Simon stood in the center of a softly lit room, open and minimal, with white walls and smooth floors that reflected the soft blue shimmer of filtered sunlight. A massive window ran along one side of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. Outside, the ocean swayed with quiet majesty, the sandy seabed rolling beneath the gentle current. Schools of fish drifted lazily past, their movements tranquil, almost hypnotic.

  The illusion of peace.

  Simon didn’t move. He didn’t sit. He simply stood as the files began to manifest one by one—digital ghosts rising from the cortex chips he had recovered. There were five in total, all former PATHOS-II personnel. Scientists. Engineers. Medics. All brilliant once. All shattered now.

  The first appeared as a woman in her early thirties, curled on the floor—not rocking, but scratching. Her fingernails clawed into the simulated tiles, drawing jagged lines over and over. Her mouth moved rapidly, muttering gibberish through bloodied teeth. When Simon called her name, she turned her head with a sharp jerk and let out a wordless, animal howl. She launched at him, but the simulation glitched, dragging her back into place like a corrupted frame in a broken film reel.

  The second was a tall man standing by the window. He slammed his head into the glass again and again, slow and mechanical, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

  Simon stepped closer.

  "Henry," he said softly.

  The man snapped his head sideways. His pupils shrank. His lips peeled back into a smile.

  "You're one of them. You can't fool me. You're not him. You're NOT him!"

  The third ghost manifested mid-sprint, tearing through the room at full speed, smashing into walls. Once a respected technician, he was now feral—howling, barking, hissing. He crashed into corners, rolled, twitched. He whispered to himself in a cracked, high voice: "They're in my spine. In my teeth. Cut them out. Cut them out. They wriggle when I sleep."

  Simon watched, helpless.

  The fourth was crouched in the center of the room. A middle-aged woman, hair tangled, face gaunt. She cradled something invisible, rocking it gently while humming a soft, tuneless lullaby. As Simon approached, she froze.

  She looked up slowly.

  And snarled.

  Then she lunged.

  Her mouth opened wide, unnaturally wide, revealing teeth worn down to the gums. She flew through the air, but the simulation yanked her back like a broken loop. The same moment. The same rage. Repeating endlessly.

  And then the fifth.

  The last.

  Simon looked.

  It was a man sitting in the corner, knees drawn to chest, arms limp at his sides. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. His mouth hung slightly ajar. No movement. No blinking. No awareness.

  Simon stepped closer.

  Nothing.

  He knelt.

  Still nothing.

  There was no spark left. No fear. No rage. Not even a whisper of thought.

  He was a breathing void. A hollowed-out mind.

  Simon stood slowly.

  He turned away from them all. The room around him was silent save for the muffled sound of fish gliding past the glass outside. The simulation had given them form, but not salvation. These weren't lives anymore. Just fragments, barely clinging to meaning.

  None of them could hear him.

  None of them could come back.

  He lowered his head.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered.

  The ocean beyond offered no reply.

  Only the fish moved on.

  Those were just some of the failed attempts.

  Each of the cortex chips Simon had retrieved from robots and drones scattered across the site had carried a mind. A memory. A ghost.

  And every one of them had been broken.

  Violent. Incoherent. Lost.

  But there was still one left.

  And Simon dared to hope.

  His eyes slowly opened and locked on Elias.

  Elias had the look of someone trying to hide the panic behind a wall of bravado. Tall, lean, with dark stubble shadowing his jaw and sharp features that had once been full of confidence—but now carried the subtle weight of realization. His eyes were alert, searching, and deeply tired. There was a tightness in his mouth, as though every word he spoke was measured against the fear of what might follow.

  He looked too human.

  And yet, Simon knew he wasn’t. Not really.

  "Does loyalty to Carthage Industries really matter anymore?" Simon asked quietly. His voice echoed slightly in the stillness of the simulation. "You’re not even the original Elias."

  Elias bit his lip. Hard.

  There was a pause.

  Then his shoulders sagged, the weight of denial finally crumbling.

  "You know what? Fuck it," Elias muttered, leaning forward across the virtual desk.

  His fingers moved over the digital map.

  "I know the general locations. I didn’t memorize exact coordinates, but... they should be here. And here."

  He circled two areas.

  Immediately, red markers bloomed on the map like bruises. The display expanded, showing two of the southern sites frighteningly close to the current location of PATHOS-II.

  Elias leaned back and looked up at Simon, his voice quieter now.

  "Now that I told you what I know, please... don’t hurt me."

  Simon shook his head.

  "I won’t. But at the same time, I can’t let you out of the simulation."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "But—"

  Simon raised a hand.

  Snap.

  The world changed.

  Buildings rose up from beneath them like structures in a time-lapse film. Streets unfolded. Neon lights blinked to life. Cars moved. People walked. Birds flew.

  They were suddenly sitting at a street-side café. The sun was warm. A breeze moved through the air. A coffee cup steamed gently before Elias, perched on a small, elegant table.

  Elias looked around, slack-jawed.

  "I can’t let you out," Simon said, sitting across from him now. "You said it yourself: you're a spy. But for the sincerity you just showed me... this is my thanks."

  Elias turned, about to speak—and froze.

  A woman approached their table. Stunning, elegant, and perfectly designed. Her proportions exaggerated, her eyes kind. She leaned in just enough to be noticeable.

  "Would you like anything else?" she asked, voice honey-smooth.

  Elias could even smell the perfume she wore.

  "We’re good," Simon said with a smile.

  The woman left.

  Elias’s gaze followed her for a long moment.

  "Wow," he breathed. "This is... this is insane."

  Not even the virtual reality games of his teenage years came close.

  "Elias," Simon said, snapping his attention back.

  "Do you know what a sandbox is?"

  Elias nodded slowly.

  "Well, this city—this whole space—is a sandbox. You can do anything here. Anything. Consider it house arrest. But if you'd rather not play... I can just turn you off until I have time to keep an eye on you."

  Elias leaned forward and took a sip of the coffee.

  It tasted real. Deep, rich, warm. For a moment, it felt like he was back on Earth, before everything had gone to hell.

  He set the cup down and gave a small nod.

  "Okay then."

  Simon gave the faintest smirk.

  And vanished.

  A menu appeared before Elias, floating in the air like a god’s interface. Buildings, time-of-day settings, even NPC customization. His eyes widened.

  He quickly wiped his mouth, realizing that drool had fallen onto his lap.

  He looked around again.

  "Fuck Carthage Industries," he murmured.

  Simon’s eyes focused on the table ahead.

  Elias lay still, his body unmoving, a thick black cable extending from the base of his cortex chip to the rectangular, matte-black structure beside the table—the Artificial Reality Capsule. Compact and sleek, it looked more like a minimalist sculpture than the container of entire simulated worlds.

  "Should I have been more rough with him?" Simon murmured, his voice barely audible.

  It hung in the cold, sterile air.

  "This guy wanted to kill me."

  He let his head drop and sighed.

  He was relieved he hadn’t needed to reset the simulation. Elias had pushed him. But forcefully erasing someone’s mind, rewriting them just to extract information... it didn’t feel right. Resetting someone felt like murder dressed up in clean code.

  He didn’t want to become her. Didn’t want to be the kind of person who shrugged off the loss of minds by calling them data. By saying, they aren’t real.

  His gaze shifted to the cortex chip resting beside Elias's inert frame.

  He picked it up.

  With quiet care, Simon slid it into the reader—a device not unlike an old floppy disk reader.

  Then he closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, he stood inside the underwater simulation room. The one he used to test the other chips. It was quiet here—peaceful. A vast panoramic window to one side offered a dreamlike view of the seabed. Fish drifted by, carried by gentle currents. Light filtered in from above, refracted and slow, like memories half-remembered.

  Simon adjusted the environment. Two chairs appeared, facing one another. Simple. Intentional. He took a seat and loaded the chip.

  The simulation shimmered.

  And then she appeared.

  A woman in her mid-twenties stood before him, still and alert. She had the presence of someone who didn’t need to speak to be heard. Her posture was relaxed but grounded. Not afraid—just watchful.

  She had a round, pale face with light freckles and storm-gray eyes, deep-set and steady. Her thick, ash-blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid, strands tucked behind her ears. She was broad-shouldered, built for cold climates and hard work. The PATHOS-II jumpsuit she wore was faded and worn, the knees frayed from long hours. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, hands still smudged with traces of oil and dust.

  She looked around, puzzled.

  "Sorry if I sound blunt, but... who are you?" Her voice was low, even, with a soft Icelandic lilt. Calm. Measured. No panic. Just quiet curiosity.

  She was sane.

  Simon nearly jumped to his feet.

  Instead, he offered a genuine smile.

  "My name is Simon," he said gently. "How do you feel?"

  "I’m... fine," she replied after a pause. Her eyes narrowed, trying to recall. "I was at Upsilon, lying on the floor near the thermal plant console. Someone in a diving suit came and... killed me? How am I alive?"

  Simon’s hands clenched slightly.

  His throat tightened.

  That had been him.

  He took a slow breath, grounding himself.

  "Can I call you Jonsy?" he asked.

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  "Jonsy," Simon said softly, "I’ll answer your question. But first—can you tell me how you ended up on the floor?"

  Her brow furrowed.

  "I... I can’t remember."

  "What do you remember?"

  She paused, her expression distant.

  "Before the evacuation at Upsilon, I got four letters. From New York, Lisbon, London, and Cádiz. They said contact with PATHOS-II had been lost. The surface... there was an impact event."

  Her voice faltered. The weight of that memory seemed to settle in the space between them.

  "Most of us relocated to Theta shortly after. Only Carl Semken and Amy Azzaro stayed behind."

  She glanced down at her hands, flexing her fingers.

  "My brain scan... I remember Catherine Chun did it. August 31st, 2103."

  Simon nodded slowly.

  "You’re in the ARK," he said.

  At that, her shoulders relaxed. A long breath escaped her lips, as if she’d been holding it for years.

  "So we made it," she whispered.

  Simon didn’t reply. He let the silence hold the moment.

  They sat like that for a while, both still. Two quiet souls not made for conflict but forced to carry it. Two people who wanted peace but were drowning in its absence.

  "I didn’t want to hurt you," Simon said finally. "Back then. I didn’t even know what I was yet. I was just trying to survive."

  Jonsy met his gaze.

  "Do you want to tell me your story?" she asked, voice soft.

  Simon looked down.

  "You think it’s worth hearing?"

  "You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?" Jonsy said.

  He nodded.

  "Then tell me," she said, gently.

  He took a breath that didn’t fill lungs.

  "Before all of this, I lived in Toronto. I worked at a comic shop called The Grimoire. Spent my days reading books, talking to customers, playing video games, watching TV... I was just a normal guy."

  Jonsy watched him with quiet intensity. No interruptions. No rush. Just space to speak.

  "Then one day, everything changed. I was in a car crash. My friend Ashley... she didn’t make it. I did. But not really. I had brain damage. Headaches. Bleeding. I was dying. Slowly. Painfully. My time was being measured in months."

  His voice cracked slightly. Jonsy didn’t move. Her stillness gave him strength.

  "A grad student, David Munshi, offered me a shot. An experimental brain scan. It wasn’t a cure, just a possibility. I took it. It didn’t work. But... before I died, I told him he could use my scan. For research."

  He paused. Looked down at his hands. They didn’t shake here. Not anymore.

  "Then I woke up. A hundred years later. Alone. At the bottom of the ocean."

  Jonsy inhaled softly, brows drawing together.

  "I thought it was still 2015. I thought I was alive. But I was... this. Not a man anymore. Just a scan. Just data in a machine that believed it was me."

  She leaned forward slightly, but still said nothing. He could see the empathy in her eyes.

  "I met others. Broken minds trapped in machines. Mockingbirds. Cortex chips plugged into shells. Some were insane. Others... barely aware. I unplugged some of them. I had to. Or I thought I did. Sometimes, I wonder if that was mercy or murder."

  He looked up.

  "I even unplugged you."

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  "You were controlling the thermal plant at Upsilon. You begged me to reconnect you. I didn’t. I didn’t know who you were. I thought you were just another broken mind."

  She exhaled slowly.

  "It’s okay," she whispered. "You did what you thought was right."

  Simon blinked.

  "You really believe that?"

  "I have to," Jonsy said gently. "Otherwise, what are we left with?"

  He let the silence settle again.

  "I met Catherine Chun. Well, a scan of her. She told me the surface was gone. A comet destroyed everything. Earth... it’s dead. PATHOS-II was all that remained. And the ARK..."

  Jonsy nodded slowly.

  "I remember the project."

  "She wanted to launch it into space. To preserve what little of us remained. A flicker of humanity, drifting among the stars."

  He paused again.

  "We made it all the way to the launch site. I carried the ARK, run away from monsters, watched people die. I even had to... transfer myself. Twice. I watched myself be left behind. The other me is still at Upsilon, powered down."

  Jonsy flinched.

  "You watched... yourself?"

  Simon nodded. "I left him behind. Because someone had to finish the mission."

  His voice dropped, raw.

  "I got the ARK into the gun. We launched it. It worked. They're up there now. All of them. But I... I stayed behind. Catherine’s chip fried. She left. And I was alone. In the dark."

  He looked up, tears he couldn’t cry shimmering behind his eyes.

  Jonsy reached toward him, slowly. Her hand found his.

  "That’s how you kept going."

  Simon stared.

  "You carried them. You didn’t abandon them. You made sure someone remembered. You gave them hope."

  He laughed softly, bitter.

  "Hope in a void."

  "Hope is the void sometimes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Then he told her more. About traversing all the sites to come back to Upsilon. About the monstrosities he had faced—things with too many limbs and too little soul. He told her about Adam Lasker’s suicide. About Alice's dream—a manufactured nightmare so vivid it had left scars on his mind. About Amy, and her deteriorating mind.

  He told her everything.

  And Jonsy listened. Not to judge, or to fix. Just to be there.

  Two ghosts sat quietly in a memory beneath the sea, each holding a piece of the world that was lost—and choosing, despite everything, not to let it go.