Simon stared at Akers. Both of his blades extended, glinting in the dim light.
He didn't move, keeping his stance firm, his optical sensors analyzing every twitch, every unnatural shift in the monster’s posture.
A thought surfaced.
How much of this thing can still think?
Instead of attacking immediately, Simon decided to test something.
If Akers lunged, his blades would tear through him like wet paper. But if he hesitated—
If there was still something left inside that mind...
He decided to reach out.
Through the electromagnetic field, Simon sent out a message, his mind forming the pulse like a silent, digital whisper:
“Can you hear me?”
Akers froze.
The grotesque husk of a man tilted his eyeless head, as if searching for something unseen. His body twitched—
And then, in a voice gurgled, broken, and raw, he spoke.
“Warden?”
Simon’s processors spiked. That wasn’t what he had expected.
He thinks I’m WAU?
Another pulse.
“WAU is dead.”
Akers’ body shuddered violently. His posture changed, as though the words had physically struck him.
Then—
A low whimpering noise, garbled and inhuman, escaped from the mangled cavity that used to be his throat.
“Warden... cannot be dead...” Akers mumbled, his voice twitching between rage, confusion, and despair. His head jerked to the side in a series of rapid, unnatural spasms, like a puppet with its strings tangled.
Then—
“Your voice… its voice… I hear it... instructions… orders...”
Simon remained silent, watching.
Akers staggered back, his massive, mutated frame trembling as he grasped at his own bulging, tumor-ridden chest. Fingers twitched uncontrollably, as if grasping for something that wasn’t there.
His rotting mind unraveled before Simon’s eyes.
“They sleep… they dream... they are peaceful... I keep them peaceful... I keep them SAFE... I KEEP THEM SAFE!”
His body lurched, his voice rising in hysteria, repeating the words over and over, his breath choking and stuttering like a corrupted audio file.
Simon took a step forward. No response.
Akers was lost in his own mind.
Then—
With one final command, Simon sent out a signal through the electromagnetic field.
The structure gel inside Akers' body hardened instantly.
His monstrous form seized up, locking in place like a statue.
For a split second, Akers’ expression changed—not rage, not horror—
But relief.
His massive body fell backward, hitting the floor with a deafening, lifeless thud.
Like a plank of wood, stiff and unmoving.
Simon stared at the body, processing what had just happened.
He had been nothing more than a husk, an echo of a man clinging to some fractured, desperate purpose.
The dreamers.
That was all he had left.
And now—
Now he was truly gone.
But his words made Simon think.
What did it mean that WAU and I have the same voice?
Simon sat in silence, his mechanical fingers twitching absently against his leg. The thought gnawed at him. It wasn’t just what Akers had said—it was the way he had reacted. As if Simon's voice was something recognizable, something intrinsically tied to WAU.
His thoughts turned inward, focusing on his systems. He initiated a diagnostic check, scanning his framework from the inside out. Everything appeared normal.
Maybe it’s just because I was using the same frequency WAU did?
It was logical. When he had reached out to Akers, he had done so through an electromagnetic signal, the same kind WAU had used to communicate with its creations. But was that all?
WAU is dead.
Simon clenched his fists. He had ensured that. The marble—the core of WAU—was inside him, integrated into his cortex chip.
And that was when it hit him.
Something he hadn’t fully realized before.
It was synchronized, yes—merged into his systems, a part of him now.
But just because it was integrated didn’t mean it wasn’t still doing something.
A slow, uneasy sensation crept up his spine.
His optical sensors flickered as his processors reeled through the implications.
What if there was something hidden? Something WAU had buried inside before it was destroyed?
His mind whirred. He needed to know.
Simon sealed the doors again, reinforcing them with heavy machinery, pushing everything back into place. The scanner had completed its job, and the schematics for the prototype ARC were now downloaded into his memory.
There was nothing more to do—
Except find the truth.
He sat down, leaning against the cold metal wall, the dull hum of the station surrounding him. The cable from the server connected to the port in the back of his helmet, feeding him direct access to Theta’s systems.
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Simon exhaled, even though he no longer needed to breathe.
He glanced toward the A95 submarine, where Jerry was watching him through the glass dome, his tiny paws resting against the transparent surface. The rat tilted his head.
“I’ll be back soon,” Simon murmured.
With that, he closed his eyes—or at least, the digital equivalent of it—and let his mind plunge into the depths of his own systems.
The space around him warped, shifting from reality to a world of numbers, pathways, and walls of raw data. He navigated through the architecture of his consciousness, tracing each neural pattern, ensuring nothing was out of place.
Everything was there.
His memories. His motor functions. The digitalized recreation of his mind.
Everything seemed—
Then he saw it.
A cluster of data tucked beside one of his neural pathways.
A fragment of code that didn’t belong.
Simon’s focus sharpened. He scanned it, inspecting the anomaly for long, tense minutes.
And then—
It clicked.
A compulsion. A directive buried deep within him.
A single, absolute order.
No matter what—survive.
Simon froze.
It was WAU.
Not WAU’s intelligence, not some conscious remnant—just a programmed instinct, an unstoppable impulse woven into his being.
And suddenly—
He remembered Tau.
That moment when he had given up. When the crushing weight of his existence had collapsed in on him, suffocating him with the realization that there was nothing left. No future. No purpose. No escape.
He had been ready to let his battery drain, to sit motionless in that pilot seat until the dim glow of his consciousness flickered out forever.
But something had pushed him forward.
A desperate, unrelenting force inside him had refused to let him die.
At the time, he had thought it was just instinct, some shred of his humanity that refused to surrender.
But now—
Now he knew better.
He remembered something else from Tau.
The moment he had discovered WAU’s backup server.
A massive, monolithic system, still intact, still running—against all odds, despite the destruction that had consumed the rest of PATHOS-II.
That should have been impossible.
But more than that—WAU had allowed him access.
Not at first. The initial attempt had failed. The AI had locked him out.
And yet—
The second time, it had let him in. No resistance.
That made no sense.
Unless—
Unless the backup had detected the cluster inside him.
A key to a locked door.
This compulsion inside him—this hidden directive—must have triggered something. Allowed him access to WAU’s data, where before, it had rejected him outright.
Without it, I would have probably still been there.
A lifeless husk, staring blankly into the abyss, waiting for his systems to fade.
But WAU had ensured that wouldn’t happen.
This was it.
This was the reason.
WAU’s final command—
A failsafe.
A last, lingering imprint, ensuring that he wouldn’t stop fighting.
Simon didn't know if he should feel terrified—or impressed.
For a moment, he just stared at the raw code, watching the truth solidify in his mind.
WAU had been smart.
Even in death, it had ensured that he would never stop.
Simon’s optics flickered, and the data world around him collapsed, dissolving into the cold, mechanical stillness of reality.
He was back.
The room was exactly as he had left it.
For six hours, he had been gone, diving through the depths of his own mind, tracing the remnants of WAU’s final influence.
He glanced around, his mechanical frame adjusting to movement once more.
Jerry had fallen asleep inside his submarine, his tiny body curled up within the protective casing, breathing slow and steady.
The doors were still sealed—untouched.
The twelve drones he had deployed around the site were still operational, their data streams broadcasting back to him, sending out silent pings through the dead halls of the station.
Simon’s shoulders relaxed.
WAU was gone.
But its legacy remained—woven into his very being.
Simon walked toward Jerry.
The rat, sensing movement, stirred from his sleep. His tiny limbs stretched, his mouth opening in a lazy yawn before his dark, beady eyes blinked up at Simon.
“Jerry, do you wanna come with me?” Simon asked, his voice low but steady. “I’m heading to the lower level.”
Jerry twitched his whiskers, sniffing the air as if processing the words. Then, with a tiny, decisive nod, he answered.
Simon smiled—at least, mentally.
He grabbed the A95 submarine, securing it against his back. The magnets locked into place, ensuring it wouldn’t move as he walked. With Jerry now safely secured, he turned toward the exit.
The door hissed open, and they stepped out of the laboratory, making their way downstairs. The silence of the station pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of machinery, the faint creaks of metal shifting under pressure.
Their destination was clear—the nearest dreamer.
Alice Koster.
She was one of the worst cases.
Her body was almost completely fused into the shuttle’s back wall, her head engulfed in the grotesque, fleshy mass of structure gel and organic tendrils. There was almost nothing left of her face, just a faint outline buried beneath the tumor-like growths.
But she was alive.
Trapped in the illusion WAU had woven for her.
Simon stepped forward and placed his hand against the pulsating mass.
The structure gel in his palm slithered outward, connecting to the gel-infested wall, merging with it in a slow, fluid motion. A sudden surge ran through him, his vision warping as reality around him began to bend.
The world shifted.
The sterile, dimly lit interior of the shuttle was gone.
Simon now stood in a park.
The air was warm, filled with the scent of flowers in bloom. A gentle breeze ruffled through the vibrant green grass, the leaves of small, delicate trees swaying under the golden sunlight. Birds chirped softly in the distance, their songs blending with the distant laughter of people.
The sky was blue, perfect and cloudless.
It felt too real.
Simon glanced down at his own hands.
They weren’t metal.
They were flesh and bone.
His human self.
His heart should have been pounding, but there was no heartbeat to feel. Just the eerie calmness that came with existing in a space that wasn’t truly real.
And then he saw her.
Alice.
She sat on a wooden bench, leaning against someone—
Brandon Wan.
Her husband.
They were laughing, her head resting against his shoulder, a tender smile on her lips. She was beautiful, radiant, her eyes full of warmth. In her arms, she held a baby, gently cradling the small bundle in her embrace.
A perfect, peaceful life.
Simon took a step forward.
Then another.
He walked closer… and closer.
But no matter how close he got, they didn’t seem to notice him.
He was a ghost in her world.
She’s too deep in the dream… Simon realized. She doesn’t see me.
He tried again, this time raising his hand, reaching out—
And then, he touched her shoulder.
Alice froze.
Her body went rigid, the laughter cut off mid-breath.
Slowly, unnaturally, she turned her head toward him, her eyes locking onto his.
Her expression twisted into confusion, uncertainty, unease.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice wavering, puzzled, as if she was just now realizing something was wrong.
Simon walked forward, careful not to disturb the fragile illusion around him. He could still hear the distant chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, the way the sunlight cast warm golden hues over the perfect world.
Alice's eyes remained locked on him, wary, as if sensing something was off but not yet able to fully grasp why.
Simon forced a casual smile, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible.
“Hello,” he said gently. “My name is Simon. I’m a reporter for a small online blog focused on underwater structures. Sorry for startling you.” He hesitated just the right amount before adding, “By any chance, do you work at an underwater research complex called PATHOS-II?”
Alice blinked, her brows furrowing slightly. The question made her pause, her fingers tensing around the baby in her arms.
But then, the dream smoothed over the disruption, pulling her back into its calm embrace.
She offered a small nod. “I’m a Payload Manager at PATHOS-II.”
Simon nodded as if writing mental notes. “And you?” he asked, turning to Brandon.
The man smiled, shifting slightly to gently adjust the baby in Alice’s arms. His gaze softened as he looked at them.
“I’m an engineer—a Wrangler. Name’s Brandon,” he said, offering his hand as if this were nothing more than a normal encounter.
Simon shook it, the sensation eerily real despite knowing it wasn’t.
“This is Alice,” Brandon continued, his eyes moving back to his wife. Then, with a tenderness that felt so heartbreakingly human, he glanced down at the infant nestled against Alice’s chest.
“Her name is Tina.”
Alice let out a gentle chuckle, brushing a soft curl from the baby’s face. “She just turned four months old last week.”
Simon’s stomach twisted.
He knew that wasn’t true.
Tina had been stillborn. The baby had never lived, yet here she was, smiling in Alice’s arms, perfectly crafted by her dream.
The dream was strong, strong enough to rewrite the worst memories, to reshape grief into something beautiful.
But that wasn’t real.
Simon kept his expression neutral, his mind racing. How deep did this dream go? How strong was the illusion, stopping her from realizing the truth?
He needed to push further.
To test the limits of the illusion.
To see how much Alice remembered about reality.
“So,” Simon continued, keeping his tone light, “what’s it like working at PATHOS-II? I’ve always been curious about those deep-sea research facilities.”
Alice tilted her head slightly, as if processing the question.
For a fraction of a second, Simon noticed a flicker of hesitation, a fracture in the perfect ease of her expression.
But then, the dream compensated, and she smiled.
“It’s… nice,” she said, but there was something off in her voice—as though the words were being fed to her, as though she wasn’t quite sure.
She glanced at Brandon, as if to confirm something, and he simply nodded in agreement.
“The ocean can be… overwhelming sometimes,” Brandon added, “but we do good work. And it’s safe.”
Safe.
Simon bit the inside of his cheek. The word felt wrong coming from a man who had cut his own throat in the real world.
He decided to push further.
“Do you guys ever get… visitors?” he asked casually.
Alice frowned slightly, her fingers gripping the baby just a little tighter.
“No,” she said. “We don’t get visitors. PATHOS-II isn’t open to the public.”
Simon hummed as if considering that. “That makes sense. With how deep you guys are, I imagine it would be pretty tough getting up and down. How do you even—” He stopped, as if catching himself. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Do you ever go up to the surface?”
Alice froze.
The moment stretched.
The wind stilled.
The birds that had been singing in the distance fell silent.
