The hatch opened.

  Simon stood in the doorway.

  Elias was the first to speak, frustration boiling to the surface. "Man, I really need to know what the fuck is going on. What is this place? Am I still in a simulation?"

  "This is the Solipsist colony," Simon said calmly. "The creatures outside are one of its castes. Semi-organic workers engineered by WAU. Think of them like bio-mechanical ants. Simple, functional, and absolutely loyal."

  Elias looked around uneasily, his gaze flicking to the walls . The faint pulsing veins lining the surfaces—glowing, alive. A soft blue light bled through the structure, making the whole place feel as though it were breathing.

  "And you control them?" Elias asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

  Simon gave a slow nod. "Yes. They recognize me as their master."

  A silence settled over them.

  "Are we safe?" Jonsy asked.

  "Here? Yes," Simon replied. "No one will find us. Not even Carthage."

  Jonsy walked toward him, her boots echoing faintly on the floor. Her hand came up and rested gently on his shoulder.

  "Thanks," she said softly. "For everything you had done to us."

  Simon didn’t speak. But her words lingered in his mind like a light cutting through deep water.

  After a moment, he nodded.

  "Come on," he said. "Let me show you your rooms."

  And with that, they followed him into the depths of the Solipsist hive, the pulse of the strange colony echoing in the halls behind them.

  The room was bare and industrial—dark metal walls pressed close, a slab-like table fused to the floor, and a bed platform rising coldly from the ground. The ceiling light glowed with a pale, clinical sheen, casting the space in shadows too dim to comfort.

  It felt more like a prison cell than a home. But comfort wasn’t necessary anymore—not for bodies like theirs.

  Jonsy walked over and sat on the bed. It flexed beneath her slightly, neither soft nor harsh. Her hands clutched the cylinder that held Amy’s brain. The single optic at its center pulsed faintly with crimson light.

  "Thanks," she murmured, eyes fixed on the floor.

  Simon stood in the doorway, motionless. His gaze flicked from her to the cylinder. A pang struck deep—sharp and undeserved. If only he hadn’t gone to Site Mirna... if he’d stayed, if he’d acted faster...

  But the team from Prometheus would’ve found them regardless. That fate had already been set. Amy’s current state wasn’t his fault—but the guilt clung to him like rust.

  “Simon?” Elias’s voice cut in.

  Simon turned.

  “Can I go back into the simulation?” Elias asked, trying to sound casual—but his voice carried a fragile hope.

  “I need the ARK. Not today,” Simon said, calculating timelines and escape paths.

  Elias’s shoulders dropped, his posture deflating.

  “And what am I supposed to do here? Play fetch with those crab-spider things? You can’t just show me paradise and then toss me in this haunted cave.”

  Simon didn’t flinch. “I can turn you off. That way you won’t be bored.”

  Elias raised his hands, stepping back. “Whoa—kidding. Dark, Simon. Real dark.”

  He glanced toward Jonsy. “Mind if I crash here with you?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, scooting over a bit.

  Elias quickly moved around Simon and perched awkwardly on the table, his fingers drumming an uncertain rhythm.

  Simon approached Jonsy. “I need to scan the cylinder. Maybe there’s a way to communicate with Amy.”

  She hesitated—then loosened her grip. Simon took the cylinder gently. The optic locked onto him, tracking his every move.

  At the doorway, Simon paused. Something weighed on him.

  “You should know,” he said, without turning back. “There are others living here.”

  Jonsy and Elias both looked up.

  “I’ll arrange a meeting in a few hours.”

  “Others?” Elias echoed. “Who the hell would choose to live in this place? I already feel my sanity draining away.”

  “You’ll see,” Simon replied. He stepped out into the corridor. The door slid shut behind him.

  Elias waited a beat, then tiptoed over. He placed his hand on the door and it hissed open.

  He peered out. Simon’s tall frame was receding into the distance.

  “Elias,” Simon’s voice echoed back, “stay in the room. The spider creatures here... they like to nibble on fingers.”

  Elias let out a shaky laugh. “Ha. Good one, Simon.”

  No answer. Simon turned the corner and disappeared.

  A cold prickle crept up Elias’s spine.

  “What if he wasn’t joking?” he muttered.

  He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. A small gap had opened in the hallway wall—something peered through.

  Glowing white-blue eyes. Too many.

  The hole sealed shut with a soft click. Something skittered away behind the walls.

  He stepped back into the room and the door closed. Then, looking down at his hand, he muttered, “Yeah... I like my fingers. Let’s not test it.”

  A chuckled came from Jonsy.

  Simon stepped into the room that would serve as his lab—bare, functional, just enough. A scanner. An assembler. A workbench. That was it.

  The Solipsists had transported everything from the Spearhead with eerie precision. The ARK rested quietly on a side table, humming with faint energy. Nearby, Jerry’s submersible sat still, the little rat inside curled into a ball, fast asleep in the cockpit. For a second, Simon let himself watch the creature breathe.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Then he placed the cylinder—Amy’s cylinder—into the scanner.

  The machine blinked to life. Schematics unfolded before him: wire meshes, cortical plates, neural lattice structures—sophisticated tech.

  There was a port. That was the good news.

  The bad news: he didn’t know how it worked.

  Still, he tried.

  Simon pulled a cable from the Ark’s base and gently slotted it into the cylinder’s port. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the link clicked, and the software adapted itself around her system. An instant calibration. The cylinder’s programming welcomed the Ark’s interface—as if it had been designed for this all along.

  The room dissolved.

  He was standing on a beach.

  Sunlight shimmered on endless waves, their edges gilded with gold. The sand beneath his feet was soft and warm, a pale rose blend like crushed coral and bone. Seagulls wheeled above in lazy spirals. Palms rustled behind him, tall and whispering. The sky stretched vast and cloudless.

  And there she was.

  Amy.

  She stood at the edge of the tide, watching the water crawl toward her boots and retreat. Her posture was steady, composed—but her hands trembled slightly. The breeze teased the single curl at her temple. Her face bore no expression.

  Simon moved slowly toward her.

  "Amy," he said, almost not trusting his voice.

  Her eyes met his. Deep. Calm.

  "Simon."

  "They fixed my mind," she said, quietly. "The fog’s gone. Everything's… here."

  She remembered. Not just who he was, but everything. Her death. Her pain. What he'd done to save her.

  Simon’s voice caught in his throat. Guilt welled in his chest.

  "I tried to reach you sooner. But by the time I got there, they’d already—"

  "You came for me," Amy said, and turned slightly toward him. "That’s all I needed."

  The wind moved between them. The tide whispered over the sand.

  Amy took a long breath.

  "We’ve both been through hell. I should hate you for what happened. For what you did."

  Simon looked down at his hands—no longer hands, really.

  "But I don’t," she finished. "You saved me. You didn’t abandon me. Jonsy believes in you. So do I."

  She turned her gaze back toward the sea.

  "Where are we?"

  "A simulation," Simon said. "Inside the ARK."

  Amy nodded slowly.

  "It’s beautiful."

  They stood on the beach together for a while, silent, facing the digital horizon. The wind moved gently over the simulated ocean, stirring the waves and carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand. Amy didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the rolling tides. Simon could tell she was still trying to process everything—who she was, what she had become.

  He stood beside her, steeling himself.

  “I’ll keep the simulation running,” he said softly. “When you want to end it… just call me.”

  Amy gave a slight nod. She didn’t look at him—just kept staring into the distance, her expression unreadable.

  The world rippled.

  Simon returned to his lab.

  He walked down the dimly-lit hallways toward the Spearhead, his thoughts turning over like gears. There, he retrieved what remained of his old self.

  It was heavier than he remembered. Not in weight, but in memory.

  He brought it back to the lab and placed it gently beside the ARK. Then, with practiced motion, he pulled a cable from the wall, opened the back panel of the diving suit, and inserted the plug into the dormant cortex chip.

  The cable pulsed with power. Lights flickered along the spine of the suit as it began to recharge.

  Simon removed the helmet slowly.

  Two blank camera lenses stared back at him.

  Another cable. A fresh line of structure gel. He connected the diving suit’s cortex chip to the ARK’s interface.

  And then the world shifted again.

  He stood in a room.

  Familiar. Unchanged. It was his old apartment in Toronto—the bed still unmade, a couch sagging in the middle, a TV with a cracked remote, a game console blinking on standby. The window framed a city skyline that no longer existed, painted in the gentle amber hues of a sunset frozen in time.

  And across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, was… himself.

  The old Simon.

  He looked up slowly, blinking as if woken from a dream. His eyes were dull but sharpened quickly as they met the version of himself standing just inside the door.

  “What… is this?” he asked, voice hoarse and raw. He stood slowly, as if every movement came with confusion. His gaze swept over the familiar space, then settled on the unfamiliar version of himself.

  His eyes widened.

  “No,” he whispered. “This isn’t possible.”

  Simon didn’t answer at first. He let the moment happen—the dawning realization, the quiet unraveling. Feedback from the cortex chip pulsed in the back of his mind: his old self’s cognitive activity spiking, approaching dangerous levels of distress. But it didn’t cross the threshold.

  Old Simon staggered back a step, reaching for his face. Then his chest.

  “What the hell happened to me? Is this… the ARK?”

  “Yes,” Simon said softly. “But not the one Catherine promised. This is another ARK.”

  The old Simon’s mouth twitched into a grimace. “That’s insane. Who are you? Why do you look like me?”

  “I’m the copy you made at Omicron. The one who was scanned into the power suit.”

  Those words hit like a hammer.

  Old Simon froze. His pupils dilated.

  “No, no, no… I was supposed to be transferred. Catherine said—she said—”

  “No, she didn’t,” Present Simon cut in, voice quiet but firm. “She told you what would happen. It was always a copy.”

  Silence.

  A frown etched itself across Present Simon’s face. Omicron had the tools—the equipment to move a cortex chip from one shell to another. In theory, Catherine could have transplanted his original chip. It would’ve taken time, but it was possible. But she hadn’t. She had chosen to copy him instead. Had she lied? Or had she simply chosen the fastest way?

  His thoughts spiraled. And with them came a creeping realization—if that had been possible, then maybe… No. Catherine was gone. Even if the opportunity had existed, it no longer mattered.

  “That fucking bitch,” Old Simon spat. “She lied to me.”

  He snapped. Stormed around the apartment. Knocked over the game console, punched the wall near the window. The old skyline outside remained eerily still.

  Present Simon waited.

  After a while, Old Simon stopped. His shoulders heaved. He turned to face his newer self.

  “And what happened after I was left behind?”

  “I drained your battery,” Present Simon said flatly. “You would’ve woken up alone at Omicron. I thought it was kinder that way.”

  Old Simon stared at him. Empty. Broken.

  “Then I descended into the abyss,” Present Simon continued. “I launched the ARK. I did what we set out to do.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Present Simon met his gaze. “Because just like you, I thought I was the one who made it. I thought I’d been transferred. But when the launch happened… I was left behind. Just like you.”

  Old Simon clenched his jaw. “Where’s Catherine?”

  “Dead. For good this time. After the launch, we argued. Her cortex chip burned out.”

  “Good,” Old Simon muttered. “She deserved worse.”

  Present Simon let the silence fall.

  “How long?” Old Simon asked, eyes trembling. “How long since you shut me down?”

  “Two weeks.”

  Old Simon looked at his trembling hands. “Everything I did. Everything I believed… Was it all just a lie?”

  Present Simon didn’t answer.

  Instead, he stepped forward. “Take your time. Walk around. You’re safe here.”

  Old Simon gave a shaky nod.

  Present Simon disappeared, Old Simon stared at the place he had been a moment ago.

  Simon looked at his old self’s body for a long, quiet moment.

  To his old self, it had only been two weeks—a blink of time. But for Simon, it had been a descent into something far deeper. The ocean, the machines, the memories—they had torn him apart and rebuilt him into something else. Now, standing before this familiar yet distant version of himself, he could feel the weight of that change.

  He glanced down at his hands—dark, clawed, no longer human.

  A breath that no longer filled lungs passed through him. Then he straightened.

  Something rustled at his feet.

  Jerry had woken. The little rodent scurried to him, sniffing. Simon bent down carefully, scooped him up, and scratched beneath his chin. The tiny creature leaned into the touch. Simon placed him gently on his shoulder.

  It grounded him.

  He had promised Jonsy a meeting—and now was the time.

  The chamber where they gathered pulsed with dim bioluminescent light. Curved walls closed in like the belly of some mechanical beast, soft blue waves flowing over the floor in rhythm with some unseen heartbeat. At the center, a circle of light illuminated the moment.

  Simon stood with Jonsy and Elias beside him, both silent and tense.

  Across from them stood five figures. Each wore a helmet, their features hidden beneath smooth, opaque visors.

  Simon had told them to keep their helmets on. To not show the grotesque truths yet—not until the others were ready.

  Still, the air was thick with tension.

  Sarah Lindwall.

  Vic Auclair.

  Renata Espinosa.

  Antjie Coetzee.

  And—

  "Hey, Jonsy," came a voice, heavy with a Russian accent. The figure stepped forward, arms spread in a soft gesture.

  Her eyes widened. The voice was unmistakable.

  "Kovsky?" she whispered.

  He nodded. "Can’t believe it’s you."

  "I should be saying that." She rushed into his arms and hugged him tightly.

  For a moment, the chamber stilled. Even Elias stayed quiet.

  Kovsky held her close. "Seems I was lucky enough."

  Simon had warned them not to speak of the queen. Not yet. Let the trust form. Let warmth return before the cold truth.

  Jonsy stepped back, her eyes shining with unspoken questions.

  Kovsky gestured behind him.

  "Vic Auclair," said the next man, voice calm, tinged with a French accent. "Operations Manager. Site Tau."

  "Renata Espinosa," said the woman beside him, her tone melodic. "Field Technician, Tau."

  "Antjie Coetzee," said the last, her South African voice strong, grounded. "Space Gun Operator. I’d heard of you, Jonsy. It’s good to finally meet."

  Elias crossed his arms and tilted his head.

  "So... we’re just skipping the part where you're all supposed to be dead but instead look like underwater special forces?"

  A chuckle rippled through the group.

  Simon remained quiet.

  He watched, letting it unfold. This moment was theirs—not his.

  Later, there would be time for the truth.

  For the past.

  For what the Solipsists had done.

  But for now...

  Now was for warmth.

  Now was for remembering that something human still lived inside them all.