisted together in an amalgamation of flesh and machine.
His chest rose and fell with a metallic creak, like a broken machine barely clinging to function.
Simon raised his hand toward the man’s body.
Then, he hesitated.
His fingers curled for a brief moment—
Then, finally, he placed his palm on the man’s chest.
"I hope I don’t regret this."
Structure gel slithered from Simon’s fingertips, sinking into the man’s body.
The mess of cables and tubes shifted, reconfiguring into something more stable. The wires untangled, merging into a smoother, more efficient network, the entire front of his torso sealing over with a sleek, black layer of structure gel—flexible and strong, just like the coating Simon had given Jerry.
Then, Simon reached deeper—
Into the man’s nervous system.
He scanned for brain activity.
Alive.
Comatose.
"Let’s see if I can wake you up."
From the right side of the man’s skull, a thin cable slithered outward, flexing like a living thing before it retracted back inside, repositioning closer to the brainstem.
The structure gel followed, seeping into the connection point.
The man’s eyes snapped open.
He blinked rapidly, his pupils dilating as he tried to process his surroundings.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was rasped, dry—but clear.
"Who... are... you?"
"I’m Simon. Do you remember who you are?"
Jerry, still nestled on Simon’s shoulder, watched the man intently.
A flicker of recognition crossed the man’s newly reconstructed face.
A moment of silence.
Then—
"My name is Adam Lasker. I was the relay technician for Omicron," he rasped.
Simon nodded. "Good."
Adam’s gaze drifted downward.
He looked at his own body.
At the black, synthetic covering of structure gel, at the wires and cables woven into his flesh.
His breath hitched.
"What... happened?" his voice shook.
His fingers traced the slick surface of his abdomen.
Then—his eyes widened.
"Why am I still alive?" His gaze drifted lower, to the sealed remains of his torn torso.
A whispered realization escaped his lips.
"I... should be dead."
His hands trembled.
The man’s lower lip trembled.
"The WAU... the monster..."
Adam’s breathing turned erratic, chest rising and falling too fast, his body struggling to process the overwhelming shock. He tried to push himself up, his back still pressed against the wall, but his legs shook, barely able to hold his weight.
"Adam, calm down." Simon placed his hands on the man’s shoulders, steady but firm. "I killed them all. They won’t hurt you. Not anymore."
Adam’s wild eyes met his, searching for assurance, for some sense of reality in all of this.
"How?" he gasped, genuine disbelief lacing his voice. "Those things—they’re resilient. Like bugs! PATHOS-II doesn’t have weapons—nothing strong enough to take them down!" His voice rose in panic. "And what happened to my torso?!"
Simon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifted his right arm.
With a soft mechanical hiss, the ceramic blade slid out—dark, polished, and razor-sharp.
Adam froze.
His breath hitched as he stared at the weapon, his wide eyes following the deadly edge as if trying to comprehend its existence.
Simon’s voice was calm. Measured. Absolute.
"If you cut them to pieces, they don’t get back up."
Silence hung between them.
Adam’s gaze dropped to the metallic floor, his jaw tightening, his fingers twitching as he rubbed his abdomen, the synthetic texture of structure gel and cables underneath felt unsettling beneath his touch.
"Then what happened to my body?" he whispered, almost afraid of the answer.
"I patched you up," he said simply. "Used some equipment from the lab. You were in a comatose state."
A lie.
But one that Adam needed to hear.
If Simon told him the truth—that the WAU’s structure gel now ran through his veins, that his flesh had been rebuilt, Adam might lose himself completely.
For now, he would protect him from that truth.
Adam’s breathing slowed, but his eyes remained wary.
Then, suddenly—
"WAU… is the warden system still operational?!"
The panic returned.
Simon shook his head.
"There is no more WAU. It’s gone for good."
A shuddering breath escaped Adam’s lips.
"Good… that crazy AI…"
His body sagged against the wall, the last traces of adrenaline fading, leaving only exhaustion and disbelief.
Minutes passed.
The silence between them was heavy, but not unwelcome.
Adam finally spoke again, his voice quieter. Weaker.
"You said your name is Simon… It doesn’t sound familiar."
His brows furrowed slightly, as if trying to pull pieces of memory together. "Which site are you from?"
Simon hesitated for only a second before responding.
"I’m from Upsilon."
Another lie.
But one that wasn’t entirely false.
The old Simon had awakened at Upsilon.
If he revealed the full truth—that he was a copy, an AI, that his body was no longer human—
It might push Adam too far.
Adam simply nodded, his mind still a storm of thoughts. His eyes drifted to the floor, unfocused, processing everything in silence.
Simon stepped back, giving him space, his fingers idly stroking Jerry’s small back as the rat nestled on his shoulder.
Jerry, sensing the fragile state of the moment, remained still.
Simon waited.
He let Adam gather his thoughts.
