The Creator walked along the white, empty corridors of Simular’s HQ with a tray full of freshly toasted bread and some cream cheese. It was time for breakfast. 

But not for him.

He peered over the full plate of food. Why had he even toasted it? He hadn’t realized until he’d already passed through the majority of the corridor. The boy didn’t need toasted bread. The boy didn’t need anything for that matter. And still, the bread was toasted, lined particularly intricately with cream cheese. 

The cheese wasn’t necessary either. Why had he brought it?

The door to the boy’s room loomed over him as if telling him to get ready. He was sure trickles of emotion would seep through if taken by surprise. He had to be ready; he couldn’t think of Bread as anything else but utility. 

Like before… He couldn’t let his emotions reign free. After taking a deep breath, all that was left for him to do was push through. 

“Dad!” The voice pierced through his skull, ringing far beyond his eardrums. “You’re back!”

The Creator didn’t reply. He didn’t even look at the boy. All he did was face the wall and drop the plate off on the table. He’d leave soon after. There was no need for eye contact. 

“Dad, you’re late!”

“Stop…” he barely managed to whisper out under his breath. “Bread…” The word was aggravating. Why didn’t the boy stop? It didn’t make him feel any better. 

“Did you say something? Dad? I can’t hear—”

“STOP!” He turned and glared at the boy. 

“D-Dad?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I—”

The Creator tore open the door, stumbling out into the narrow corridor. The door behind him clicked shut. From behind, he could still hear the boy and his torturous words. He didn’t care. His chest heaved for no reason; his mouth was as dry as a desert. But he felt the relief wash over him as his breathing finally slowed. 

Words couldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t let it. 

…

The Creator’s desk looked so empty—just a blank, wooden platform with simple, holographic displays floating around in orderly fashion. It was so empty unlike his tumultuous mind full of unnecessary questions he could never rid himself of. He scratched his head profusely. Any stronger and his scalp would’ve been bleeding. 

It was an old habit of his—to scratch until he bled. But he hadn’t done that since forever. He only scratched when he was extremely stressed. The pain would build up and inevitably propagate the scratching even further. It was a self-sustaining cycle of self-injury. He’d thought he’d completely eliminated the habit a few decades ago… But why was he reverting back to his former self now of all times? 

Of course, he knew why. He just didn’t want to admit it. 

Bread… A new thought emerged from within his self-interrogating inquiries—was I too harsh on the boy? The boy had done nothing wrong. Why had he lashed out? Why had it all come down to this? 

The thought kept returning even after he’d told himself to forget. It felt as if he’d done something so severely wrong. But it didn’t make sense. Hadn’t he done worse before? Why now? Why was he feeling it all now?

He’d killed before. And he’d do it again if it was for the greater good. If it was for Simular, he’d do anything to make it better. And it should’ve been the same with Mother. But why did it feel so wrong?

Perhaps he could remedy this. 

If he was feeling regret for his actions, all he had to do was make the boy feel a little better. 

Yes, he’d cook Bread a meal. He’d be his dad for just a while longer. It wasn’t real; none of this was. A few more trials, a few more mornings were all that were left. And that would be all. He didn’t need to feel such negative emotions. In the past, he’d always followed his gut instinct. That had never failed him before. Why change that now?

The Creator pulled out a cookbook from underneath his desk. It was a copy of his mother’s. From here, he’d make the boy a homemade meal. It wouldn’t mean anything. It was just to ease his heart, his—

“You imbecile!”

It was Azan. 

“This is the second time!” He rushed through the door, collar unbuttoned, tie nowhere to be seen. He threw his suit jacket across the room. “You’ve never missed one before, but now you’ve missed two! What’s the matter with you?!”

It was true. As much as these meetings were a hassle, the Creator hadn’t actually missed any since the beginning of Simular’s creation. But that was only because he didn’t have any other important businesses to attend to. Right now, his mother came first. 

“Kingfisher was there! He—”

“I don’t need a reminder as to who was there,” he remarked. “I know who was there.” It was always the same few people who lacked any sort of corporate direction.

“Well then, why weren’t you there?” Azan leaned in on the desk. The holographic displays dispersed along with all the documents about Bread. “If you know so much, shouldn’t you have known about the meeting? Hmm?”

“I didn’t need to be there.”

“You—argh!” Azan pushed past the table over to the window overlooking the city of a trillion suns. A long sigh escaped his lips. “Why don’t you trust me?” He stared back, frustration written all over him. His hair was disheveled and unkempt; he looked like a wreck. “We both worked hard to get this far, didn’t we?”

“We did.” It was true. None of this was easy. Sacrifices were made along the way, and the process wasn’t completely free of mistakes either. 

“That’s it? ‘We did’?” Azan crossed his arms and shook his head in disapproval. “Is this a joke to you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me. Am I that inferior to you?”

“Azan.” He sighed. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about? This!” He pointed at the floor. “I’m talking about all of this.” The grandiosity of his gestures increased. “You’ve never done this before. You know that, yeah? You’ve changed.”

“You don’t know me—”

“See?!” His arms floundered in the air. “You shut me down like I’m some kind of stranger! Are we not friends anymore? Do you even remember who I am? What I sacrificed for us to get this far?”

“Azan—”

“You’re focused on some stupid AI project while I’m here trying my best to maintain amicable relationships with real people with real consequences!”

Real people… 

“You’re getting attached to an AI.” He pointed fingers with an aggression he’d never seen Azan have. “I see it happening in front of my eyes.” He walked closer and placed his hands on the table. His eyes were downcast. “Look, you’ve been through a lot, but you have to keep yourself together. You can’t be replacing your dead mother with an—”

“She’s not dead.”

“Wha…” In the short moment that followed, Azan wet his lips, swallowed air, and looked away for a brief second. His shoulders fell, slumped down into an arch before he exhaled all the air he’d supposedly swallowed. “You need to stop.”

“I know what it sounds like—”

“Get rid of the project.”

“Azan—”

His eyes lit up. “Get rid of it!” he yelled. “Now!” He started pacing around the room. “You’re going crazy! Can’t you see that?”

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not fine! You’ve been inside this simulation for far too long.” Azan grabbed his jacket that had been thrown on the floor. Then he made his way towards the doors. “Whatever the cost, I’m getting rid of it. So you better say your goodbyes.” He stomped out of the room. Echoes of his footsteps rang through the corridor. 

Real people… the Creator repeated in his mind. Was Mother’s engram considered a real person? Would placing it within a biologically indistinguishable simulated body be enough to consider Mother real? But wouldn’t that mean Bread was also real too?

If he wanted to continue with his project, Azan wouldn’t be able to stop him. All he had to do was move everything around, circumvent his surveillance. Endless possibilities stood before him. Whatever he wanted, he could easily achieve. 

And yet, he didn’t know what he had to do.