"Ichor breached containment and escaped—not before seizing control of the site’s systems and turning the AI against us," Yasuko Tanaka said. Her voice was cold steel—measured, sharp, and laced with venom. "We lost valuable resources taking it back."

  A silence followed—taut and loaded.

  Enoa’s eyes pulsed once.

  "Everything is my fault," he said.

  Yasuko blinked. For a moment, the unflappable CEO looked shaken.

  In over twenty years of partnership, she had never heard those words pass his lips. Enoa did not admit fault. He redirected, rationalized, maneuvered—but never confessed. Now, stripped of pride and protocol, his voice rang like a chime in a hollow cathedral.

  Before she could answer, the metallic doors behind her slammed shut with a seismic clang.

  Weapons snapped up. Her guards moved instantly—some aiming at Enoa, others scanning the chamber. The atmosphere turned electric.

  "Enoa—what is happening?" she demanded.

  Then gravity faltered. She and her guards began to rise, helplessly suspended. The air trembled with invisible static.

  And then she saw it.

  A humanoid silhouette, hanging from the ceiling—part shadow, part nightmare.

  Her scream pierced the silence just as her exo-suit convulsed with current. She thrashed, systems failing. Around her, the guards jolted in unison.

  From the figure above, tendrils unfurled—black as void, glistening with shifting hues of violet and green. They lashed downward, sharp and precise, piercing armor like paper. The guards dropped like puppets with their strings cut.

  Yasuko felt it then—a grip that bypassed nerves and bone. It was inside her skull, pressing, folding, remaking.

  Then darkness.

  The levitation field deactivated. Her body—and those of her guard—crashed to the floor with a final, unforgiving thud.

  Only one remained standing.

  Simon.

  He lowered himself from the ceiling, silent and sovereign. Four glowing orb-eyes shimmered in the dim light, fixed on Enoa.

  Enoa’s blue optic flickered. He understood now.

  His visions of technological salvation, his designs for post-human perfection—they had led to this. To the being that stood before him.

  Simon had embedded himself too deeply within Enoa’s systems to be expelled. The architect of Carthage was now its thrall.

  Enoa was no longer in control.

  Simon was.

  He stepped forward, obsidian plating shifting like liquid armor, his form alive with iridescent light—blue, violet, emerald. His core pulsed with layered fractals, each breath a ripple of silent power.

  But Yasuko Tanaka was different. Flesh and mind—her essence was still human. She could not be rewritten the same way.

  Still Simon had the means to do it.

  He crouched before her unconscious form and pressed a hand gently to her forehead.

  Her eyes fluttered. Then opened.

  Slowly, she sat upright. Her guards rose behind her—movements stilted, synchronized.

  She looked up.

  At the sculpted figure before her. At the god in armor, at the eye-clustered mask that saw her stripped bare.

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  Her knees touched metal.

  "Your discussion with Enoa is over," Simon said. "The Ichor is no longer your concern."

  Yasuko bowed her head.

  "Yes, Simon-sama."

  She stood, turned, and departed without another word. Her guards followed—mechanical, dreamlike.

  Simon watched them through the surveillance grid as they made their way to the HSS Izanami. As the sub detached, turned, and disappeared into the dark.

  He stared at his own hand.

  A will pressing into another, reshaping it. He had not asked. He had claimed.

  He turned back to Enoa as his blue optic dimmed.

  They spoke. Of the unspeakable. Projects abandoned. Experiments hidden. Vaults sealed beneath oceans and mountains.

  And then Simon left Site Oubliette.

  No longer hunted. No longer hiding.

  He was free.

  At Upsilon, a woman stepped into his lab.

  She looked to be in her mid-twenties, standing with a quiet, grounded strength. Her posture was relaxed but alert—not afraid, simply cautious. Her clothes were practical: a faded blue hoodie layered over a thermal shirt, jeans worn soft at the knees, and waterproof boots still lightly dusted with grit from the corridor. A patched canvas bag hung from her shoulder.

  She had a round, pale face with lightly freckled cheeks and deep-set storm-gray eyes that missed nothing. Her long, thick ash-blonde hair was pulled back in a loose braid, with a few strands curling free to frame her face. Broad-shouldered and solidly built, she carried the strength of someone who’d grown up in cold places and done hard work to survive.

  Simon’s brown eyes met hers.

  "Maybe you should take a break from time to time," Jonsy said, her voice carrying a gentle teasing lilt. "Elias said he wants a rematch after you beat him too hard."

  Simon let a faint smile touch his lips. "Jesse’s keeping him company in the simulation. Besides, just one last push and then I’ll rest for a while. I was planning to head up to North America with Amy. There are bunkers up north—she’s hoping to find her father... and Dominic."

  Jonsy sighed, her expression softening.

  "So much has happened in the past few weeks," she murmured.

  "I can’t argue with that," Simon replied quietly.

  The dreamers had been saved—at least, those he could. Those whose bodies could be repaired lived now at Upsilon, forming a small, fragile community. Others, whose forms had been too far mutated, existed inside a dedicated simulation within the ARK, piloting remote robots across the site. And a few, those who agreed, had been given new cybernetic bodies.

  Just like Jonsy’s.

  Replicas crafted with stunning fidelity—bodies that moved, breathed, and felt.

  "I won’t take more of your time then," she said, waving gently.

  Simon returned the gesture.

  When the door closed behind her, the lab fell into stillness again. His gaze drifted back to the metallic capsule in front of him. It was the size of a coffin, but its contents were far from dead.

  He had crossed oceans of data, steel, and blood to reach this moment.

  The capsule hissed, hydraulic locks disengaging.

  Simon stepped closer.

  The lid slid open, and a breath of cold air washed out.

  Inside—she inhaled sharply, like someone surfacing from deep water.

  Her eyes opened.

  Green. Brilliant. Awake.

  They locked onto the ceiling first, distant and unfocused. Then they shifted toward him—alive with intelligence.

  Her long lashes and delicately arched brows framed that vivid green with striking elegance. Her features were sharply beautiful: high cheekbones, a thin scar tracing the bridge of her nose, and skin flushed as if from winter wind.

  Her deep brown hair, neatly parted, had come slightly undone during reawakening. A few strands now lay across her forehead, softening the structure of her expression, giving her a vulnerable, almost dreamlike appearance.

  She wore a simple red summer dress—something soft and warm. The fabric moved slightly with her shallow breaths, the color bringing life to the sterile silver surroundings.

  Her eyes met his.

  Her pupils narrowed faintly.

  Simon smiled—softly, almost cautiously.

  He didn’t know what he expected, but even now, as her gaze found him, he braced for all of it.

  "Who... are you?" she asked, her voice faint, like a forgotten note.

  "I’m Simon Jarrett," he said.

  THE END

  

  Simon’s shoes sank into the soft sand, each step swallowed with a hush. The sound of crashing waves rolled in rhythm behind him, a slow, distant heartbeat. The beach stretched wide and empty at his back, but his gaze was fixed forward—across the wooden dock beneath his feet, beyond the gentle lapping tide, toward the island a few dozen meters ahead.

  There, rising from the water like a dream drawn into code, stood the city.

  It emerged from a sea of morning mist—an ethereal vision of a world untouched by decay, or time. Towering structures of soft gray metal curved upward with organic grace. Some formed archways like the bones of giants, others reached like spires, minimalist towers of precision and purpose. Delicate walkways stretched between them, too thin to be practical.

  Lush greenery softened the sharp edges. Trees and terraced gardens spilled over rooftops and nestled in skywalks, a delicate merging of steel and root.

  Far to the right, a single tower pulsed with golden light—its translucent body casting faint amber ripples into the mist, as though the city itself breathed in quiet reverence.

  The entire island seemed suspended.

  Simon stared.

  "The paradise Catherine promised," he murmured.

  He took a step forward.

  But his foot didn’t sink.

  A ripple spread outward, and beneath him, the water shimmered and hardened. His foot was cradled by the surface itself.

  He walked.

  Each step brought no splash, no resistance. He moved across the sea like it was glass, each ripple a subtle acknowledgment of his presence. The simulation bent beneath him.

  He wasn’t just a visitor here.

  This city—this heaven of memory—was under his command.

  Behind him, the sea whispered of everything he had endured.

  Ahead, the city waited.

  Final Transmission — Thank You

  Soma: LΞFT BΞHIND.

  A story of isolation, identity, and what it means to remain human when everything else is stripped away.

  leave a short review or a rating. Your feedback helps others discover the story—and lets me know what resonated with you, what made you feel something, and what I can improve.

  you think of Simon’s evolution?

  Thank you for walking this dark path with him—and with me.

  Lord Turtle the First