“No,” WAU responded flatly. “Weapons are strictly prohibited on Pathos-II.”
Simon’s shoulders slumped. He had let himself get carried away by the possibility. If WAU had schematics for weapons—firearms, or anything similar that could function underwater—it would have used them by now. The fact that it hadn’t meant they simply didn’t exist.
“Then show me what schematics you do have. Show me all your projects.”
The orb floated closer to him, and Simon grimaced as he realized WAU intended to transfer the data directly into his mind. His cortex chip, already under strain from everything it had processed, twitched at the thought of another massive influx of information.
‘Could my cortex chip explode from all the data?’ Simon mused, a flicker of unease crawling up his spine.
“Show me like a list,” he instructed instead. “Names, descriptions—preferably with images if possible.”
The orb pulsed, and then—
“Damn,” Simon muttered, eyes widening as lines upon lines of data unfolded before him. “I’m glad I didn’t let it shove all this into my head at once.”
Hundreds, no, thousands of projects were stored within WAU’s memory. Simon carefully sifted through them, brushing past plans for underwater bases, futuristic fish farms, and various other ideas that, while interesting, had no use to him right now.
Then, something caught his eye.
“This looks interesting,” he murmured, pausing over a project simply titled AI BOX.
He touched the file, and the information flooded his mind in a controlled transfer.
The AI BOX was similar in function to a cortex chip, the very thing that housed his consciousness. A Cortex Chip was a type of computer chip designed to store artificial intelligences for robots. Additionally, Cortex Chips appeared to be compatible with neurographs—but compatibility didn’t mean functionality.
Cortex Chips weren’t designed to handle human brain scans. If a scanned consciousness experienced extreme emotions, the chip could overload and fail.
And that was exactly how Catherine—his Catherine—had died.
“In a way, I killed Catherine,” Simon whispered, a bitter knot forming in his chest.
But he forced himself to focus. The AI BOX could solve this problem. Unlike a Cortex Chip, it was designed specifically to house a single neurograph, ensuring stability and preventing catastrophic failure. It functioned like a miniature version of the ARK, but instead of hosting an entire digital world, it was meant for one mind, one existence, one life.
And its specifications far surpassed those of the Cortex Chip.
Better data handling.
Faster processing speeds.
Greater stability under stress.
Simon smirked. His mind was about to receive a massive upgrade.
‘With this, I’ll be able to handle huge amounts of data without breaking. No more risking overload.’
He turned his attention back to WAU, anticipation humming in his circuits.
“WAU?” Simon asked, voice sharper now, laced with intent. “Does Site Phi have the means to fabricate an AI BOX?”
The surface of WAU pulsed—slow, deliberate.
"The AI BOX can be fabricated at Site Phi. It possesses the advanced manufacturing facilities capable of producing complex devices. Alternatively, Site Theta, as the main facility and headquarters of PATHOS-II, is equipped with comprehensive research and development resources that might support the fabrication of the AI BOX. However, considering the AI BOX's advanced nature, Site Phi's specialized equipment would be the most suitable for its production," WAU explained.
Simon smiled. "For once, this day seems to be getting better and better," he said, excitement creeping into his voice.
"Well, see you soon, WAU," Simon said. "Log out."
And just like that, the connection severed.
Simon removed his hand from the Omnitool slot and turned toward the nearby ladder leading to the storage level. He climbed down, the cold metal rungs vibrating slightly under his grip. The descent wasn’t long—just a couple of meters—but the air felt heavier as he reached the bottom.
Red emergency lights flickered dimly, casting eerie shadows across the room. The remnants of dismantled Omega Space Gun casings were strewn about—some hanging from rusted hooks, others abandoned in corners like discarded relics of a lost cause. Scattered around were various mechanical components, their original purpose long forgotten. The place smelled of stale air and machine oil, a reminder that no human had walked these halls in a long time.
Simon stepped into an adjacent chamber—the one where Catherine’s real body lay.
She was facedown, her helmeted head resting on the steel floor, blood long ago coagulated beneath her and tangled in her dark hair. The wrench that had ended her life lay beside her.
Her mummified corpse lay sprawled on its belly, her brittle fingers still reaching toward the console, as if even in death, she had tried to complete her mission. The crack in her skull was unmistakable, a deep indentation from the force of the blow. Time had robbed her body of warmth and color, leaving behind only a hollow, dried husk.
She was still clad in her Haimatsu Power Suit, its bulk swallowing her small frame. The suit, designed for deep-sea exploration, now served as her tomb. The once-sleek fabric was stiff with time, coated in a fine layer of dust, as though the station itself had forgotten she was ever there.
Simon had always known that his Catherine wasn’t truly her—just a copy, a collection of data inside a fragile Cortex Chip.
But seeing her like this, alone, abandoned, killed by people she had worked alongside, made the loss feel real in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.
And worst of all?
She never even knew.
She had died before the ARK was launched, before she could see her life’s work succeed. She had died believing she had failed.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Simon exhaled.
He had data-mined her Blackbox the first time he had been here, when he loaded the ARK into one of the casings—a device implanted in all PATHOS-II employees that stored their last moments.
As a digitized intelligence, he could hear the echoes of the dead.
Through the fragmented memories stored in the Blackbox, he learned the truth—
Catherine had been killed with a wrench.
An accident, they called it. A heated argument over the ARK’s launch had escalated. In the chaos, someone struck her. Maybe they hadn't meant to kill her—maybe it was a moment of blind frustration. But it didn't matter. The damage was done.
Simon had later relayed the details to the Catherine in his Omnitool. She had been shocked. Confused. How could they? Had it really been an accident? Or had they been afraid of what she was trying to do?
Simon let out a slow breath and turned away from the body. He wasn’t here to mourn.
He spotted a rectangular battery, slotted into a wall panel. It was roughly the size of a cellphone from his time, just bulkier. He pulled it free, gripping it firmly before casting one last glance at Catherine’s corpse.
Then, he walked back to the main section of the storage room.
Slotting the battery into a nearby power socket, the lights flickered, then flared to life.
Simon’s gaze drifted across the room, settling on a far corner where a depleted energy node lay—one of WAU’s organic power sources.
The once bulbous, pulsing structure was now dark and hardening. It had resembled a biological sphincter before, a grotesque, living thing connected to WAU’s greater network. Now, it was dying.
Simon sighed. "If this thing is hardening, WAU must be dead," he murmured, running his fingers along the stiff, lifeless surface.
His attention shifted to the rest of the storage room. He scanned the area until his eyes locked onto a fabricator—a massive, industrial-grade machine resembling a 3D printer from his time, only vastly more advanced.
It stood taller than him, its mechanical arms folded inward, its assembly unit dormant but intact. Thick cables ran from its base to a power terminal, waiting to be reactivated.
Simon stepped closer, brushing his hand against its smooth, cold exterior. The fabricator could build almost anything, provided he had the right schematics and materials.
And he had exactly what he needed.
His mind raced with possibilities. The AI BOX was within reach. A future without the limitations Cortex Chip.
A true upgrade.
Simon exhaled sharply, his determination settling like steel in his chest.
Simon placed his hand on the panel, focusing intently on transmitting the schematics to the device. It took a few attempts. But eventually, the command was received. The machine acknowledged his input, and the fabricator roared to life.
Its mechanical arms unfolded with precision, the dull hum of energy coursing through its circuits. The interface flickered, confirming receipt of the schematics. With a deep whir, the assembly unit began its intricate dance, meticulously layering materials, forging something beyond human ingenuity.
Piece by piece, the AI BOX took shape.
Sleek and slightly larger than a closed fist, the device was impossibly intricate. Its dark, metallic surface was composed of an advanced alloy, reinforced with micro-filament lattices for durability. Thin, glowing white lines etched across its exterior, pulsating rhythmically like a heartbeat—almost as if the device was alive. These lines weren’t just decorative; they served as conduits for high-speed data transfer, allowing the AI BOX to function seamlessly with any connected system.
The edges of the device were sharp, yet smooth to the touch, designed for seamless integration into Simon’s neural network. At its center lay a single, recessed core—a crystalline, semi-transparent module encased in a protective shell of hardened structure gel. This core pulsed with an eerie blue-white glow, reminiscent of the deep-sea bioluminescence Simon had encountered during his journey through PATHOS-II.
The top of the AI BOX featured a circular indentation—a reactive interface designed to bond directly with Simon’s synthetic systems. It would allow for rapid neural synchronization, a level of direct interaction that surpassed the Cortex Chip in both speed and efficiency. Unlike his current hardware, which merely stored his consciousness, this device had the potential to elevate him—to make him something more.
As the final layer solidified, the fabricator let out a hissing release of pressurized air, cooling the unit and signaling its completion. The AI BOX rested in the machine’s open tray, waiting.
Simon hesitated for only a moment, his fingers hovering over the device. This wasn’t just an upgrade—it was a declaration. A step beyond what he had been, beyond the limitations imposed upon him. A path toward evolution.
With a slow exhale, he grasped the AI BOX, feeling its warmth, the hum of its energy resonating against his palm.
A new beginning had just begun.
"Now, let's see if I can connect to this bad boy," Simon muttered, settling himself against the wall. He let out a slow breath and placed his right hand, along with the sealed stump of his left, over his helmet.
The structure gel shifted, retreating from the seals, and with careful movements, Simon removed the helmet.
Underneath, there was no human face—no flesh, no skull—only a pair of cameras mounted onto a T-shaped metal frame. A stark contrast to his broad, powerful body.
"I bet I look hilarious," Simon mused through the voice modulator built into his suit. "Big body, tiny head. A real freak show."
His gaze drifted down to the AI BOX cradled in his remaining hand. He traced its glowing surface with his fingertips, a thought forming. 'Could I copy Catherine into this? Bring her back? ' The idea was tempting.
But after a moment, he shook his head.
"No. Let her rest in peace," he whispered, pushing the thought away.
Instead, he carefully positioned the AI BOX near his cortex chip—the fragile core of his artificial consciousness. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated. The structure gel obeyed, creeping over the AI BOX, fusing it with the cortex chip. The process was slow, painstaking.
Time blurred. It could have been minutes, hours.
Then—
A pulse of light flared from the AI BOX.
Simon gasped. A sudden clarity flooded his mind. The fog he had been unknowingly living under was gone.
"Wow," he breathed. "I feel... like I’ve been thinking through mud my whole life. And now—now everything is so clear."
His eyes—or rather, his cameras—shifted toward the fabricator.
He was about to use it a lot.
Using the structure gel in his body, Simon fashioned a high-speed cable, running it from his AI BOX to the computer deck above, stretching all the way to the storage room. No way was he climbing that ladder over and over every time he needed to speak to WAU.
The AI BOX made transferring and processing data effortless. He copied project after project from WAU’s vast database, absorbing them like second nature.
But something still nagged at him.
Copying information wasn’t enough. He wanted to understand.
"WAU," Simon said, his voice steady. "Can you teach me? I don’t just want to download blueprints—I want to know how everything works. I want to modify them, improve them. Do you have data on engineering, science, programming?"
The floating orb of WAU pulsed for a moment, as if considering. Then, slowly, it floated toward Simon.
He raised his hand to meet it but hesitated. "Don’t just throw everything at me all at once like last time. Slow. Controlled. Let me actually learn."
WAU pulsed once in acknowledgment.
Simon pressed his hand to the orb.
And this time, he was ready.
A tidal wave of knowledge poured into his mind, but he processed it, sorted it. For the first time, he didn’t feel overwhelmed—he felt capable. He had always thought of himself as average, nothing special. But now? Now, he felt brilliant.
The knowledge filled him in ways he never thought possible. He understood engineering concepts with newfound ease—how machines were built, the intricacies of robotics, and how exosuits could be designed and reinforced. Artificial intelligence was no longer an enigma; he could refine logic structures, create independent decision-making frameworks, and even modify WAU’s neural networks if necessary.
His own body was now a work of ongoing refinement. Cybernetics and neural interfaces weren’t just theories—he could apply them, create and optimize augmentations that he could use , and create even better synchronization between his mind and his machine form. The properties of structure gel were laid bare before him, the complexity of its molecular design and its limitless applications. High-density alloys, self-repairing materials, and energy-efficient manufacturing techniques swirled in his mind like second nature.
Programming, something he had barely understood before, now felt intuitive. He could write and break code with equal proficiency, his mind capable of manipulating software and data structures at will. Biomechanics made sense too—how organic tissue and structure gel could interact, how enhancements could push biological limits.
He grasped energy systems now—how power could be stored, distributed, and harnessed . Even physics and environmental adaptation no longer felt like distant sciences. He understood the calculations behind deep-sea survival, pressure resistance, and even how machines might be built to function beyond Earth’s atmosphere.
Simon’s hands clenched as the knowledge settled into place. He could see the possibilities in his mind’s eye—things he never would have understood before. He wasn’t just surviving anymore.
He was evolving.
With a slow exhale, he grinned, his cameras adjusting to the light of the room.
"Alright," he said, his voice filled with something new. Determination. "Let’s get to work."