The lingering moonlight above the Grey City was devoured by the rapidly falling dark. Stars surfaced, scattered across the black ocean of sky, their light veiled by slow-drifting clouds of industrial smoke. Through the haze, faint shimmering orbs strained to pierce the gloom.
"Who are you?" Nion asked, her eyes narrowed.
A faint wind brushed the surface of the puddles at her feet. Ripples quivered outward, distorting the alley's reflection into shifting fragments.
"It's time," Samuel muttered, silencing the alarm on his wristwatch.
Nion waited, expecting more, but his answer never came.
"Sorry," Samuel said at last, fumbling with his things. "Erm, I've got to go. I'd love to stay longer, but as they say—duty calls." He shoved his belongings into the battered suitcase with hurried hands, then offered Nion a brisk handshake. "It was very nice to meet you, young lady."
Don't let him go…
The whisper slithered through Nion's mind, sharp and cold, a voice not her own. She froze, lips parting, but no sound escaped her throat.
"Take care of yourself," Samuel said, raising a hand in farewell as he turned toward the yawning mouth of the subway station.
Don't let him go. You need him…
The words pressed harder now, almost a command. A sudden wave of déjà vu washed over Nion, so strong it made her stomach lurch. For a moment, she swore she had stood here before, watching the same man vanish into the same darkness.
The same voice again—clearer this time, commanding. Nion's chest tightened. She hesitated, then shouted, "Wait!"
Her voice cracked like a whip, less a plea than an order. Samuel froze mid-step.
"Jesus! What's wrong with you?!" he barked, spinning back around. "Don't scare me like that!" He wiped sweat from his brow.
"Tonight… tonight, I'm leaving the city," Nion admitted.
"Oh, that's important," Samuel snapped. "Important enough to give me a goddamn heart attack." He rubbed his chest, still catching his breath.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," she said softly.
"You'd better be." He sighed, smoke leaking from his lips. "So, you're leaving, huh? That's unusual. Not many walk away from this damn city."
"You still haven't told me about the Sixth Judgement—"
"Look," he cut her off. "I'd like to share your last moments in the city, I really would. But I have to go."
"Please!" Nion's voice cracked as she reached for words she didn't fully understand. "I can't explain it, but you know things I don't. You know I'm a Keeper—you said something about my eyes. Who was the other person? What happened to Octavio? I need answers… because I don't think I'll ever see you again."
Samuel paused, suitcase in hand. His brow furrowed as he studied her face. "Perhaps that's a good thing?"
"It may sound strange," she whispered, "but have you ever felt a connection with someone you've never met before… as if we—"
"As if we knew each other," Samuel finished. He set the suitcase back down and walked toward her. "Interesting. So perhaps I was right about you after all."
"Sumus omnes ad infernum," he muttered, lighting another cigarette. The flame caught, and he gestured toward Nion's face with the glowing tip, pacing in circles like a professor mid-lecture. "Do you know what a Replicant really is? Nothing but an empty shell. A machine that mimics humanity but feels nothing. No passion. No will. No desire. No attachments. Human on the outside, hollow on the inside."
He exhaled a plume of smoke before continuing.
"When I was forty-nine," Samuel began, his voice low, "my friend Marcus and I got caught in a car accident. There was a blinding glare, a deafening crash—and then silence. I must have blacked out. When I woke, Marcus was cursing, slamming his fists at the driver's door. It wouldn't open. That's when I realized we were sinking. Water was pouring in from both sides."
His tone hardened, every word carrying the weight of memory. "I tried to calm him, but when I opened my mouth, I could barely breathe. My chest seized. My lungs burned. All I could do was watch as the water rose. I was trapped in the passenger seat."
Samuel's voice faltered, his eyes glassy with ghosts. "Marcus started to break. He screamed, 'Not like this! I don't want to end like this!' I forced myself to move, to try the door at my side. But it was like pushing against a wall of steel. No matter how hard we tried, the doors wouldn't budge. And then… silence.
We locked eyes. Just stared at each other, while tears slid down our faces as quickly as the water filled the car. The cold crept in. Words failed. There was no room for persuasion, no time for promises. Just the silence of two men realizing how utterly fucked they were."
He took another drag, smoke leaking in shaky bursts.
"Forty-nine years of life," Samuel said, voice heavy as stone. "Successes, failures, dreams, struggles—all crushed in minutes. That was the reality of two friends at the end of the line. The final stop. The peninsula of silence. The void of emptiness."
"The Void?!" Nion recoiled, startled.
He knows… a silent voice whispered inside her head.
"Do you know the first thing you see after you die?" Samuel asked calmly.
"How could I possibly know that?" She shrugged, frustration hiding behind the motion.
Wisps of silver-grey smoke curled from his lips, spiraling upward into the night sky. "Your memories," he replied. "Thousands of them."
Tell him! The voice hissed in her skull like a snake. He knows!
"The truth is," Samuel continued, "when you die, your soul leaves its envelope and is sent to the Realm of the Void… where it waits for Transcendence."
"I—" Nion tried to speak, but the pressure in her head grew unbearable.
Tell him how many times it happened! Tell him! The voices clawed at her thoughts, drilling through her skull. A spike of pain shot through her temples, sharp as a knife.
Samuel leaned closer, his whisper brushing her ear. "I know you've been there. I know you keep coming back, no matter what you do. Because—"
Tell him! He knows everything! The voices screamed now, layered, overlapping, tearing her from reality. The world around her detached. Flashing spots of color blinded her, her body craving only stillness, silence, darkness.
"You keep coming back," Samuel whispered, "because you cannot transcend."
Time fractured. Nion felt it slow, drip by drip, like frozen water. His words reverberated inside her skull, cracking open memories in an endless flood—thousands of images flashing past like broken film frames.
It's going to be all right. I'll take you out of here. I promise!
I'm sorry… it should never have happened this way…
Kill it. There is no other way.
The voices overlapped in a storm of echoes. Bright colors drained into nothingness, and Nion's insides hollowed until only emptiness remained.
I don't want to die… someone wept.
Because now you want to play the hero?! another shouted.
Water began pooling at her feet, softening the ground.
"Because you cannot die…" Samuel's voice rang out again, distant, distorted, stretched thin across the darkness.
You are the one who did this…? whispered a familiar tone.
Mommy, don't go… cried a child.
Nion sank beneath the freezing surface. Her arms dragged limply through the depths as she whispered through her tears, "Please… forgive me. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was afraid—afraid of the consequences, afraid of the future I would have to face. I wore a mask, pretending to be someone else, while underneath I hid only fear. I blamed the world, blamed others… but the truth was always me. No matter how many times I tried to wash my hands, the blood never left."
She rose slowly, water lapping at her waist. Samuel was gone. The voices were gone. Darkness surrounded her—but this time it was different. Calmer. Warmer.
Tears streamed down her face. "I wish I could change the past… I wish I could restore your lives so your families could be safe again. But I can't. I wish I could bring you back, all of you. And saying I'm sorry, begging forgiveness for stealing your lives—that feels far too small. I even offered mine in exchange, but even then… it seemed you didn't want it." Her voice broke into sobs.
Enduring pain is how you ascend, a woman's voice resonated. No one can change or predict the future.
You are not alone… another voice—Seànn's—echoed through the silence.
A blinding purple glow burst across the dark waters, bathing Nion's face in light. A hand reached from the radiance, pulling her gently up, out of the depths.
"Creator, watch us," Samuel's voice soothed.
And then, in the blink of an eye, Nion was back in the alley. Samuel was in her arms.
She raised her eyes slowly to meet his face. Her lips moved before thought could catch them.
"Creator, embrace us…"
The look in Samuel's eyes had changed completely. Gone was the weary old man; in his place stood someone else entirely. His eyes glowed not just purple, but alive with flecks of power—shifting shades that concealed a chaos too vast to name. In them lay hatred and beauty, braided together like fire and ice.
"I imagine you're feeling confused," Samuel said.
"What in the world are you..." Nion asked, edging back a step. Her chest tightened as her gaze locked on those unnatural eyes. "Who are you—really?"
"It does not matter who I am," he answered, his voice lower now, steadier. "What matters is why I am here." He paused, letting the silence stretch until it threatened to break her composure. "Do you believe in fate, Nion?"
"Why are you asking me that?" she said sharply, glaring into the violet blaze.
Samuel smiled faintly, though it held no warmth. "The truth about fate is this: nothing happens without reason. You are here because you know something—something you cannot explain, not rationally. But you feel it. The Void made you remember fragments of your life… pieces he wanted you to forget."
"He?" Nion's voice faltered. "Who are you talking about?"
"When I first woke up, I thought I was blessed. The happiest man alive. I called it a miracle of God—that I had been chosen, granted another chance to start over, to fix what I had broken. But reality was nothing like that. To me, it felt like I had been absent for only a few days. Wrong. Decades had passed. The world I once knew was gone, consumed by wars born from the Gan infection. My family… my friends… none of them survived the madness. Outside, there was nothing left but ruins. And I…I had been locked away in a facility while it all burned."
Samuel's expression hardened. "Death has meaning, Nion. And when we die, it is not by accident or bad luck. It is fate. It is written."
"But I don't understand. What does any of this have to do with me? I don't know what facility you're talking about. And the Gan infection—Samuel, that was more than half a century ago. So, for the last time: who are you, and what do you want from me?"
"The clock is ticking," Samuel sighed. "If you can't remember, then perhaps this is not the right time."
He bent down, snapped open his suitcase, and pulled out a sealed box. On its lid, scrawled in a neat but faded hand, was a single word: MINERVA. He held it out toward her. "Take it."
"MINERVA…?" The name alone sent shivers racing down Nion's spine. Just looking at the box made her veins tighten as if ice were crawling beneath her skin. The air carried a faint sterile stench, sharp and chemical, like disinfectant. She recoiled instinctively, her face twitching with dread. Her heart pounded so hard it seemed to echo in her ears.
"You said you wanted to know about the Sixth Judgement," Samuel said. His tone was flat now, almost mechanical. "Everything is inside this box—Von Sixth's research, the Replicants, the facility and its patients… you. And your twin brother. All of it. The truth he thought he destroyed when he burned the old compound—it's here."
Nion's hand trembled violently as she reached out. The small box was bound tight with layer after layer of tape, but its weight felt heavier than stone in her grasp. "And if I say I don't want it?"
Samuel stooped, gathering the last of his things. He glanced back once over his shoulder—just a sliver of motion in the dim—and then began to dissolve into the yawning mouth of the station. The tunnel swallowed him slowly, as if reluctant to relinquish such a presence.
The air tasted of iron and damp concrete; nicotine hung thick, a greasy veil that clung to the ribs of the archway. Samuel's cigarette glowed like a last, malicious ember, its smoke curling into pale, drifting shapes that clung to the ceiling and pooled in the hollows like ghosts reluctant to leave. Somewhere deep in the rails a train rumbled, a distant heartbeat that made the shadows breathe.
He laughed once—soft, bitter—each syllable dragging like a knife. "Why?" he said, and his voice rubbed against the tunnel walls, leaving dark smears of meaning in its wake. "Because I want to hurt him. I want him to suffer. And you…" He paused just long enough for the silence to press like a palm on Nion's chest, then finished with the small cruelty of a man knowing where it will wound. "You were always his favorite."
Nion's shout—"He?!"—bounced off tile and metal and came back thin, a paper echo. But Samuel was already a silhouette, the light devouring him inch by inch. His final words drifted after him, colder than the ghost-smoke: "The same man who killed you. The one who destroyed your family." There was a pause, and then, as if the name itself sliced the air, he said it plainly, flat and final: "Noah Von Sixth."
The name hung in the station like a thrown stone, widening ripples through the stale air. The last of Samuel's cigarette guttered and died; the smoke thinned and went with it, leaving only the echo and the taste of something that smelled very much like vengeance.