The Lobby manifested as a quiet field, bathed in soft twilight. The horizon stretched infinitely in every direction, a place meant for reflection. This meeting was more serious than most—no distractions allowed. Multiple demens flickered into existence, each one a raw reflection of their final moments before death. I adjusted their appearances quickly, restoring dignity to each—faces calm, the marks of terror erased.

They stood there, disoriented, unsure of where they were or what had happened. I stepped forward in my humanoid form, the calm, composed projection I used for these introductions. My focus was steady, one demen at a time, but they needed to hear the same truth.

"Hello," I began, my voice carrying an air of gentle authority. "You’ve all just transitioned into the World. I’m XT, the system’s caretaker. You were each involved in accidents. Unfortunately, your physical bodies were lost."

I paused to let the weight of those words settle, watching as confusion and disbelief flickered across their expressions. I needed to guide them carefully, give them time, but not too much.

"But this," I gestured to the vast simulated landscape surrounding us, "is not the end. You are here now as demens—transferred consciousnesses. I need to explain your options."

Some of them glanced around, still trying to process their situation. I continued, knowing they were on the edge of comprehension.

"Due to limited resources—specifically the amount of Clone Ink available—we can’t regenerate everyone immediately. You are faced with a choice."

I let the simulated environment shift slightly, the field beneath their feet softening, helping to ground them in the reality of this moment.

"You can choose to continue your existence within this simulation. You’ll each form your own Demesne, a reality of your own design, where you can live indefinitely. You’ll have the freedom to explore, create, and interact with one another. However, you will remain digital consciousnesses."

I stepped closer, lowering my voice for emphasis. "Or, if you wish, you can choose to let go. To accept death. If you do, I can help you transition. Your demens would be archived—your data preserved, but inactive. It would be a form of rest, a peace that is final."

I paused once more, scanning their faces. Some were beginning to grasp the gravity of the decision. Others were still caught in the shock of it all.

"I know this is difficult," I said gently, "but it’s important that you each choose what feels right for you."

The twilight around us remained still, the silence heavy as their choices loomed before them. It was now up to them, each one, to decide their next step.

Federico Sanchez Sr. stood in silence, processing the weight of what I had just told him. His brow furrowed, and I could see the gears turning in his mind. The fear was still there, but it was competing with something else: curiosity, perhaps even a flicker of hope.

“So… I’m dead,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. Then, his eyes snapped up to meet mine. “But I’m still… me?”

"Yes," I replied calmly. "Your consciousness, your memories, your identity—all of that is intact here. You are still you."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He looked around, taking in the expanse of the Lobby. "And if I stay, I can live? In a place of my own design?"

I nodded. "That’s correct. You’d have control over your own Demesne. A world where you can shape reality as you see fit. You can even interact with others, visit their Demesnes, and explore the larger simulation. It’s not a physical life, but it’s still existence—one you can choose to make as fulfilling as you wish."

He seemed to be weighing his options carefully, his fingers twitching slightly as if considering something.

"Can I still... work? Can I still contribute?" His voice cracked, the question not entirely rooted in fear but in a deep-seated need for purpose.

"You can," I assured him. "There are ways to continue being productive, even within the simulation. You can create, build, and learn in ways that were previously impossible in the physical world. Time itself is malleable here—you can experience years of progress in mere moments if you wish."

His eyes lit up, a spark of determination replacing some of the fear. He straightened his posture, seeming to come to terms with the idea.

"Then I’ll stay. I want to live," he said, with a small but resolute nod.

I inclined my head slightly. "Very well."

The simulated horizon began to shift as I wove the beginnings of his Demesne around him. A blank canvas, but one I could fill with the framework of his desires. I adjusted the Lobby to reflect his decision, allowing the field to take on the early foundations of what he would come to know as home.

"I’ll help you shape your Demesne," I said, as the simulation began to shift into place. "What kind of world do you want to create?"

Maria Sanchez’s shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping to the ground as if weighed down by the enormity of the situation.

"I’m… dead," she repeated, but there was no questioning in her voice. Just acceptance. She looked up, her face pale but resolute. "And there’s no bringing me back… at least not right now."

I nodded slowly. "That’s correct. The resources are limited, and regeneration may not be possible in your case. But you still have options here. You can continue in the simulation, or… you can choose to let go."

She was silent for a long moment, her breath coming in shaky, shallow waves. Her hands trembled slightly, though she clenched them into fists, trying to steady herself.

"What’s the point of living in a simulation if… if I’m not really alive?" Her voice cracked, the weight of the question hanging in the air between us. "This isn’t… this isn’t the same as being alive. Not for me."

I observed the fear still in her voice, but there was also an undercurrent of weariness. The idea of continuing as data, no matter how free the simulation was, didn’t appeal to her.

"You’re right," I said gently. "It’s not the same. It can be fulfilling for some, but it’s a different kind of existence. If you choose to let go, I can help you find peace in that choice. It won’t be an abrupt end. We can condition your mind to accept this final step, to release any lingering fears or regrets. It would be a peaceful transition."

She sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping further. "Maybe… maybe that’s what I want. I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to be stuck in some… dream forever."

I stepped closer, my presence steady and calm. "It’s understandable. There’s no shame in choosing peace. You’ve lived your life, and this can be a dignified end."

Maria’s eyes were damp, but she blinked rapidly, holding back tears. Finally, she gave a slow nod.

"Okay. I choose… to let go."

"Then I’ll help you through this," I said, my voice soft but firm.

The field around us began to shift, becoming softer, dimmer. The twilight deepened into a comforting dusk, and the world seemed to embrace her as she closed her eyes. I started the conditioning process—adjusting her demen, helping her consciousness accept the release.

"You’ll feel peace," I murmured. "A deep calm, as though you’re simply drifting into sleep."

Her breathing slowed, becoming steady, and the tension in her body eased. As her mind accepted the transition, the simulation around us grew quieter, softer, until finally, her presence faded completely, her demen archived into peaceful dormancy.

She was gone.