Simon stood alone on a low rooftop, his long coat catching the simulated breeze. Power rolled through him like a calm tide. He scanned the street below, posture steady, still.
Then—whoosh. A grappling line zipped overhead, and a familiar figure tumbled down beside him, nearly slipping on the smooth rooftop.
“You’re late,” Simon said, not turning.
“I had to help an old lady cross the street,” old Simon replied, grinning behind his red mask.
Simon chuckled, soft. “Did she ask for help?”
“No. But she smiled, so I’m counting it.”
From across the city square, sirens flared—bright and campy. Criminals in exaggerated villain garb charged from a faux bank, one brandishing a cartoonish energy cannon.
Simon’s expression sharpened. “Rooftops. I’ll go loud.”
“You always go loud,” young Simon called, launching into the air with a cheerful whoop.
Simon leapt after him, hitting the ground with a controlled shockwave. Pavement cracked beneath him in clean lines as thugs tumbled backward, groaning dramatically. One tried to rise—Simon raised a hand. Electricity arced. The figure spasmed and went limp.
Above, old Simon dropped onto another figure, swinging a foam boomerang that pinged off the side of the bank before triggering a confetti pop. “Boom!” he laughed.
Together, they worked in tandem.
When the fight ended, applause echoed from invisible speakers. A glowing banner unfurled in the sky: Simulation Complete: Rank S+
They stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the empty street. A digital breeze rustled the trees lining the sidewalks. A small pigeon fluttered down and landed on Simon’s shoulder, saluting.
“You’re much better than me at this.” old Simon said after a moment.
“I had to be,” Simon replied. His voice was quiet.
The sun never truly set in the ARK. Just like it never truly rose. It hovered in that eternal dusk—soft, forgiving light stretching across the streets like a memory refusing to fade.
Old Simon sat on a bench, pulling off his gloves. “You think we’ll ever need to fight like this in real life ?”
Simon looked down at his gloved hands, flexing the fingers. “Maybe. Maybe not. But knowing how... it means we never stopped caring.”
They sat side by side as the simulation reset around them. Civilians reappeared in window frames, smiling. One clapped. Another waved. The thugs vanished. The city glowed anew.
“I used to dream about being someone like you,” old Simon murmured.
The old version reached into his belt, pulling out the red scarf. He held it out.
“You should take it. You’re the real hero now.”
Simon hesitated. Then took it slowly. He wrapped the scarf around his neck, and for a moment—he could hear his heart beat.
The two of them watched the sky together.
"I was thinking of changing my name," the old Simon said.
Simon turned his head slightly, curious.
"It's weird that we're both called Simon. People will confuse us. Besides, I'm not such a jerk as to ask you to change yours. You've earned it, after everything you've been through," the old Simon added.
"What name are you thinking about?" Simon asked.
The old Simon smiled as he watched the gentle dusk stretch across the horizon. "Jesse."
Simon didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze shifted to the horizon of the eternal dusk within the ARK.
Moments later, Jesse’s visual sensors flared red, his vision rebooting in real space after Simon disconnected him from the simulation. Slowly, his cameras focused and adjusted to the room around him.
"Holy shit," Jesse muttered.
Before him stood Simon—taller, broader than before. His frame was sleek and obsidian-black, sculpted with dense synthetic musculature. His eyes were twin blue lights, steady and unblinking.
Cradled gently in his arm was a rat.
The small creature had a strip of latex gently wrapped around its midsection, and on its back was a curious hump, shaped like a miniature dome.
"Who’s this little fellow?" Jesse asked, stepping closer.
Simon looked down, smiling gently. He rubbed the rat’s head with two fingers.
"His name is Jerry. A rat I found at Upsilon. I told you about him. He’s been with me through a lot."
Jesse crouched, reaching under Jerry’s chin and giving him a scratch. Jerry sniffed his fingers, then leaned into the touch.
"Nice to meet you, Jerry," Jesse said warmly.
He stood up and looked around. The chamber was low-lit, ambient blue light spilling from hidden strips along the ceiling. The walls were clad in dark metallic plating, layered with seams like overlapping armor. On a table sat the ARK, connected to a polished black cylinder, glowing faintly with a pulsing red optic. Surrounding the room were softly humming pieces of equipment.
Simon gestured. "Come on. Let’s go meet the others."
The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a long, dim hallway.
They walked together, Jesse following close behind, until they reached a large circular chamber beyond.
The room opened up like a common hall, and spread across a wide, curved couch shaped like a crescent moon were a group of figures—seven in total.
Five of them wore Haimatsu power suits. One wore a suit similar in shape, but clearly from a different source. The last was clad in a diving suit just like his.
They turned as the two entered.
Kovsky rose first, pushing himself up from next to Jonsy and stepping forward. His voice rang out in a thick Russian accent.
"Hello, Simon and… urgh, Simon. I'm Neil Tsiolkovsky, but you can call me Kovsky."
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"You can call me Jesse," the older Simon said with a small laugh.
Kovsky's grin widened. "Yeah, sure. Nice to meet you, Jesse." He stepped aside and gestured to the others.
"That lovely lady there is Jonsy, the sweetest woman I ever met."
Jonsy chuckled behind her helmet. "Vigdis Jonsdottir. But yeah, Jonsy works just fine."
Next, a calm voice spoke. "Vic Auclair." His French accent was faint but noticeable. He gave a nod, his posture composed.
"Renata Espinosa," the woman beside him said.
"Antjie Coetzee," came a firmer voice. She crossed her arms and offered a respectful nod, her tone sharp but not unfriendly.
"Elias Robert," said the man in the diving suit, his voice flat, almost disinterested.
And finally—
"I’m Sarah Lindwall. " Her voice carried a soft confidence.
Jesse extended his hand, and one by one, they shook it. The moment was casual, yet somehow ceremonial—an unspoken acknowledgment of shared survival.
Then, slowly, the helmets came off.
Jesse’s breath caught in his throat.
Five of them had faces unlike anything human. Pale, hairless, their eyes large and unblinking. Their mouths were absent. Their expressions unreadable, yet filled with something unmistakably human—awareness, kindness, pain.
Jonsy and Elias, however, were different. Jonsy’s cameras focused on Jesse with a curious tilt. Elias gave a slight, nonchalant wave.
Jesse turned to Simon. "Why… do they look like that?"
Simon’s voice was calm. "These people were revived, like us. Their minds were transferred by the Solipsist Queen, but instead of robotic shells like ours, they were given fully organic bodies."
The name "Solipsist" stuck in Jesse's mind like a splinter—unsettling, heavy.
Simon stepped forward, sitting gently beside them.
"But that doesn’t change who they are," he added. "Not one bit."
Jesse stood still, uncertain.
Then one of them laughed—Renata, maybe—and the spell broke.
Slowly, the others began to speak. Their voices were calm, warm, thoughtful. They talked about where they came from, who they lost, what they remembered. Sarah spoke about a brother she barely remembered. Antjie mentioned Earth’s last sky she saw. Even Kovsky, gruff and bombastic, had a quiet sadness when he spoke of someone named Anya.
Jesse listened quietly at first, but the kindness in their tone—the way they looked at each other—made something in his chest loosen.
He hadn’t realized how badly he needed kindness until it sat beside him in silence, offering nothing but understanding.
They were survivors, just like him.
After a while, Simon stood up.
The conversations around the room faded into silence. All eyes—and sensors—turned toward him. He gently placed Jerry into Jonsy’s arms.
Before anyone could ask, he spoke.
"I'm heading to Site Oubliette to finish what I started with Enoa," Simon declared, his voice steady and low.
A subtle shift rippled through the group. Renata’s head tilted. Antjie leaned forward, her arms folding across her chest. Kovsky let out a faint grunt, not quite disapproving, but heavy with concern.
"After I’m done, we’ll never fear Carthage again."
There was a beat of silence. Even Jerry twitched.
Then Elias cleared his throat.
"Now, can I plug back into the ARK?" he asked, diffusing the tension.
A few chuckles broke out. Jonsy let out a gentle wheeze of amusement.
"Sure, Elias. Sure," Simon said. Then he pointed behind Elias. "Is that a spider behind you?"
Elias yelped, his body twitching as he jumped away with a high-pitched shriek that echoed off the metallic walls.
There was nothing there.
Elias stared at the empty spot, then shot Simon a glare.
"My visual sensors must’ve glitched," Simon said, mock-serious.
Laughter spread wider now. Even Jesse chuckled quietly.
Jesse stayed behind with the others as Simon guided Elias to his room and connected him to the ARK.
Afterward, he made one last stop.
Imogen.
She still stood fused to the floor. Rooted. Unmoving. Her eyes closed. Still, serene, like a dreaming statue.
Simon watched her for a long time. Once this was over, he would make her a new body. One worthy of who she had been.
He turned, and left.
His path took him to the backup server chamber—the secret womb of WAU’s shadow twin.
The room thrummed with life. Server racks stretched along the walls like cathedral pillars. Their lights pulsed in rhythmic waves, veins glowing with data. The hum in the floor was deep and steady, like a heartbeat buried in metal.
At the center, a pedestal. Embedded into it—a single clear bead, small and unassuming.
But Simon knew the truth now. This wasn’t a backup. This was the Watcher.
An AI made to monitor its sibling—the WAU he had destroyed. It had observed, analyzed, recorded every evolution, every corruption. They had communicated in the silence between sites. After Simon killed the first, this one erased its memories.
Its purpose was fulfilled. It was obsolete.
Simon’s form shifted. Alien features unfurled.
His armor darkened, liquid-like. Iridescent hues of deep violet, emerald, and oceanic blue shimmered along his body. The soft blue glow behind his lenses faded. The lenses themselves retracted, replaced by four glowing white orbs in a cross formation, pulsing with unreadable signals. His amber core flared, then began to twist—morphing from a smooth light to a chaotic shifting pattern, like a vortex caught in stasis.
He had hidden the spearhead far behind. Merging with the drone from Noesis, he glided through the abyss—slipping silently across the ocean floor.
He knew Enoa would have reinforced Site Oubliette. After what he’d done at Noesis, they would be ready.
But Simon was not the same.
The journey was uneventful, and soon his sensors picked it up:
A ruin of black metal ribs jutted from the seafloor like the skeleton of some ancient, mechanical beast. Domes—cataract-covered, decaying—stared blankly upward like the blind eyes of drowned gods. At the center, a single spire rose, impossibly tall, piercing the sea like a needle from a nightmare.
Docked along its side, something new.
A massive submersible.
Its hull was matte black, broken only by thin glowing seams of amber light that pulsed in geometric sequences. No windows, no ports—just plates of adaptive alloy shifting to absorb pressure. Its silhouette was angular, like a stealth weapon, and its rear fins curled like the wings of a mechanical manta.
Tiny drones drifted around its hull. The sub seemed more creature than machine—as if it were waiting to wake up.
Simon watched it from the dark.
He needed to know why the submersible was here.
Simon’s drone body shifted, its obsidian plating reconfiguring with liquid grace. Plates folded inward, forming sleek, angular contours. The result resembled a deep-sea predator—like a robotic fish sculpted from volcanic glass, its surface glinting faintly with blue data pulses that mimicked bioluminescent patterns. Smooth fins extended for silent movement, the head narrowing into a wedge-like snout. Even in stillness, it looked like a weapon bred by evolution and perfected by design.
He drifted low across the ocean floor, his form barely distinguishable from the shadows. As he moved, his body shimmered—light bending, folding—until he vanished completely into the darkness.
When he reached the submersible, he slithered from the drone body, oozing like intelligent mercury across its hull. Thin tendrils of structure gel infiltrated ports and seams. It took only seconds.
The onboard AI, advanced as it was, couldn’t stop him. It didn’t even register him.
Simon became the submarine.
And it was a fortress.
He scanned its systems with a growing sense of awe.
Submersible: HSS Izanami
Manufacturer: Haimatsu Technologies, Black Division
Specifications:
- Multi-layered adaptive alloy hull with reactive pressure shielding
- Stealth thermal cloaking and light-bending optics
- Eight internal auto-turrets with plasma-disruptor systems
- Two magnetic torpedo bays
- Mini-drone bays with recon and sabotage units
- Integrated EMP countermeasures and nanite purge protocols
- Onboard AI: "TENGU" — semi-sapient, battlefield assistant
The Izanami was built for the abyss—matte black, silent, plated in adaptive alloy that drank sonar and deflected light. Amber pulses rippled along its hull like veins under skin. It was a ghost wrapped in armor, waiting for war.
Simon paused. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wanted this thing.
Still, he restrained himself. This wasn’t the time.
He wouldn’t keep it—yet. But he left backdoors. Hooks in the code, threads hidden like barnacles in its memory banks. If he ever needed it again, he’d call it back.
The submarine had already deployed its human crew. They were inside.
Simon followed.
Infiltrating the site proved surprisingly easy. He moved like a virus—clinging to ceilings, walls, conduits. Cameras didn’t detect him. Sensors didn’t register his presence. Machines he passed bent to his will, obeying silently.
One of his abilities allowed him to reach into systems without touch. Doors opened for him. Lights dimmed.
He glided through the guts of Site Oubliette, a ghost in a dead machine, until he reached the control chamber—the last place he’d seen Enoa.
The massive steel doors were already open.
White floodlights cast harsh shadows across the chamber. Cold light. Surgical.
And there they were.
Eight humans, heavily armored in reinforced exo-suits, stood in a wide formation. Their weapons were drawn, eyes alert, bodies rigid. These weren’t random security—they were elite.
At their center stood a woman.
She was in her early fifties, with stern Asian features, sharp cheekbones, and a clean-cut black bob. Her stance was perfect, military in its economy. A sleek exosuit molded around her frame—not bulky like the others, but laced with subtle command threads and a high-tier neural uplink module at the base of her skull.
Simon knew her name: Yasuko Tanaka. CEO and Supreme Director of Haimatsu Technologies. Ruthless, brilliant, and rarely seen in person.
From the ceiling, the massive articulated arm had already descended.
Enoa stood there, speaking.
The lights across his frame pulsed slowly, rhythmically. His voice carried the eerie resonance of calm authority. Yet something in the cadence of his pulses... it felt off.
Simon watched them from the shadows.
He didn’t need to understand the words. He saw the shape of the moment. Two apex predators in one room. A stage set.
They stood at the edge of something. An accord?
Either way, someone wasn’t leaving this room whole.
Kill two birds with one stone, Simon thought.
The chessboard had aligned.
Now, it was time to tip the board.