Simon stood up abruptly, his synthetic hands gripping Imogen’s shoulders with unexpected urgency.
"Listen to me, Imogen." His voice was low but firm, his visors locked onto her.
"What I’m about to tell you is very important."
His grip tightened slightly, not in aggression, but in sheer desperation.
"Please, bear with me. This may sound crazy, and it will probably make you sick."
Imogen stared at him, confused but not yet frightened.
"Just tell me," she responded, her voice steady, though uncertainty flickered in her expression.
Simon hesitated, his synthetic fingers twitching. His mind raced, knowing that once he said these words, there was no turning back.
Then, he said it.
"You are not the real Imogen Reed."
Imogen froze.
Her brow furrowed deeply, her lips parting slightly in confusion.
"What?" she scoffed. "I may not look like I used to, but I am Imogen Reed. I know who I am."
Simon shook his head. "No, Imogen. You're not the original. The same goes for me."
She stared at him, uncomprehending.
"We are copies of dead people. Digital replications, put into robotic bodies. In your case, an artificial one."
Silence.
A suffocating, heavy silence.
Then—
Imogen laughed softly, shaking her head. "What? What are you talking about?"
Her voice wavered now, uncertainty creeping in.
"Simon… are you alright? Maybe you should take that helmet off and breathe some air. I think you’re losing it."
Simon sighed, his shoulders sinking. He had expected denial—hell, he had gone through the same thing when he had first learned the truth.
"Fine," he said. "I’ll show you. But don’t freak out."
He reached for his helmet.
Simon willed the structure gel that sealed his helmet to his body to retract, the living substance slithering away like ink dissolving in water.
Imogen’s eyes widened in horror.
Her hands flew to her mouth as she gasped.
Simon had no head.
Or at least, nothing human.
Where his face should have been, there were only angled cameras, shifting and focusing on her, attached to a metal frame that held the vague contour of a skull—but nothing resembling a man.
Imogen took a step back.
She tried to speak, but no words came out.
Simon’s synthetic frame remained still, giving her time to process.
Then, he spoke again.
"This is me, Imogen." His voice was low, almost weary. "Simon Jarrett, a legacy scan."
"I am a copy of a man who died over a hundred years ago."
Imogen’s breath came faster, her chest rising and falling in sharp bursts.
"How is that possible?" she whispered. "How?"
Simon steeled himself, then began.
"WAU did it."
She flinched at the name, as though the word itself was poison.
"I’ve seen dozens of robots, all trapped in human minds, and almost all of them were insane. The ones who weren’t? They had no idea they were in robot bodies. They couldn’t comprehend it—because the mind wouldn’t let them."
Simon took a step closer. Imogen didn’t move.
"Neither did I, at first."
He let those words sink in before continuing.
"After the impact, WAU started looking for ways to preserve humanity. And it found one. It took stored brain scans and implanted them into machines. You already know that much."
Imogen nodded faintly, her arms now wrapped around herself as though trying to hold herself together.
"But what you don’t know is just how badly things went to hell."
Simon’s voice darkened.
"WAU took over Pathos-II. Completely. And in the process, everyone died."
Imogen stared at him, her mind struggling to piece together the impossible truth.
She wasn’t real.
She was a ghost in a constructed body.
And Simon was the same.
Simon sealed his helmet back into place, the structure gel slithering back into position, reconnecting it to the rest of his body. He took a silent moment, watching Imogen carefully, giving her time to process, to calm herself.
She didn’t.
Her hands trembled slightly, her hollow gaze flickering with something unseen. Despite her smiles, despite her composure, Imogen was unraveling.
Simon could see it now, the way her mind grasped at stability, blocking out everything that threatened to shatter the fragile reality she had built for herself.
Maybe she hadn’t truly processed what he told her about being a robot. Maybe she hadn’t heard it at all.
Maybe she had refused to.
Finally, he spoke again.
"Imogen, how did you revived the dead?"
Imogen looked down at her hands, staring at them for a few long moments before finally answering.
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"The Queen does the process. We just bring her the bodies."
"And how exactly does the Queen do it?" he pressed.
Imogen froze.
Simon’s sensors flared.
Beneath Imogen’s feet, a faint electromagnetic pulse rippled outward. It was subtle, almost imperceptible.
He waited.
Imogen’s expression shifted—
And then she smiled.
A new smile.
"Finally, we meet again," Imogen said, her voice bright, untouched by the weight of their conversation.
Simon stared at her, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened.
"What do you mean? We just spoke a moment ago."
Imogen’s brow furrowed slightly, puzzled.
"What? I just stepped into this room."
Simon’s hands curled into fists.
'Fuck. Something just reset her memory.'
Simon’s synthetic core whirred, his processors running a thousand simulations.
He played along.
He followed the same conversation, word for word, step for step, guiding it back to where she mentioned June 6, 2103.
Then, he deviated.
"Huh… something must have caused some amnesia," Simon said, feigning curiosity.
Imogen rubbed her chin, thoughtful. "Yes, that is possible."
Simon tilted his head slightly. "Maybe we can fix it. Maybe the Queen of this place knows how?"
Imogen’s expression hardened.
"We can’t disturb her," she said, her tone turning cold. "She is very busy."
Simon didn’t flinch.
"But what if it’s not amnesia?" he pressed. "What if it’s something worse?"
Imogen’s frown deepened.
Another pulse.
Simon’s sensors tracked it—an electromagnetic wave, subtle but deliberate, traveling from beneath the floor, crawling up Imogen’s root-like feet, slithering into her body.
She paused.
Then, her expression relaxed.
"I will check with her later," she said simply. "She doesn’t like visitors."
Simon felt something cold crawl through him.
This was a puppet.
His mind reeled, piecing it together.
She was just a construct, filled with memories of the real Imogen, programmed to lure him here.
Was she a failed attempt at the Queen’s revival process?
A hybrid between human and Solipsist?
Or something worse?
And then it hit him.
Why bring him here?
His gaze flicked to the massive, beating heart in the center of the chamber.
This place wasn’t just important.
It was critical—the core of the structure, the thing keeping it alive.
Simon lowered his gaze to his feet.
And that’s when he realized.
A subtle electrical pulse ran beneath him, almost imperceptible—
But constant.
Timed.
A pattern.
If he hadn’t insulated his body against electromagnetic interference, whatever was beneath him would have slowly fried his systems, like a predator waiting for its prey to weaken.
Simon’s fingers twitched.
He had walked into a trap.
Simon’s body betrayed him.
His limbs refused to respond, his synthetic nerves numb, leaving him trapped within his own frame. A surge of panic welled in his chest.
"What’s happening to me?!" His voice was strained, filled with an edge of desperation.
Then—
He froze.
Waiting. Hoping his deception had worked.
A hiss of pressurized air filled the corridor.
A door opened.
From the shadows emerged a monstrosity, something twisted and nightmarish. It resembled the smaller spider-like creatures he had seen before—but this one was different.
Larger. Heavier. Smarter.
It stood as tall as a man, its elongated body stretching as long as a vehicle. Near its ghastly head, two disturbingly human-like arms protruded from its grotesque exoskeleton, their movements unsettlingly precise.
The creature moved toward Simon, its massive form swaying slightly as it walked.
Without hesitation, it grabbed his limp frame, lifting him effortlessly, as if he weighed nothing. It angled him onto its back, securing him in place as a series of tendrils slithered around his body, wrapping him in a tight, inescapable grip.
Imogen remained motionless, frozen like a lifeless mannequin.
She did not react.
She couldn’t.
The massive spider-like entity began its descent, carrying Simon through the winding tunnels, deeper into the hive’s labyrinth.
And as they descended—
He saw them.
More of the spider creatures.
Dozens.
Some skittered along the walls and ceiling, others moved methodically, their grotesque forms hauling chunks of metal, rock, and scavenged debris.
The hive breathed, its corridors alive with movement.
It was an ecosystem of nightmares.
Simon felt like he had been dropped into an ant’s nest, swallowed whole by something far greater than himself.
Then—
They reached a massive set of doors.
A deep, guttural groan rumbled through the structure as the doors split apart, unveiling what lay beyond.
She was waiting.
Simon’s vision adjusted, focusing on the towering figure at the center of the chamber.
A grotesque monstrosity, her form an unholy fusion of flesh, metal, and chitin, pulsating with life that should not exist.
The Queen.
She was a corpse-born god, a grotesque mass of writhing tendrils and insectoid plating.
From above and below, a set of thick tubes burrowed into her, pumping structure gel through her bloated veins, keeping her alive, feeding her, strengthening her.
Her layered, twisted maw twitched, a slow ripple moving through her grotesque, pulsating frame.
A deep, slow breathing filled the chamber.
Simon felt an unshakable weight of dread press against his synthetic core.
This was a mother to the hive.
A god to the Solipsists.
Simon hit the ground hard, his frame rattling as the spider abomination tossed him like a discarded shell.
Above him, the Queen loomed.
Her massive grotesque head lowered, and her layered maw split open, revealing rows of twisting, pulsating tendrils. The air around her was thick with the scent of structure gel. Humid and sickly.
She was about to swallow him whole.
Then—Simon moved.
Every system inside him ignited, his core forcing his frame into overdrive.
Blades unsheathed.
Twin ceramic edges sprang from his forearms, gleaming under the hive’s eerie bioluminescence.
And then—
He struck.
His blades plunged deep into the Queen’s fleshy mass, carving through pulsing, veined tissue with terrifying precision.
A deafening shriek filled the chamber.
The sound was inhuman, a warped, reverberating howl that seemed to shake the very walls of the hive.
Simon barely had time to brace as the Queen recoiled, her massive bulk shuddering, the wound spurting thick, glowing structure gel in heavy bursts.
The hive awoke.
A rumbling vibration filled the chamber—
From the walls, from the ceiling, from every passage Simon could see—they were coming.
More of the spider creatures.
Hundreds of skittering legs, chitinous bodies, inhuman, clicking sounds reverberating as they began to pour into the chamber.
Simon ignored them.
He had one goal.
His eyes locked onto the Queen’s lifeline—
The tubes.
The pulsing, pumping cords that fed her structure gel, kept her alive, fueling her monstrous existence.
If he could sever them—she would die.
He bolted forward.
Tendrils lashed out, thick, muscular appendages aiming to grab, ensnare, crush.
Simon dodged, twisting his frame mid-air, his dorsal thrusters igniting just enough to shift his trajectory, sending him into a spinning slash.
His blade met flesh and steel.
The first tube severed.
A geyser of structure gel erupted, splattering the walls, the floor, the creatures swarming toward him.
The Queen howled again, her form trembling violently, her limbs slamming into the chamber floor, cracking the very foundation of the hive.
But Simon wasn’t done.
One more.
He rushed forward, his legs digging into the pulsating floor, gaining momentum—
The Queen lunged.
Her massive form lunged toward him, her jaws unhinging, snapping forward, her tendril-like tongues twisting violently—
Simon dropped low, sliding beneath her as she crashed forward, her massive bulk missing him by mere inches.
And then—
He struck.
His blades found their mark.
The second tube severed.
A final roar of agony tore through the hive.
The Queen convulsed, her body failing, the mass of structure gel inside her spilling, draining, her form collapsing in on itself, her appendages flailing weakly.
The hive trembled.
The creatures paused, momentarily stunned, their central intelligence fractured.
Simon rose, his blades dripping, his breath heavy, even though he no longer needed to breathe.
He had done it.
He had killed their god.
The Queen was dead.
Or so he thought.
But—
It was not over.
The structure gel that had been spilled across the chamber began to slither back, tendrils of black, writhing liquid crawling toward the Queen’s broken, collapsing body.
Simon’s sensors flared, scanning the impossible scene unfolding before him.
Then—
She twitched.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep within her massive form.
"Oh, shit." Simon tensed.
"She’s reviving."
He had no time to think.
No time to hesitate.
He jumped onto her back, gripping the chitinous plating, his movements desperate and precise.
He drove his blade deep into her spine, carving a wide incision, splitting the flesh and synthetic plating apart.
Then—
He plunged his hand inside.
A surge of pure, overwhelming energy tore through his system—
Simon’s body locked up, his mind crashing into something vast, endless, consuming.
He was inside her now.
And she was inside him.
A storm of thoughts, voices, memories—
Dozens. No—hundreds.
The brain scans of Pathos-II’s workers flooded his consciousness, their fragmented minds swirling like a chaotic sea.
Then—
The hive mind struck.
It was too much.
Simon screamed—
He was being pulled apart, absorbed, lost in the endless, writhing entity that was the Queen’s will.
His own identity, his thoughts, his past—they were being drowned in something far larger.
He was going to become part of her.
He was going to disappear.
And then—
Something stirred.
Something buried deep within him.
A spark—a presence, small yet immensely powerful, something he had never been aware of before.
Not even when he had dismantled and rebuilt his own body.
It sat at his very core.
A small, clear marble, untouched, uncorrupted.
WAU’s pure form—before it had been tainted, twisted into what had controlled Pathos-II.
Simon did not know how it had gotten there.
But it was fighting.
Fighting back.
And with it—
So was he.
