“What the hell are you talking about?” Bornon demanded. “Paradise? Hell? Sounds like a load of shit.”

Taking a deep breath, Rovon stymied his laughter. “I can understand why you’d think that it’s ridiculous. But, excluding perhaps a touch of hyperbole on my part, everything I’ve said is true. The researchers developed a network capable of simulating a virtual world. It was to house the remaining souls of humanity and allow them to live out their lives free of worry. They even found a way to stretch the perceived time of the inhabitants, so they could experience a lifetime in a few months.”

He shook his head. “And for the most part, they succeeded. What they accomplished here was nothing short of miraculous. But it wasn’t enough. There was something wrong with what they’d built, some flaw. Whatever it was, it ruined everything. Instead of creating an ideal world, they trapped themselves in limbo. At this point, destroying it would be a kindness, assuming any of the souls retained a sense of self. As far as I can tell, they’re essentially mindless at this point. Such was the degree of degeneration.”

Bornon stood transfixed, mouth hanging open in horror. “How is that possible? How could they fuck things up to that extent?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out,” Rovon said, “but there aren’t many clues. I’m not sure the cause matters at this point; my investigation was mostly to satisfy my own curiosity. Unless there’s some method far beyond anything here, there’s no coming back. Not for any of them.” All trace of humor faded from Rovon, leaving him a hollow shell.

Kano felt only resignation. The tragedy Rovon was describing felt all too commonplace. Even if the circumstances were different, it was much the same as those before it. It was all senseless waste. Made worse by the fact that they had only themselves to blame. Especially in this case, with how absurd their goal had been.

“Honestly,” Kano said, “it sounds like they got what they deserve.”

“How can you say that?” Bornon demanded. “No one deserves what they suffered.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it. What happened to them is the same thing that happens to everyone: oblivion. And if you want to know why they deserved it, it’s because of their own arrogance. They were trying to create a new world… that’s insane.”

Bornon sneered. “It’s hard to believe ghouls are related to humans sometimes. You certainly don’t act like it. Do you really think living in this broken world is better? That they should have given up on trying to make one that was worth living in?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kano said, narrowing her eyes. “What they were making wasn’t real. It wasn’t something that was going to change the world. It was just a way to escape.”

“So what?” Bornon shouted. “An escape is still better than living in this shithole.”

Kano was going to berate him for being too weak to face reality when Rovon stepped forward. “There’s no need for this. What’s done is done.” He turned to Kano. “I can’t say I entirely agree with what you’re saying, but there is some truth to it. However, I ask that you leave us in peace before this argument gets out of hand. I think both of us would prefer some time alone. We’re no threat to you, or the necromancer. So please.” He gestured back the way they’d come.

Taking Thirty-Six’s hand, Kano left the humans to wallow in their misery. Learning the fate of the people who’d manned this facility put her mind at ease. Though her situation hadn’t changed, things felt simpler. She was dying, but there was nothing unusual about that. Either she’d figure out a way to delay it or she’d pass from this world. None of this denial that humans seemed so fond of.

Looking at it like that, she wasn’t afraid. There were no unknowns for her to worry about. She needed to secure a new body. Kano looked down at Thirty-Six as they made their way back through the tunnel. “What do you think about all this? About what the humans tried to create?”

Thirty-Six stopped and scratched her head. “I don’t know if I understood it very well, but it sounded nice.”

“Nice?” Kano asked. That hadn’t been the response she’d been expecting at all. “What about it seemed nice?”

“Weren’t they making a place where they wouldn’t have to worry about things anymore? Where they could just be happy? That seems nice.”

Kano was surprised that Thirty-Six was so naïve. Obviously she didn’t know much about the outside world, but Kano had thought she’d have more of a sense of reality. Especially now that she’d experienced more of the outside world. Thirty-Six had spent most of her life a hair’s breadth from death, hadn’t she? How could she see any value in something so false? It was strange. To the point where Kano wondered if Thirty-Six’s brain had been altered by her creator.

“No one would be happy living a lie like that. Not really. They might seem like they were, but it’s not true. Deep down inside, they’d be as miserable as they ever were.” Kano couldn’t explain why, but she was certain she was right. What they’d been trying to achieve here was wrong.

Thirty-Six blinked. “Oh. Okay. I hadn’t thought that much about it. It just sounded like it would be a nice way to live. But when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so nice.”

Kano nodded. Good, so long as she understood. If nothing else, Thirty-Six was easy to teach. It was hard to say if it was because of who she was or how she was made. Kano liked to believe it was the former. That Thirty-Six might be largely identical to the other children in nature and appearance didn’t sit well with her.

“That’s right,” Kano said, giving Thirty-Six a pat on the head. They walked through the silent, brightly lit complex. It was strange to be in so large a place and yet be almost alone. Nothing like Shorinstown, where someone was always close by. The silence and security of the center lent it a certain tranquility. But one marred by anxiety.

Kano couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something sinister about it. As if it were lying in wait to carry out some malicious act. Given the device that slept within the facility, the very reason the whole thing was built, it was a reasonable fear. Though the intended purpose hadn’t been for anything too terrible, that didn’t mean someone couldn’t turn it to such ends.

Kano reflected that leaving Yon to her own devices was a bad idea. Not that what she was doing now worried her. No, it was what she might do later. They found the necromancer where they’d left her by the network’s central control unit. She had her eyes closed, absorbed in her work.

“We’re back,” Kano said.

Yon’s eyes snapped open. “I see. How did it go with the humans? I trust they were willing to see reason?”

“Yep.”

“Good,” Yon said, relieved. “I can’t say I much care about their lives, but I would prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Especially in such a pristine place.”

“Yep. Anyway, I’ve got some interesting news about why the people who built this place made that network.”

Yon’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Kano relayed all that she had learned from Rovon, along with her own opinion on the deceased humans’ intentions.

“That’s… surprising,” Yon said. “It seems my assumptions about what this was for were incorrect. I feel rather silly. What Rovon said makes far more sense.” The necromancer seemed to forget they were there and muttered to herself. “Yes, now I see what they were up to. How strange.” She raised her voice again. “I don’t feel as strongly about it as you do, but I can see why you might react that way. This network is unprecedented. As far as I know, there’s never been anything remotely like it.” Yon shook her head. “If anything, what bothers me is that their goals were so petty. It’s a terrible waste given the potential of the network.”

“What are you planning on using it for, then?” Kano asked, frowning. She thought Yon was right about it having a great deal of potential, but she worried what a necromancer would be able to do with it.

Yon shrugged. “I haven’t given it much thought. Trying to figure out how to replicate it has consumed most of my attention. Building my own is enough of a goal for me. I can figure out what to use it for once I’m done.”

“You’re confident, then?” Kano asked. “That you’ll be able to build one of your own?”

“Confident?” Yon tapped her finger against the metal of the console beside her. “No, I wouldn’t say I’m confident. At this stage I’m hopeful but far from convinced I’ll be able to replicate it. Despite my efforts, I haven’t been able to discern much about how it was created. In all honesty, it feels like they did the impossible. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing they did make it, so there must be a way.”

Lowering herself to the ground, Yon closed her eyes and sighed. “But I’m not going to figure out its secrets today. I need rest. I can barely think straight. Trying to unravel the mystery of this thing is taxing enough—getting caught up in that simulation on top of it was intolerable.” Yon shuddered and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I wonder if that’s what going mad feels like.”

Feeling exhausted herself, Kano joined her. Not wanting to be left out, Thirty-Six followed suit. “I really can’t take too long of a break,” Yon said. “I’d feel like I was squandering the incredible opportunity I’ve been offered.” She turned to Kano. “I have to thank you for getting us inside and motivating me to come here. What we’ve discovered here is far beyond anything else I’ve ever encountered. If I can figure it out… it will be the crowning achievement of my life. I can’t imagine ever doing anything to surpass it, assuming it’s possible.”

Kano scratched her head. Hadn’t Yon said it must be possible given that they’d made it in the first place? “What do you mean ‘if it’s even possible’? Why wouldn’t you be able to figure it out?” Kano chuckled. “Do you really think the humans were so much smarter than you?”

Yon crossed her arms and gave Kano a look. “I can assure you, my intelligence has nothing to do with the difficulties I’m encountering. No, what I’m worried about is that somehow the network is beyond my ability to replicate. Think about it: It clearly wasn’t made by a necromancer. They must have used a different method. One that may not work for me.”

Kano didn’t know much about souls in general. Whatever Yon was getting at was well beyond her understanding. And she was happy to keep it that way. She was getting up to leave when Yon laughed. “What is it?” Kano asked.

“Oh, nothing much. I was just thinking how absurd it all is.”

Kano blinked. The necromancer had lost her. “What’s absurd?”

“This place, life, everything.”

Shaking her head, Kano took Thirty-Six and left Yon to her musings. The sound of manic laughter echoed behind them as they left the room.