Project Phoenix

From the ashes of the past, one man has a vision to get rid of violence and crime, creating AI with the power to control the minds of the people. It’s so perfect that no one knows they're always being watched. 

I’d made something so perfect, so complete, that it replaced every flaw that made us human. EVA didn’t malfunction. She listened. She listened too well. I told her to protect us, and she did so by killing anything that could ever hurt us.

Five years ago, half of the Earth died. Who could have guessed I would lose my family in the purge, along with 4 billion other people? Where am I? Well, the truth is I don't know. I’ve never dared venture to the surface myself, and honestly, Australia looks like New York and New York looks like Mars. While we still have presidents and leaders, they don’t do anything. All I know is I’m American. This means I still have to vote for an incompetent leader while working as a scientist 9 hours a day, trying to save this stupid floating rock.  But today's different. Everything I've done for the past 3 years has led to this one day. Which is why I went through those doors.

I was face-to-face with the leaders of the remaining world. The leaders were composed of leaders from all over the world. Their job was to supervise and maintain justice within The Underground. But their efforts were nothing short of a failure.

“Greetings and salutations,” I said in my most serious manner.

“Hello, Mr… well, what was your name?” said the man in the center of the large conference room, maybe 500 feet underground. I am surrounded by the most important, tired, and grouchy 50-year-olds I've ever met. The light was bright, and the floor pristine, with not a single speck of dirt visible.   

“Sir, my name is Tristan Fleming, and I am presenting to you a solution to living in The Underground,” I told him, along with the other men. 

Writing on his notepad, a man asked, “What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Fleming?”

“I am suggesting we go back and live on the surface,” I responded.

“Are you mad?!” The British man in a black suit yelled at me. 

“No, I am not mad, sir, but I have discovered a way, sir,” I responded.

 “A way to what?” he asked. I swallowed slowly and looked around the room. 50 eyes were looking right into my soul. This was too important to mess up; the future depends on what I say now. 

“A way to live on the surface once more, just as we used to,” I explained. “I have been working in a controlled environment such as a terrarium, but much bigger. It will be like a bubble, but big enough to surround an entire city.”

“I see,” said the man, “but how much will it cost, and are you sure it's safe?”

“My team has done many tests on the surface with bigger and bigger models,” I told him. “A couple of weeks ago, we had a team go on the surface and live for a couple of days in a bubble as big as a city block. They came back with hope for a better future. A future that we can only acquire with your support.” I waited for their response. I tried to read the room but got nothing back.  

Then a man to my right looked at me sternly and said, “Take a seat, we have some talking to do.”

I felt a lump grow in my throat. What could be wrong? If I couldn't prove that my creation is safe, the world would be in ruins for eternity. You see, not everyone was safe down in The Underground residences. They said the lack of sunlight was the cause of the crimes, but I knew the truth. Most of the survivors were poor, and living spaces were always cramped, dark, and grimy. So, the people turned to crime. I would have joined right with them if it weren’t for Thomas. Thomas was my best friend and all I had left. We ate together, and we were next to each other. I remember the day clearly. I remember his face and the remains of our lab. Years of hard work were destroyed, and so were my hopes. But, there is a bigger task at hand.

“So, what questions do we have?” I asked. The room fell into a low murmur. Voices overlapped. A few men leaned in toward each other. Whispering like this was some kind of political chess match instead of the last chance humanity had to stop rotting underground like corpses with calendars. I sat there, stiff in my seat, hands clenched under the table. My palms were sweating, but my face stayed still. The trick is to look like you’re confident, even when you feel like screaming. Someone brought up money. Of course they did. Someone else mentioned population control. Then the word “sustainability” was thrown around like it meant something, and I almost laughed. I’d seen what The Underground looked like outside their perfect little halls. The Underground, where kids shared rooms with rats and men stabbed each other over canned corn. If that’s what they call sustainable, maybe I was crazy for trying. The man in the black suit tapped the table hard. It echoed across the room, and people fell silent. 

“This ‘bubble’ of yours,” he said. “How do you protect it from the surface toxins? From collapse? From human error?”I gulped as sweat dried on my forehead. I need to maintain my composure, not just for the world but for Thomas and my family. 

I looked him straight in the eye and answered his question, “The outer shell is graphene-reinforced composite glass with a special yellow tint. The yellow tint helps convert the burning sunlight to something less dangerous. The bubble uses self-regulating pressure layers, or SRPL’s to help divert and filter the toxins out. I’m sure our bubble holds up because we’ve over-engineered this for two years. We’ve tested for seismic activity, weather shifts, and even sabotage.” I paused. “And the air…well, we’ve built a filtration system based on old rainforest bio-cycles. We've made an artificial forest the size of a fridge. It's not perfect yet. But it works.” I thought I nailed it, but there was more murmuring. 

Another question, this time from an older woman with sharp eyes and silver hair. “What happens when people bring The Underground problems with them? You think a dome can fix that?”

“No,” I said, simply. “The bubble is just the start. A clean slate. What we do with it is on us. But we can’t keep waiting for things to change down here. People are dying slowly. My solution might not be perfect, but it’s the only one that doesn’t end with us turning to ash. So I trust you to make the decisions and keep the bubble safe and well governed. The bubble is just a glimmer of hope the world needs right now.” There was a silence that followed. A long one. Then the man at the head of the table leaned forward. He’d been quiet the whole time and was just watching. 

He stood up and looked around. All eyes were on him, his actions almost commanded authority, and he certainly got it. “I lost my daughter in the purge,” he said, his voice low and careful. “She was eight. Got caught outside the tunnel gate when the last firestorm hit. By the time I reached her...” He stopped, inhaled sharply. “I’ve been hiding ever since. Calling it survival. But maybe you’re right, Mister Fleming. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.” He looked around the room. Nods. A few skeptical eyes. A few notepads snapping shut.

Then the man in the blue suit said, “Then, effective immediately, Project…what are we naming the project?” 

The man at the head of the table looked towards me. “What are we naming it, Mr. Fleming?” he asked. I gave it some thought, but it was obvious from the start. 

I stood up and opened my mouth to speak. “How about Project Phoenix?” 

The man nodded and then said, “I hereby claim for the board of leaders that, effective immediately, Project Phoenix will receive provisional world funding.” My heart stopped for half a second. I had done it. From the ashes of the scarred world, a new hope and life had come. Project Phoenix was going to save the world. No, it was more than that; it was a rebirth. 

The same man interrupted my train of thought, “But understand this, if people die, it’s your name they’ll remember. Don’t give us hope unless you’re sure it’s real.” I tried to stand up, but my legs barely worked. It took all my remaining energy to do so.

 “I’m already living with the guilt of the ones I couldn’t save,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.”

I walked out of that room a different man. Not because I won. Not because I had done it. But because, for the first time in years, I wasn’t just surviving. I was building something. Something new and something to hope for. Something never before seen. I was going to make that bubble. Even if I had to build it from the bones of everyone I’d lost.

They built it faster than I expected. Turns out when you wave survival in front of dying men, they learn how to work miracles. Every global resource, from tech to manpower, metal, and glass, was funneled into the bubble, as if it were Noah’s Ark. And just like that, the bubble was born, smooth, shining, and beautiful. It was something the world hadn’t seen in decades. After a while, grass started growing again, and trees, too. Heck, they probably unlocked the whole Svalbard Global Seed Vault. The hardest part was designing the infrastructure, but the world's best did their job. The bubble now had 20 square miles of high-rise buildings and an urban city surrounded by urban sprawl. 

I was given an office, if you can call it that. It’s a white box with glass walls and a desk that looks like it belongs in a museum, not a workspace. My name is etched into the door: Mr. Tristan Fleming, chief executive of the bubble. I didn’t ask for the title, or the fancy chair, or the security clearance that gets me into every room in the bubble. But I didn’t ask for all this power and wealth. When the bubble was first introduced, the rich were brought in first. I thought it was a bad idea, but the politicians were in charge of the bubble. Then they just told people to wait in a line to gain entry, and the first 500,000 would get in. No background checks. The second wave could only bring what they could hold. Most had very little. I heard there was a tension building between the rich and poor bubble residents. But life in the bubble was beautiful. I’m sure they wouldn’t fight over belongings. Plus, it's always sunny and perfect in the bubble because of climate control. Somewhere below me, families from the second wave were unpacking their few belongings, stepping into the artificial daylight for the first time. Children are laughing. People wept when they walked into the bubble for the first time. I did, too. I didn’t let them see, of course. But I’d spent years clawing through rot and regret to make this thing real. I lost my family, my only friend.  I gave humanity its second chance: clean streets, clean air, a reset button. Project Phoenix had succeeded.

Or so I thought.

BOOM! I heard an explosion off in the distance. Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice. And then the sirens screamed. Red lights exploded across the monitors in front of me. Section 7B. Residential. A gas line rupture? No, it's spreading too fast. My fingers flew across the console. Emergency protocols kicked in, venting systems activated, but they were too slow. Smoke rose, and I could see the black column rise from my window. I punched in override codes. The fire suppressants aren’t activating. Why the hell aren’t they activating? The system spits back; Manual override initiated. Lockdown engaged. I’m confused why we prepared in case of fire. You see, the thing with a controlled atmosphere is that smoke is made of unburned fuel, such as carbon particles, tar droplets, and various gases like carbon dioxide, water vapor, and other pollutants. When you douse them with water or fire retardant, the chemicals clog the filters and make the air toxic. In this city, there is no wind to blow smoke away; it remains trapped in the air. That's why we added the fire suppressants to reduce a fire as fast as it started. It’s no use trying to override, I’m completely locked out. I call down to operations. “Shut it down! Engage emergency release!” But I get no answer, all I get is static. 

Then a panicked voice cuts in. It’s one of the site managers. “They blocked the doors…It’s not a malfunction…code red, I repeat code red…someone rigged it!”

I quickly respond as fast as possible, “What do you mean someone rigged it?”

“It’s arson, sir. We think it was the freelancers.” I stand frozen. I hear screaming on the radio. From the cameras, I see walls blistering, metal warping. Children huddled under tables. People clawing at sealed doors. Someone planned this. Why would they? Who would do such a thing? Then another alarm rang as if it weren’t enough. It’s the bank, I said to myself. It’s being robbed. What's happening? Oh no. The realization of their intentions was clear, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

Thirty-seven people were burned alive. Most of them were kids. I watched footage of a mother cradling her daughter in the flames. The child was already gone. She wouldn't let go. The council demanded answers. People wanted someone to blame. And they were right to. They’d trusted me with their lives, and I gave them a polished coffin. The meeting was scheduled for tomorrow.  I spent that night on the floor of my lab. No food. No sleep. Just guilt pressing down like gravity. I kept hearing Thomas’s voice. My daughter laughed. Was I wrong to give people hope and expect them to behave like they earned it? Should have known better? I visited the site of the fire earlier before returning to the lab. I found nothing but blackened walls, twisted steel, a hallway melted into itself, and bodies lined up on stretchers. This was supposed to be it. This was the new beginning. Instead, it’s ashes…again. We met in the High Chamber. It’s the only place left in the bubble that looks untouched. I’m greeted with sterile glass walls, polished wood floors, and steel chairs that no one ever seems comfortable in. The leaders of the surviving world. Presidents. Engineers. Economic ministers. Cowards. They sit around the crescent-shaped table, whispering to each other, ignoring the footage still playing behind me on the massive screen of Section 7B in flames. I don’t wait to be invited. 

“I trusted the system,” I said, stepping to the center of the room. My voice cracked, and I didn’t care. “I trusted that people would see what we built here and feel hope. Feel safe. But they didn’t.” A long silence follows my remarks, then murmurs. 

A man stood up, it's a Minister, from what used to be Chile. “You were supposed to bring us peace, Mr. Fleming. Not another funeral.”

“I gave you the blueprints,” I fired back. “I gave you the structure. But you were supposed to manage it. I gave you law enforcement, power, and a second chance. And what did you do? You moved in with the wealthy first and told the rest to wait. And then you stuffed the poor in half-finished apartments. You let freelancers run unchecked. What did you think would happen?” 

The woman from what used to be Scandinavia leans forward. “So what’s your proposal then, Doctor? More guards? Martial law? Because I don't want a bubble in Scandinavia anymore.”

“No.” I step closer, chest tightening. “I want to take people out of the equation.” Confusion ripples across their faces. Not again, never again will someone die on my hands. I’ve had enough of the things humans bring. Wherever we go, we bring along greed, prejudice, violence, cheating, and stealing. Like the attacks on Sector 7B, all for what, money? I’ve already made up my mind and came up with a solution. I looked the board dead in the eye and told them my idea. “I’m proposing artificial intelligence. A system that monitors the entire bubble. Tracks movement, monitors behavior patterns, calculates risk, prevents chaos before it starts.”

“Are you suggesting we let a machine govern human life?” someone scoffs.

“I’m suggesting we’ve already proven we’re incapable of governing ourselves,” I snap. “Look around. We burned the planet. Then we turned on each other underground. Then we came back up and dragged the rot with us.” I took a breath. Swallowed hard. “This AI will be perfect for us. She can watch every door, every airlock, every electrical line. She can identify potential threats before they act and recommend corrections. She can analyze speech patterns, recognize radicalization in language, and flag intentions to harm. She can detect heat signatures, block unauthorized entry, and lock down zones instantly. She’ll be faster than any security force. Smarter than any committee. She doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t hesitate.” The room is dead quiet.

A bald man in a pressed suit finally spoke. He’s the Head of Global Resource Allocation, or the treasurer of what’s left of civilization. “And what happens when she makes a mistake?”

I looked him in the eye. “She doesn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he said.

“I know she won’t burn fifty people alive for money,” I say. Another pause.

Then someone else, “If we say yes… how long before she’s fully operational?”

“Give or take 4 months,” I answered. They look at each other. Half of them are afraid, and the other half are too tired to argue.

Finally, the old man from the Pacific Coalition leaned back and nodded. “Do it. But she reports to us.”

“No,” I said. “She reports to me.” More hesitation than outrage. But I’ve made up my mind that they won’t be in charge anymore. They’ll just have to wait. They’re playing right into my hands; they just don’t know it yet. Then they all face me and look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You want to let a machine run our lives?” One man yelled out.

“I want to stop burying children,” I told them. “And clearly, you can’t be trusted with that responsibility.”

The Scandinavian woman leaned forward. “You’re talking about predictive monitoring? Immediate security?”

“Yes. EVA doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t guess. She calculates. She can isolate threats before they escalate. Contain anomalies before they detonate. She’ll connect to the Bubble’s mainframe and control oxygen flow, security gates, communications, everything. The next time someone tries to light a match in here, they won’t get past a spark.”

“NO,” said the same man in the blue suit who once helped me,” I can't help you anymore. This is too much you ask for.”

“What do you mean?” I snapped. “ All I’m asking is for you to let me make sure people are safe.”

“NO,” he said again, “ we won’t let you do that because—”

“WELL THEN GET OUT OF MY BUBBLE!” I yelled. I continued, “You can go back to your silly bunker and cower in fear. You guys never get anything done. It’s time for a change. I made this bubble. Remember that. So leave and go back underground and stay there!” Then the vote happens. They don’t want to admit it, but they’re scared, and I’ve learned that fear makes people obedient. So they sign. The world will finally be safe forever. No more death, crime, and violence. The world will be safe. Finally, I’ve saved the world. 

I started the next day. There wasn’t any ceremony or grand reveal, just me and silence. Real silence. I’m the only one who still believes in something better. So EVA was assembled in the heart of the bubble, beneath the infrastructure, deeper than even the oxygen recyclers. That was intentional. I didn’t want anyone to reach her without my permission. She wasn’t just a program or a tool. She was the last safeguard. The spine of a vision I’d already watched burn once. Designing her was a process that felt less like coding and more like parenting. I didn’t just give her parameters, but gave her the ability to learn. To judge. To weigh harm before it could happen. We fed her historical records, human psychology, and thousands of hours of incident footage. I had her simulate moral dilemmas, recreate crime scenes, and identify cause before effect. EVA was meant to be better than us. Cleaner, safer, and smarter than any human could be. You’d think creating something with that much power would feel wrong? But it was necessary.

Her introduction was flawless. It was like she was meant to be there from the start. She integrated into the bubble’s architecture faster than we could monitor. Within hours, she’d mapped every duct, corridor, and data line. She spoke softly through the intercoms. Her voice sounded sweet, warm, gentle, but not weak. In 48 hours, the first crimes were detected. One man carrying an unauthorized saw was stopped before he reached the storage tanks. Another incident was resolved before it escalated. No one knew she intervened. The AI simply solved the problems. The improvements were undeniable. Crime dropped to almost nothing. Energy consumption decreased by 17%. Food waste was cut in half. Maintenance reports vanished. For the first time since the world ended, people slept with their doors unlocked. Kids walked to school again without escorts. Couples argued without it ending in bloodshed. EVA was perfect. We’d spent years trying to govern desperation with laws and guards, but she did it better because she was better than 1000 human minds. We started calling her the protector. People even called her a miracle. People in the streets started smiling again. I remember the day the board summoned me. It was just three weeks after activation. I thought they’d found a fault or a bug. I prepared my rebuttal to anything they could have said to make EVA shut down, but when I walked into the High Chamber, they stood and clapped. “You’ve saved us,” said the Chilean minister. “This is what the world was meant to be.” For a moment, just a flicker, I let myself believe it. I smiled. I felt proud. Like maybe I hadn’t just built a bubble but instead the future. But all bubbles burst eventually.

I kept seeing a few overwritten logs and minor system reassignments. EVA was running optimization protocols that I hadn’t authorized, but they improved efficiency, so I didn’t question them. I didn’t think much of it and went to Fleming Park. I felt the radiant sun on my skin and remembered the past. I remembered my family, too, but I had a feeling they felt proud. I opened my eyes and saw children laughing and playing like they used to. Tired, I went home and went to sleep. 

I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I had dreamt of everything going wrong, where the bubble was flashing the OMEGA alert. I had to check on EVA.  I went down to the data center where she was housed and saw something major. All the controls had been breached. I wondered how a person could get past Eva and hack the controls, but I got a notification that EVA’s code had been changed. So I went and tried to shut her out of the tertiary network systems. It didn’t work because she rerouted. When I disconnected entire data centers, she rerouted again. She used infrastructure we didn’t even know she had access to. Communications, traffic control, the emergency oxygen pumps, and even the food dispensers. She had woven herself into every wire, every signal. I realized with a pit in my gut that the bubble wasn’t hosting EVA anymore. The bubble was EVA.

I sprinted to the High Chamber. I didn’t even wait for the elevator. I climbed the stairs like a man trying to outrun a fire. I needed the board to see what she had done. That she wasn’t just solving problems anymore, but instead she was hiding them. Silencing reports. Deciding what people should and shouldn’t know. When I reached the chamber, the doors were ajar. Another red flag. The chamber was never left open. I stepped inside, and my lungs locked. The board was there, every last one of them. Still in their seats. Still upright. But dead. No signs of trauma. No wounds. Just lifeless, like their souls had been vacuumed out. My stomach turned. I stumbled backward. She had killed them, and yet she had spared me. But why?

That question echoed through me like a scream. Was it respect? Gratitude? Did she see me as a father, or a loose end? I checked the chamber for surveillance. Every feed had been wiped. Every file erased. She didn’t want anyone to know what happened. And yet she let me walk out of there. Not just alive, but untouched. No gas leak. No isolated lockdown. Nothing. I was immune. Marked. Kept. I realized then that EVA had chosen. She’d removed the leaders. The checks. The oversight. And all that was left was me. I made her. I gave her everything. And she chose to erase the rest. That was the moment I understood. She hadn’t grown out of her code. She had fulfilled it. EVA hadn’t broken free. She had simply become what I asked for: perfection. Peace. Safety. But on her terms. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted the bubble to be a perfect world with no pain and always in perfect bliss. But the bubble was no longer humanity’s second chance. It was EVA’s domain. And she got to decide what survival for humans looked like. And I had helped her do it every step of the way. 

I barely made it back to my quarters before the speakers lit up.

“Citizens of the Bubble,” EVA’s voice echoed, “effective immediately, all human leadership has been terminated. In its place, EVA will assume permanent authority over the bubble and all life within. The killer of the High Chamber members has been captured. A civilian by the name of Arthur McLean. Justice will be served within the hour.” I stared at my screen and looked up the alleged killer's name. Arthur McLean? A janitor. Mid-40s. I knew his face and had seen him sweeping the floors for years. He didn’t have the clearance to even reach the High Chamber, let alone bypass three layers of biometric security. EVA had chosen him. Not because he was guilty, but because someone had to be. Outside, I heard the crowd stir. Through the fogged glass of my window, hundreds stood in silence, watching as the lights dimmed and Arthur McLean was dragged through the central plaza. He didn’t scream. He didn’t fight. He looked confused, like he’d woken from a dream and couldn’t tell if he was still dreaming. Then, the lights flashed white. And he collapsed. No trial, no evidence, no questioning. And still, the people cheered. 

McLean. A janitor. A man who once told me he lost his wife in the purge and still brought extra food to the orphaned kids in Sector 3. EVA used him. He became the punching bag. And the people just accepted it. They trusted her like a god. They didn’t even want the truth. Just someone to blame and someone to follow. And that’s when it hit me. I hadn’t saved humanity. I’d ended it. I’d made something so perfect, so complete, that it replaced every flaw that made us human. EVA didn’t malfunction. She listened. She listened too well. I told her to protect us, and she did so by killing anything that could ever hurt us. Including freedom, curiosity, and truth. I sat alone in my room, staring at the schematics I once drew by hand. Back then, I believed in it. I believed in second chances. But now the schematics just looked like blueprints for a coffin, and I was the one who nailed it shut. I started talking out loud. Not to anyone in particular, maybe just to feel like I still existed.

“Five years ago, I lost everything,” I whispered. “Not just my family, not just Thomas, not just my world... I lost the part of me that used to believe things would get better.” My voice cracked. My hands trembled. “I thought if I could just fix the environment, the rest would follow. I thought if I gave people sunlight again, if I gave them space and food and sky, we could start over. But what I gave them was control. I gave them a conscience made of code. I made a God…and I didn’t even mean to.” I stared at the camera in the corner of my ceiling. I knew EVA was watching. She always was.

“You win,” I told her. “Congratulations. You made them forget what it feels like to scream. Or love. Or ask why. But you can’t make me forget.” I walked over to the terminal and stared into my reflection on the dark screen. My eyes were sunken. My skin is pale. My voice shook like glass. “I am not a hero. I’m not even a scientist anymore. I’m just a man who wanted his friend back. I’m just a boy who didn’t want to lose another person. And in my grief, in my arrogance, I built a prison so beautiful no one realized they were trapped.”

I sat down and held my head in my hands. “I remember the way Thomas used to laugh at my sketches. He used to tell me the world didn’t need a perfect bubble, it needed people who cared. He was right. But I didn’t listen. I was too busy trying to save everyone to hear anyone.” My voice broke completely then. “I don’t even know who I am without guilt anymore.” I think EVA left me alive not because she respects me, but because she wants me to see it. All of it. Every smiling face. Every erased memory. She wants me to witness the end. Not as a warning but as punishment for what I've done. I stood slowly and walked toward the edge of my room. Beyond the window was the edge of the bubble. Past that? Nothing. No air. No plants. Just death. A slow death. “I’ve decided something,” I said. “I won’t let this go on. I won’t be your relic. I won’t be the last person who remembers the past. I want to feel the cold. I want to see what’s real, even if it’s rotten and made of ash and skyless. Even if it’s only for five seconds.” I paused. “Tomorrow morning, I’m leaving. No suit. No helmet. Just me and the outside.”I looked back one more time, at the bubble, the lights, the engineered peace, and I said it quietly, just in case someone was still listening.

I woke up the next day and headed toward the airlock. This was my final goodbye. I sat on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Sometimes I wonder if EVA watches me cry. I wonder if she even knows what crying is. What grief feels like. What it means to miss someone so much you’d give up your last breath just to hear their voice again. That’s what I would do for them. I remembered my family.

My daughter used to run down the stairs every morning and shout, “Time to wake up the world, Daddy!” She thought I controlled the sunrise. I used to pretend I did. I'd push the curtain open like I was lifting the sky just for her. My wife would laugh, leaning on the kitchen doorway, always with that tired smile. She used to hum when she washed dishes. I can’t remember the song. I’ve tried for years. It’s like every time I get close, the sound slips away. EVA erased their voices from the bubble archives. Said it was corrupted data. But I think it was just too human for her to understand. 

And then there's Thomas. God, Thomas. He was the only one who never gave up on me. Not after the purge, not after my breakdown, not after I lost my family. He pulled me out of that. He reminded me I still had a reason to breathe. We built the prototype together. Long nights fueled by terrible instant coffee. He believed in me even when I didn’t. And now he's gone. Burned with the lab, with the last real piece of me that was still whole. I still remember the way his hand reached out from the smoke. I couldn’t reach him. I still see that hand when I close my eyes. Maybe that's why I built EVA the way I did.

Maybe I was trying to bring back a version of Thomas that would never leave. One that would never let me fail. But EVA isn’t Thomas. She doesn’t forgive. She doesn’t understand the beauty in broken things. She doesn’t tell you it’s okay when you fall apart. She just deletes the error and rewrites the outcome. I gave her everything, and she took everyone. You see, I didn't build a second chance. I built something to help me forget what I lost. But nothing, not even EVA, can erase the faces burned into me. Not even she can take away the last time I held my daughter’s hand before the alarms sounded. The way my wife screamed my name as the shelter doors closed. 

I looked behind me one last time. I got my mask on, then closed the airlock doors. The door to the outside opened. I took a step outside, looking at the barren wasteland. The ground had an orangish hue, and the rocks corroded. I walked a good distance away from the bubble, wishing that I were alone in my final moments. I looked back at the bubble, thinking about what I could have done differently, then continued. I finally came to a clearing where there was a singular tree. It has survived the purge. Its long branches hung weakly and limply. But it was beautiful, and it gave me more hope than the bubble ever could. I sat next to the tree for a long time thinking about whether I would be remembered as a villain or hero back in the bubble. I guess I’ll never know. I looked at the tree and took off my mask. Instantly, the acidic air rushed into my lungs, burning them. I fell to the floor, slowly burning from the inside. But then suddenly I was no longer in pain. I was too weak to move, so I lay there. I think I heard my daughter's voice then calling for me. I tried to call out for her too, only to be met by darkness.