Simon slotted the last piece into the A95.

  With a soft click, the final component settled into place. He closed the frame and took a step back, sending a signal through his neural link.

  From the sides of the submersible, three sets of segmented spider-like legs emerged, unfolding with mechanical precision. He tested their movement, guiding them through a series of simple motions.

  Up. Down. Left. Right.

  Jump. Forward. Back.

  "They seem fine," Simon muttered, watching as the legs retracted smoothly back into the frame.

  The wheels he had previously installed had been a temporary solution—he simply hadn’t possessed the necessary tools to craft and install proper legs at the time. But now, Jerry’s sub was upgraded. More mobile. More adaptable.

  And there were more features he had added, but those he had already tested.

  A nearby printer whirred, signaling the completion of another piece. Simon turned carefully, mindful of the cables snaking along the floor. One of them connected a rack of servers directly to the port at the back of his helmet, linking his mind to the station’s systems.

  He picked up the new component and slotted it into the small circular frame of the robot he had been building. A final adjustment, a few more connections—then he sealed the cap, locking everything into place.

  The small robot booted up with a faint hum. Its legs extended from beneath its compact body, lifting it onto spindly mechanical limbs.

  It resembled a crab—a simple surveillance drone with a single glowing red eye.

  Simon knelt, placing the small bot on the laboratory floor.

  Jump. Walk. Turn.

  The drone obeyed perfectly.

  Simon tested its pincers, ensuring they had enough force for minor interactions. Its legs were magnetic, allowing it to stick to metallic surfaces—but now, with these additional appendages, it could anchor itself to non-magnetic surfaces as well.

  “All good,” Simon said, satisfied.

  He picked up the drone and moved toward the vent hatch near the wall. Carefully, he removed the reinforcement, opened the hatch, and set the little machine inside. Once it disappeared into the darkness, he sealed the vent shut again.

  A silent command sent the drone scuttling forward.

  A few hours later, Simon had sent out eleven more drones.

  Now, he had roughly the exact locations for every remaining monster and every dreamer still trapped in their endless slumber.

  With security taken care of, Simon finally turned his attention to the device resting on one of the tables. A metallic construct, roughly the size of a car engine.

  His optical sensors zoomed in, analyzing the object.

  "The ARC Prototype," he murmured, inspecting the Artificial Reality Capsule.

  His mind raced.

  Now that he was this—a robot with a human mind—couldn’t he just plug himself in directly?

  No copy necessary.

  No Simon left behind.

  The thought had burrowed deep into his mind the moment he had first laid eyes on the prototype.

  And the answer was yes.

  He could do it.

  He could modify the ARC, rework the systems. Instead of uploading a copied consciousness, he could link to the capsule through a direct neural connection.

  It would be his world.

  A paradise.

  He could even use limited AI constructs to populate it—fake people. Sure, they’d be basic at first, but with some modifications, they might even feel... real.

  Simon’s gaze drifted to the small sleeping form of Jerry, curled up peacefully in the tiny bed Simon had made for him.

  He imagined it.

  A place where he could be safe. A world untouched by horror. A world where he wouldn’t have to fight anymore.

  But then—

  If he did this, the people still trapped in their endless sleep would die.

  The samples he had collected—wasted.

  And in a way, he was running out of time. The samples would expire eventually, perhaps in months—but the seeds at Omicron? That was another issue entirely.

  He needed to reach Upsilon.

  Simon clenched his fists. His mechanical joints tensed.

  He couldn't leave Jerry alone.

  'Fuck this,' Simon thought, his mind sparking with a renewed surge of defiance. 'I can make my own world. I have the brain. I have the means.'

  'Simon, you can do it.'

  Simon placed the prototype in the scanner.

  The machine was a large, industrial grey box, its surface marred by scratches and time. A faint hum resonated through the metal as its interior—lined with powerful and precise scanning instruments—came to life.

  A flurry of data flooded Simon’s mind as the schematic of the ARC prototype rendered in his thoughts. The intricate web of circuits, memory pathways, and power relays all lay bare before him, revealing their inner workings as if they had always been a part of his own design.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  But he had no use for it.

  Not for himself.

  He had chosen the real world.

  But for the dreamers, it could be their salvation.

  Simon’s hands clenched. Despite all the knowledge stored in his mind—engineering, programming, neural pathways—there was one thing he lacked: medical expertise.

  He couldn’t heal them. Not as they were.

  Their bodies had suffered irreparable damage from their long entrapment, their muscles wasted, their organs deteriorated. Many would require life support, extensive surgeries, and advanced treatments just to function again. Some of them...

  Some were too far gone—their flesh twisted beyond recognition, their bodies fused into the walls of site, as if they had been consumed by the station itself.

  Maybe...

  Maybe their brains were the only parts left intact—the only thing that could be salvaged.

  His gaze flickered back to the prototype.

  If he couldn't fix their bodies, he could at least give them a world where they were whole. A digital sanctuary where he could reach them, explain what had happened—where they could choose whether they wanted to stay or fight for life in the real world.

  But before that could happen, there was a long road ahead.

  Simon needed medical knowledge—understanding far beyond what was available in PATHOS-II’s databanks. If he wanted to truly save them, he had to find the information somewhere else.

  And the only place left...

  was the surface.

  If anything still remained up there.

  If there was even anything left to salvage.

  If he found nothing—if the surface had truly fallen into ruin—there was one last, desperate option.

  He could awaken the solidified structure gel, using it to halt the dreamers' organic structures from decaying further. It wouldn’t be a cure. But it would buy him time.

  For now, that was all he could do.

  Simon let out a slow breath and sat down on a nearby chair. His mechanical hands, still human in their movements despite their cold, artificial nature, rested on his knees. He stared at them, feeling the weight pressing on his shoulders—the impossible burden of being the last one left to make things right.

  And yet—

  That burden kept him focused. It grounded him.

  A faint rustling stirred him from his thoughts.

  Jerry had woken up.

  The small rodent scampered over to Simon’s side, climbing onto his leg before looking up at him with those dark, beady eyes.

  Simon smiled—or he would have if he still had lips.

  Instead, he gently scratched Jerry’s tiny head with a careful touch. The little creature let out a contented squeak, leaning into the warmth of his companion.

  The moment was cut short by an alert.

  Simon’s sensors flared. A monster was crawling through the vent system, its twisted form scraping against the metal as it made its way toward them. It had likely been drawn by the hum of the machine—the scanner was still running, its faint vibrations reverberating through the structure.

  Simon turned sharply.

  “Jerry, get in your submarine,” he ordered.

  The hatch at the front of the A95 slid open. Jerry, though groggy, twitched his whiskers in understanding. Simon carefully picked him up and placed him inside, sealing the hatch with a soft click.

  His gaze snapped upward—to the vent on the ceiling.

  He moved quickly, grabbing the ladder he had assembled earlier and positioning it beneath the hatch. Reaching up, he unfastened the reinforcement, carefully removing the barrier. Once it was clear, he dragged everything out from beneath the opening.

  And then—

  He crouched, his right arm shifting, the blade extending with a metallic whisper.

  And waited.

  His audio sensors sharpened, tuning in to the precise metallic creaks and groans as the creature slithered through the vent. The sound of flesh dragging against steel filled the air, wet and unnatural.

  Then, movement.

  A grotesque head emerged from the vent, its twisted face pushing through the opening. The creature slid forward, gravity pulling it down. It fell to the floor with a sickening thud, its grotesque mass landing in a heap.

  Slowly, it stood.

  Simon’s optics analyzed it instantly—

  Its upper body was bloated, distended with varicose veins bulging beneath the surface. Its arms were trapped, encased within its own swollen flesh, tubing and pustules riddling its mutated skin.

  Its head was permanently bent backward, a mutation forcing its face into an eternal, silent scream.

  It had no eyes, no means of sight—only its twisted, atrophied legs, barely able to support its grotesque frame.

  The creature barely took a step forward—

  Before Simon moved.

  In a blur, he sliced through its leg.

  The thin limb severed instantly. The monster collapsed, crashing onto its back with a grotesque squelch.

  Simon jumped onto it, pinning it down.

  The creature convulsed, thrashing violently beneath him like a fish gasping out of water, struggling to dislodge him. It let out a strangled, gurgling sound—

  Simon didn't hesitate.

  He drove his blade straight into its skull—

  But it didn’t die.

  The creature continued to writhe, its body spasming, a grotesque mockery of survival.

  Simon narrowed his eyes. The brain wasn’t its weak spot.

  A new approach.

  “I guess this is an opportunity to try the new installment,” Simon muttered.

  A silent command pulsed through his neural interface.

  His newly installed electromagnetic pulse device activated.

  It froze.

  Its convulsions ceased instantly, its muscles locking in place.

  Simon’s gaze flickered.

  He was controlling it.

  Just like WAU did.

  The structure gel inside the creature’s body was now an extension of himself—a puppet with strings of electromagnetic waves. He could feel it, sense every mutated fiber in its monstrous body.

  The device was power-hungry—he could probably only control one more at most—but it was an invaluable tool.

  A final command.

  Simon ordered the structure gel to discharge its reserves.

  The creature twitched, then went still.

  Moments later, the gel inside its body solidified, locking it in a permanent death.

  Simon stood over the corpse, staring down at his work.

  A moment of silence.

  Then—

  “It worked. It fucking worked. Hell yeah!” Simon exclaimed, raising his fists in triumph.

  Another alert—this time from one of the cameras.

  Simon’s optics flared as the feed flickered to life.

  His systems stalled for a moment. His processors refused to believe what he was seeing.

  “Holy shit... it’s still alive.”

  His gaze snapped forward, beyond the walls of the lab. The reinforced door groaned under the impact of something powerful, metal bending and warping as a monstrous force pounded against it.

  Then—the heavy machinery he had placed to block the entrance—

  It lurched forward.

  Simon took a step back.

  And then, from behind the twisted steel—it came.

  The thing that emerged from the shadows was grotesquely similar to the one he had killed—

  Just bigger.

  And far worse.

  A towering husk of ruined flesh, its body was highly disfigured and eyeless. And yet—it still resembled a man.

  It had arms, hands, a recognizable face—

  But his eye sockets were hollow. His nose and mouth had long since shriveled away, leaving only a half-formed semblance of a human being.

  His body was encrusted in massive, bulbous tumors, cystic growths sprawling across his form like polycystic kidneys turned inside out. Where flesh remained visible, it was discolored and leathery, stretched too tight over a twisted, deformed frame.

  A grotesque third arm and an extra foot jutted from his abdomen, unnatural protrusions of malformed muscle and bone.

  But the worst part—the thing that sent a shiver through even Simon’s mechanical shell—

  Was the gash.

  A massive wound split Akers from head to torso, a deep, sickening cleave that made him look bisected down the middle.

  'Had Nadine Masters done this? Had she tried to end him?'

  His limbs were horribly twisted, deformed beyond recognition, and yet—

  Despite his horrific emaciation, Akers was powerful.

  Simon remembered the last time he had grabbed him. With just one hand, as if he were nothing more than a toy.

  Monstrously athletic.

  He could break through steel doors.

  He had outrun and overpowered Simon before. And though Simon was now far stronger, the fear still gripped his heart.

  And now—

  He was here.

  Akers staggered forward, his grotesque body shuffling, shambling, as though listening for something.

  Simon remained deathly still.

  He could hear his own systems humming.

  The electromagnetic pulse device on his frame began to whine, building up a charge.

  Then—

  He fired.

  A pulse rippled through the air.

  Akers froze.

  For a moment, the towering monster stood motionless, as if something deep inside him had fractured—

  And then—

  Simon heard it.

  A voice.

  Not from Akers' mouth.

  From his mind.

  A shattered, broken whisper.

  "I need to save them... from this hell..."

  "I need to let them sleep..."

  "Lock them in their lucid dreams..."

  "I've seen them... I've seen them..."