Simon stood up slowly, walking toward the Leviacrusher. His right arm shifted back from the Tesla cannon configuration—the shot had drained much of his energy reserves. He would need to recharge soon.

  Tumorous flesh and structure gel still clung to the Leviacrusher's frame, pulsing, refusing to die. The EMP blast had seared away most of the growths, but not all. Viscous clumps of corrupted gel twitched in the armor’s crevices, as though the beast’s malice still lingered.

  "This thing is disgusting," Simon muttered, his voice a synthetic rasp distorted by fatigue.

  He reached out and laid his hand on one of the pulsing clumps. It squirmed beneath his touch.

  Without hesitation, his own structure gel surged from his palm—black tendrils unfurling like liquid wires. They slithered over the mutant growths, crawling across the Leviacrusher’s surface like living armor. The purified gel crept through scorched seams and across scorched plating, seeking the storage compartment at the Leviacrusher’s rear.

  The storage opened up and even more purified structure gel crawled over the frame.

  The mutant flesh shuddered, spasmed, and began to dissolve—melting into a smoking residue that evaporated into nothing.

  Simon pulled back his hand. He took a breath—reflexive, unnecessary. The creature was gone, but the damage lingered.

  He stepped back and scanned the Leviacrusher’s massive silhouette.

  It was broken.

  Not from impact or tearing claws—but from within.

  Exposed circuitry hissed beneath its sturdy frame. Sparks flared along ruptured conduits. His readouts streamed errors—interference, command delays, neural misfires. The left stabilizer leg dragged not from bent plating, but from a dead feedback loop in the control matrix. Ghost signals crawled through the reinforced spinal conduit, like neural echoes from a stroke.

  The armor had held.

  The brain had not.

  “It did more damage than I expected,” Simon murmured.

  He initiated a full diagnostic scan.

  Gyroscopic Stabilizers: Offline

  Mobility Systems: Critical Failure

  Hydro-Jet Propulsion: Nonfunctional

  Neural Sync: Inconsistent, Delayed Response

  Simon clenched his fists. The Leviacrusher couldn’t swim. Could barely walk. It had been his masterpiece—his salvation. Now, it limped like a wounded animal.

  He reactivated the cockpit and made the machine take a step. It shuddered. Another step—it groaned. Steering was erratic. It tilted left, unable to correct itself. Every motion dragged the weight of shattered precision.

  And Site Lambda… lacked the resources to fix this.

  He sighed.

  Then powered the machine down.

  He will have to use the structure gel to fix it but for now a short break was necessary.

  The cockpit dimmed. The red glow faded. The Leviacrusher slumped forward like a creature that had lost its will to live.

  Simon sat heavily on a crate, arms resting at his sides, shoulders slumped. The silence wrapped around him—not peaceful, but hollow.

  No more screaming. No alarms. Just the soft drip of seawater from a cracked overhead pipe and the low hum of flickering emergency lights.

  He looked at his hands.

  Trembling.

  Not from battle.

  From the weight.

  The Choir. The malformed faces. The whispering mouths. All of them speaking.

  He pressed his palm to his helmet, as if he could wipe the memories away. As if he could scrub the trauma from his thoughts like condensation from glass.

  He sat there, alone, beside the broken body of his creation.

  The storage panel on his back clicked open, and Jerry scurried out, climbing onto his shoulder.

  Simon raised a hand and gently stroked the rodent’s back, feeling the warmth of something small and real against his skin. Jerry chittered softly.

  Simon let his hand rest there.

  He exhaled.

  The whiskers at the back of his helmet twitched, sensing the faintest disturbance.

  Something was approaching.

  His gaze snapped toward the broken doors ahead. He gently placed Jerry back in the secure compartment on his back and sealed it shut. Then, he activated his cloaking system and vanished into the shadows.

  He waited.

  A shadow moved.

  From the jagged threshold, a figure emerged.

  It walked slowly, carefully, surveying the wreckage with the wariness of someone who had seen too much. The figure moved with fluidity—not the stuttering, broken gait of a WAU-puppet. It wore a Basic Ductile Suit—old but intact, marked with stains, pressure scratches, and barnacle scarring along the boots. It looked... human.

  Simon focused his sensors. No structure gel growth. No erratic movement.

  The stranger stepped up to the Leviacrusher and reached out, fingers brushing along its scarred plating with visible curiosity.

  Simon took the risk.

  He disabled his cloaking system and slowly stood from behind the crate, raising his hands just slightly—non-threatening, but present.

  "Hello," Simon said, voice low, modulated, cautious.

  The figure jolted, spinning on instinct. One hand darted to a side pouch—not for a weapon, but for a flashlight. The glow cut a beam through the murky air.

  "Jesus!" the figure breathed, heart pounding in his voice. Then, after a beat, he steadied. "Who the hell are you?"

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  It was a man, judging by the voice. The stance. The way he squared his shoulders.

  "My name is Simon. Simon Jarrett," Simon replied, tone level.

  The man’s visor tilted slightly, disbelief written in every micro-movement. "Simon Jarrett? You mean... like the Simon Jarrett? One of the first neurographs?"

  Simon blinked behind his helmet. "You’ve heard of me?"

  "I used to be really into AI development," the man replied, still watching him like one might a strange animal. Wary. Fascinated.

  He took a slow step forward, voice shaking with a blend of awe and unease. "Wait... you're a neurograph. How the hell are you... like that? That body, that suit—it looks custom-built."

  Simon let out a dry, almost bitter chuckle. "I have a cortex chip. Originally, it was shoved into a decapitated body—just another patch job. Robotic frame, structure gel, and now... there's nothing organic left. Just code in a shell."

  The man recoiled slightly, like the words were a slap. But he caught himself, exhaled, and straightened.

  "Damn," he whispered. "So you're just... walking around like that? A robot?"

  "A robot with a cortex chip," Simon said, tapping the side of his helmet. "And a lot of trial and error. Everything you see? I made it to survive. Because no one else was going to."

  The man’s eyes—hidden behind the visor—drifted to the Leviacrusher. The massive mech loomed nearby, its frame scorched and dented.

  "That thing... it's like a walking fortress. You built it too?"

  Simon nodded solemnly. "Yeah. It was my ace. Took a beating, though."

  The man was quiet for a moment, then asked the inevitable.

  "Have you been to the other sites?"

  "All of them," Simon said, without elaboration.

  The man hesitated again. This time, his voice came softer, like he didn’t want the answer.

  "Are there... any others? Survivors?"

  Simon went still. His gaze lowered.

  "No," he said, after a long, heavy pause. "Not anymore."

  The silence that followed felt vast. Oceanic. The man’s shoulders slumped, the last of some internal hope quietly collapsing.

  Simon stepped forward, deliberate and steady.

  "But we’re still here."

  The man gave a slow, heavy nod. "Yeah. We are."

  "Oh—sorry," the figure said, extending a hand. "I haven’t told you my name. I’m Elias. Backup engineering crew from Site Lambda. Woke up not long ago... I think."

  Simon took the hand and shook it firmly.

  "When exactly did you wake up?"

  Elias shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe a few weeks. Time’s weird down here."

  Simon studied him again, closer now. The suit. The movements. Real... but wrong. No breath. No pulse. The suit wasn’t supporting a living man. It was just a shell.

  "If you’re human... how are you still alive? No oxygen, no food, no real shelter."

  Elias let out a humorless laugh. "Barely. I’ve been scavenging—suits, tools, bits of power from old modules. Just surviving. Hiding. You have any idea how many things are still crawling around out here?"

  Simon nodded. "One, too many."

  They stood in the stillness. Two ghosts in a dead world, clinging to flickers of memory and identity.

  "What about you?" Elias asked, quieter now.

  Simon hesitated. The words didn’t come easily.

  "I’m trying to reach Upsilon," he said finally. "There’s something there. Something I need."

  Elias nodded slowly. "How are you gonna get there?"

  Simon’s gaze drifted to the Leviacrusher—wounded but intact.

  "There should be an entrance to one of the shuttle tunnels nearby. I was heading for one of the elevators that would’ve taken me straight to the station but..."

  His eyes lingered on the mech’s damaged frame.

  "I was attacked. On the way."

  The memory of the Choir was still fresh, burned into Simon's memory like a brand. The Leviacrusher bore the scars of the encounter, but not as deep as the ones inside him.

  "Ah, you must’ve met Tom," Elias said suddenly, breaking the silence.

  Simon turned to him, bewildered. "Tom? Did you just say Tom? That’s what you called that abomination of fused flesh and screaming heads?"

  Elias gave a small shrug. "Yeah. Tom. I think it fits."

  Simon blinked. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. "You gave that thing a name?"

  "What else was I supposed to do? Pretend it wasn’t there? Naming the monsters... I guess it makes them feel less like nightmares. More like... bad neighbors." He chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

  Simon was unsure whether to laugh or be deeply concerned. "So, what? Tom just hangs out?"

  "Tom’s usually calm," Elias said, suddenly serious. "As long as you don’t stare. Especially not at the heads. He doesn’t like that. Starts screaming if you look too long."

  Simon shivered. That detail matched what he had seen. The way the heads moved, whispering in a dozen voices.

  "Are there any more... Toms around?" Simon asked, already bracing himself.

  Elias tilted his head, thinking hard, as though mentally checking a roster.

  "No. No more like him. He was... special."

  Simon exhaled slowly. "He’s dead now."

  Elias raised an eyebrow. "Dead?"

  "Yeah," Simon said, nodding toward the Leviacrusher. "I took him out with the mech."

  Elias let out a low whistle. "Must’ve been one hell of a fight."

  "It was," Simon said, voice flat.

  Elias stood in silence for a beat, then nodded slowly and offered a small salute. "Rest in peace, Tom. You were loud, horrifying, and frankly, a terrible neighbor. You will not be missed."

  Simon allowed himself the barest flicker of amusement.

  He turned and retrieved the modified A95 drone from where he had throw it . As he opened it, Jerry scampered out, from the storage. Simon gently scooped him up and placed him into the submersible and he mounted the drone on his back.

  Elias watched, eyebrows raised. "Who’s the little guy?"

  "Jerry," Simon replied simply. "Found him at Omicron. He's... a survivor. Like us."

  Elias nodded, watching the tiny creature curl up inside the compartment. "I guess everyone needs someone."

  Simon glanced over. "You said there were others. Monsters. What do I need to watch out for?"

  Elias grimaced. "Yeah. There’s Bob. And Jessie."

  "Of course there is. And what, exactly, do they look like?"

  "Bob’s the one with the big, glowing head—covered in eyes. Not the friendly kind. The stare-into-your-soul-until-it-collapses kind. He moves slow but don’t let that fool you. If he feel you are looking at him, he charges like a bull."

  Simon made a mental note. "And Jessie?"

  Elias’s face darkened. "Jessie’s worse. Spider legs, human torso. Moves like she's in a hurry to tear your spine out. And she talks. Not real words, just... whispers. That’s the worst part."

  Simon felt his nonexistent stomach twist.

  Elias gave a hollow laugh. "I know how all this sounds. Like I’ve gone nuts, right? Naming monsters. Talking about them like people. But it helps. Helps me pretend the world didn’t end."

  Simon looked at him and, for the first time, saw himself—not in the mirror of the metal walls or the reflection in shattered glass, but in Elias.

  A ghost in a shell. A man pretending the end wasn’t really the end.

  "You’re not crazy," Simon said quietly.

  Elias looked up.

  "You’re still human. In a place where that doesn’t mean much anymore... that’s saying something."

  And for a moment, in the quiet between heartbeats and machine hums, they just stood there.

  Two souls in the wreckage of the world.

  Still breathing, even if neither had lungs.

  Simon was quickly charging from the terminal in the decompression chamber at the warehouse. Structure gel slithered down his arm like living tar, trailing over panel. The room hummed around him.

  "What are you doing?" Elias asked, watching Simon from a few feet away. His tone was a mixture of curiosity and unease.

  "I'm charging," Simon replied simply, not looking up.

  Elias nodded slowly, like he was trying to normalize a conversation he barely understood. "Right. Of course. Charging."

  Simon’s HUD displayed his energy percentage climbing steadily. But even as he refueled, his mind spun with calculations—routes, dangers, time.

  There were two options. The first: head outside, inside the patch up Leviacrusher, and find one of the external entrances to the shuttle tunnels.

  The second: use the internal elevator that should connect deeper into the complex. If it still functioned.

  Simon turned his head toward Elias.

  "Do you know where the elevator that leads to the shuttle station is?"

  Elias nodded. "Yeah, I’ve seen it. Haven’t used it, but I know where it is."

  Simon narrowed his gaze. "Are there any... bad neighbors along the way?"

  Elias took a breath. "Jessie lives nearby. But if we move carefully, we can reach it without disturbing her."

  "Inside then," Simon murmured, disconnecting from the panel. The terminal dimmed behind him.

  They moved through the ruined halls, past the corridor where Simon had encountered Tom.

  Every step echoed like a warning.

  The deeper they moved, the more malformed the station became. Pipes were ruptured. Ceiling panels hung down like vines. Rust and structure gel blanketed the floor. Lights flickered, illuminating grotesque shadows for a heartbeat at a time.

  Finally, they reached the elevator.

  But there was a problem.

  Jessie was waiting.

  Hanging upside down from the ceiling by a nest of metal tubing and coiled, pulsing gel, Jessie swayed slightly as if sensing them. Her form was a grotesque amalgamation: the upper body of a woman—barely recognizable as human—merged with twisted industrial machinery.

  Her spine stretched unnaturally, back arched, her head tilted sideways with a cracked, permanent grin. Her eyes had been replaced by sensors that blinked irregularly with static, and dark metal shards jutted from her ribs like broken wings.

  Structure gel seeped from her throat, dripping like black sap onto the floor below.

  She made no sound. Not yet. But the silence screamed all the same.

  Simon froze. Even Elias, uncharacteristically, didn’t speak.

  One wrong move would wake Jessie.

  And she never woke up in a good mood.