Simulacra

Simulacra

Kremen Yar

© Kremen Yar, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0069-8947-4

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

SIMULACRA

CHAPTER 1. GHOST STATION

Riddle: Why does an abandoned station look like a residential complex?

Part One. Arrival at the Simulacrum

The Norka slipped out of hyperspace with a soft click. Gluk pulled away from polishing the deck. — We’ve arrived? — We have, — Cheddar answered. — Where? — To Simulacrum Station. — That name sounds like a disease, — Iskra noted. — Maybe it is.

Cheddar activated the external screens. Before them hung the station. It was old. Very old. Rusty docking nodes, peeling paint, dark viewports. Antennas broken. Hull dented. — Looks like junk, — Gadget said. — Looks like something nobody has cleaned for years, — Gluk corrected, horror in his voice. — Is there a difference? — Dirt is junk. But junk can be thrown away. Dirt has to be scrubbed.

Iskra ran a finger over the sensor. — Scanners show a weak pulse. Oxygen present. Temperature — twenty degrees Celsius. — Habitable? — More like dying.

Shadow said nothing. She always stayed silent before landing. Then she asked: — Is SYRO-MAX sure Myaus is here? — Coordinates are exact, — Cheddar replied. — Then let’s go. — Let’s go, — he agreed.

The shuttle detached. The crossing took three minutes. Gluk managed to wipe the viewport twice. Krylatik sat on his back and diligently repeated the movements with his little brush. — Peek! — he chirped happily as the shuttle touched the docking node. — Good boy, — Gluk said. — You’re cleaning better every day. — Peek-peek!

The hatch opened. Inside the station, it was dark. — Flashlights, — Cheddar ordered. They turned on their headlamps. The beams cut through the darkness, revealing a corridor. Narrow, long, with rusty pipes on the ceiling. — Smells like mold, — Iskra said. — Mold is dirt, — Gluk noted. — Sorry we’re torturing you. — I’m used to it. Cleanliness requires sacrifice.

They moved forward. The corridor ended in an airlock. Shadow opened it. And everyone froze. Beyond the airlock was light. Bright, white, sterile. — This is… — Iskra began. — This can’t be, — Gadget finished.

They stood in a lobby. Perfectly clean. The floor gleamed. The walls shone. Plants in pots were green and alive. Gluk rolled forward. — There’s… there’s nothing to clean here, — he whispered. His voice held awe and dread at once. — It’s suspicious, — Iskra said. — What’s suspicious about cleanliness? — Gluk protested. — That an abandoned station can’t be clean. — What if someone cleaned it? — Who?

Gluk thought. — Ghosts? — Ghosts don’t clean, — Shadow said. — They scare people. — What if they’re ghost-cleaners? — Gluk, they don’t exist. — They do. I saw it in a show. — You watched a show about ghost-cleaners? — It was a documentary. — On which channel? — The “Everything About Cleanliness” channel.

Iskra rolled her eyes. — Let’s move.

They walked through the lobby. The walls were covered with signs. DEPARTMENT OF SUPPRESSED MEMORIES — What’s this? — Gadget asked. — Looks like an office, — Cheddar replied. — What kind of office? — Psychotherapeutic.

LABORATORY OF FORGOTTEN GRIEVANCES SECTOR OF SELF-ESTEEM ARCHIVE OF UNFULFILLED HOPES — It’s an office, — Shadow said. — A huge one. — Who needs an office on an abandoned station? — Someone who wants to figure themselves out. — Or someone who wants others to figure them out, — Cheddar added.

Meanwhile, Gluk rolled up to one of the signs and ran his brush over it. — Clean, — he said. — Even here, it’s clean. — You should be happy. — I am. But it’s strange. When everything is clean for no reason, it’s… — What? — Iskra asked. — It’s scary. — You’re afraid of cleanliness? — I’m afraid of cleanliness without a cleaner.

Shadow smiled. — Smart fear.

They walked further. The corridor widened, and before them appeared a reception desk. Behind it sat no one. Only a hologram. It activated as they approached. A woman in glasses, with a pleasant smile. Too pleasant. — Welcome to Simulacrum Station, — she said. Cheddar stopped. — Who are you? — Your guide. To proceed to the self-reflection stages, you must register. — We didn’t come for psychotherapy.

The hologram smiled wider. — Everyone says that. — It’s a trap, — Gluk whispered. — Don’t whisper, she hears you. — I hear you, — the hologram confirmed. — And I recommend not whispering. It causes anxiety in other visitors. — There are no other visitors, — Shadow said. — You just don’t see them yet. They are registered.

Iskra placed her hand on her blaster. — We’re not registering anywhere. — Then you won’t be able to proceed further. — And we don’t need to. — You do, — Cheddar said. — Otherwise we won’t find Myaus.

Iskra gritted her teeth. — I hate bureaucracy. — Nobody likes it. But it’s everywhere. Even in space.

The hologram extended a tablet. — Fill out the form. Name, age, purpose of visit, list of traumas. — List of what? — Gluk asked. — Traumas. Psycho-emotional. Everyone comes with them. — I don’t have traumas, — Gluk said proudly.

The hologram looked at him. — You’re lying. — I’m not lying, I’m compact. — That’s a defense mechanism. Fill out the form.

Cheddar took the tablet. Wrote: Cheddar. Captain. Looking for a cat.

The hologram read it. — Reason is not deep enough. — A cat is deep. It has a soul. — A soul is not grounds for access to personal levels. — Then what is? — Pain.

Shadow stepped forward. — I have pain. Write it down. She snatched the tablet and wrote something. The hologram fell silent. Then nodded. — Access granted. Follow me. — What did you write? — Gadget asked. — The truth, — Shadow answered. — Nobody expects that.

Part Two. Reception

The hologram led them upstairs. There was no elevator. Only stairs. The steps were perfectly clean. Gluk walked and stroked the railings. — They’re warm. — It’s plastic. — Warm plastic. I want one at home. — You have a home. — I have the Norka. It’s not a home. It’s work. — What’s a home then? — A place where you can clean without a reason.

They reached the second floor. The corridor here was long. On both sides — glass capsules. In rows. Dozens. Inside each capsule, someone stood. — These are… — Iskra began. — Copies, — Shadow said. — Whose? — Look.

Iskra stepped up to the first capsule. Inside stood Iskra. Identical. But different. The copy had a blaster. And a smile. The real Iskra didn’t smile. — You’re weak, — the copy said. The voice was the same. But colder. — I’m strong, — Iskra replied. — Strong people don’t doubt. And you doubt. — That’s normal. — It’s weakness.

Iskra gripped her blaster. — Open the capsule. — Don’t, — Cheddar said. — I want to talk to her. — She’ll provoke you into shooting. It’s a trap. — I don’t shoot at myself. — You’re already shooting with your eyes.

Iskra turned away. — You’re right. But it pisses me off. — Pissing you off is normal. It means you’re alive.

Cheddar approached his own capsule. Inside stood a captain. Perfect. Straight back. Not a trace of fear. Eyes confident. — He’s handsome, — Gluk noted. — I’m handsome too. — You’re tired. That’s different.

Cheddar’s copy looked at him. — You’re afraid, — she said. — I can see it. — I am, — Cheddar agreed. — That’s normal. — Normal is being perfect. — Perfect people don’t exist. — They do. For example, me. — You’re not me. You’re my caricature. — Caricature? — the copy smirked. — I’m what you could have been. — You’re what I refuse to be.

The copy fell silent.

Gadget approached his capsule. His copy was fixing something invisible. Hands moved fast. Eyes burned. — He’s even fixing the air, — Gadget marveled. — That’s abnormal, — Shadow said. — It’s efficient, — the copy countered without looking up. — You waste time thinking. I waste time doing. — Action without thought is automation. — Automation is speed. — Speed without meaning is noise.

The copy paused. Looked at Gadget. — You’re smart, — she said. — But slow. — I’m alive, — Gadget replied. — Life requires time.

Shadow approached her capsule last. Her copy stood in the corner. Looking at the floor. Trusted no one. Not even herself. — You came, — the copy said. — I did. — Why? — To find the truth. — Truth doesn’t exist. There are only interpretations. — That sounds like an excuse. — It sounds like experience, — the copy raised her head. — You’ve spent years hiding. Fearing. Suspecting everyone. And I’m just an extension. Your best extension. — You’re my shadow, — Shadow said. — Without a body. — A body is a burden. — A body is a chance to feel. — Feel pain. — And joy too.

The copy smirked. — You believe in joy? — Sometimes. — Then you’re dumber than I thought. — And I thought you were smarter.

They fell silent.

Meanwhile, Gluk found his capsule. It stood at the end of the row. Small. Neat. Inside — a perfect Gluk. Clean. Flawless. Fur shone. Eyes glowed. And he was silent. — I… — Gluk swallowed. — I’m beautiful. Shadow approached. — You’re already beautiful. — No. You don’t understand. This copy is more beautiful. — By one letter “e”? — By three. More-beautiful-er.

He pressed against the glass. — She’s not moving. Not speaking. Just standing. And cleaning herself with her gaze. — That’s creepy, — Cheddar said. — It’s perfect! — Gluk protested. — She’s me, but without my mistakes. — Your mistakes are you. — My mistakes are dirt. And I love cleanliness.

The Gluk copy blinked. Once. Gluk stepped back. — She’s alive! — Of course she’s alive, — Iskra said. — They’re all alive. — But she’s silent! — Silence isn’t a sign of death. — For Gluk — it is, — Shadow smirked.

The Gluk copy opened her mouth. — I… — she said. Gluk froze. — What? — I… want to clean. — I do too! — Gluk cheered. — Everything. — Me too! — Perfectly. — Me too! — But you’re not me.

Gluk blinked rapidly. — Why? — Because you doubt. And I don’t. — Doubting is normal. — For the original — yes. For the copy — no.

The copy closed her eyes and fell silent. Gluk stared at her, his bulbs blinking in deepest confusion. — She’s strange, — he said. — She’s you, — Iskra answered. — I’m not like that! — You are. You just don’t notice it. — I notice everything! I’m a cleaner! — Cleaners notice dirt. Rarely themselves.

Gluk thought. Then pulled out his brush and ran it over the capsule glass. — Clean, — he said. — But inside… inside something’s wrong. — What? — Cheddar asked. — She’s empty. Clean, but empty. Like… like a new vacuum cleaner without a bag. — Poetic, — Gadget noted. — It’s the truth, — Gluk replied. — I feel it. Cleanliness without a soul isn’t cleanliness. It’s sterility. — Is there a difference? — Sterility is death. Cleanliness is life.

He rolled away from the capsule. — Let’s move on. Nothing to clean here. — And them? — Iskra asked, nodding at the copies. — They’ll stay. Until they understand that cleanliness isn’t just the absence of dirt. — What else then? — Love, — Gluk said simply. — And cheese.

He rolled forward. The team followed.

Part Three. The First Double

The corridor behind the capsules widened. Now it resembled a gallery. The walls were glass. Behind the glass — rooms. Tables, chairs, lamps. And people. In every room, someone sat. — Are they working? — Gadget asked. — Looks like employees, — Shadow replied. — Without salary. — And without days off.

Cheddar stopped at the first room. Inside sat a rodent. He was writing something. With a pen. On paper. — This is an archive, — Cheddar said. — An archive of memory. — Whose? — Myaus’s.

The rodent looked up. — You’ve come, — he said. — I was waiting. — Who are you? — Iskra asked. — I’m a memory. One of many. — Which one? — Loneliness, — the rodent answered. — The very first.

He stood and approached the glass. — Little Myaus sat in a room. Alone. All day. Nobody came. Nobody played. — Why? — Gluk asked. — Because he was different. Not like the others. — Different how? — He saw what others didn’t. Felt what others couldn’t. Said what others didn’t understand. — And they didn’t love him? — Shadow asked. — They feared him. And fear isn’t love.

The rodent placed his paw on the glass. — You came to help? — Yes, — Cheddar said. — Then go further. At the end, you’ll find him. — Who? — Myaus. The real one. — And you? — I’ll stay. I’m part of him. But not the most important part.

The rodent returned to the table and resumed writing. — Go, — he said without looking up. — Time is short. — Why short? — Iskra asked. — Because the copies are waking up.

They exchanged glances. — What copies? — The ones in the capsules, — the rodent answered. — Soon they’ll realize they’re copies. And then… — Then what? — Then they’ll want to become originals.

He fell silent. The glass between them turned frosted. A second later, nothing was visible behind it anymore. — He disappeared, — Gadget said. — Or we left, — Shadow replied. — Where? — Further.

They moved on. The corridor twisted. Ups, downs, stairs. Signs everywhere. DEPARTMENT OF CHILDHOOD GRIEVANCES PARANOIA DEPARTMENT LABORATORY OF PERFECT COPIES — It’s like a museum, — Gluk said. — A museum of one soul. — You’re right, — Cheddar replied. — A museum of Myaus. — And we have to find the main exhibit. — Yes. — What if he doesn’t want to be found? — Then we’ll look harder.

Gluk nodded. — I’ll help. I have a brush. — A brush won’t help find a cat. — It will. If the cat is dirty, I’ll clean him. If he’s clean — I’ll pet him.

Iskra chuckled. — You and the cat are the same breed. — We both love cleanliness, — Gluk agreed. — And cheese.

They entered a large hall. In the center stood a pedestal. On the pedestal — an empty chair. — He was here, — Shadow said, checking her tablet. — Recently. — And where did he go? — Don’t know. But the signal leads down. — Then let’s go down.

They found a staircase. It went deep underground. — It’s dark here, — Gadget noted. — And dusty, — Gluk added with horror. — Will you clean it? — Later. First we find the cat.

They began descending. The steps creaked. The walls were bare. No signs, no inscriptions. — This doesn’t look like an office, — Iskra said. — It looks like a basement, — Cheddar replied. — A basement of the soul. — Or a basement of fears.

They went down three flights. And saw a door. It was metal. Heavy. With a code lock. — Need a code, — Shadow said. — Don’t need one, — Gluk said and ran his brush over the panel. The lock clicked. — How do you do that? — Gadget marveled. — Cleanliness, — Gluk replied. — Dirty locks work poorly. Clean ones open. — That’s unscientific. — It’s practical. Science comes later.

The door opened. Behind it was a room. Small. Dark. In the center — a chair. In the chair, someone sat. — Myaus? — Cheddar asked. Silence. — Myaus, it’s us.

The cat raised his head. He was old. Tired. Eyes dim. — You came, — he said. — We did, — Cheddar replied. — Why? — To help. — You can’t help someone who buried himself, — Myaus replied. — You can, — Gluk said. — If you dig him out. Carefully. Circular motions.

Myaus looked at him. — You’re strange, — he said. — I’m a cleaner. Cleaners are always strange. It’s part of the job.

Myaus chuckled. For the first time in a long while. — Alright, — he said. — Tell me what you need. — The truth, — Cheddar said. — All of it.

Myaus sighed. — Sit down, — he said. — This will take a while.

They sat on the floor. Gluk pulled out his brush and began sweeping dust around the chair. — Don’t get distracted, — Myaus said. — I’m not distracted. I’m working. Cleanliness helps thinking. — Really? — Really. Try it.

Myaus looked at him. Then at the dust Gluk was sweeping from the floor. — Fine, — he said. — I’ll begin.

Part Four. Humor at the End

— I created this station three years ago, — Myaus began. — After they fired me. — For what? — Iskra asked. — For thinking too much. Management doesn’t like thinking employees. They like obedient ones. — Familiar story, — Cheddar noted. — The story of everyone who ever tried to think at work, — Myaus agreed.

He leaned back in the chair. — I decided to create a place where I could hide from myself. — You don’t hide from yourself, — Shadow said. — You do. If you’re a cat. — Cats hide in boxes, — Gluk said. — Not on stations. — I’m not an ordinary cat. — I can see that, — Gluk nodded. — Ordinary cats don’t smell like dust.

Myaus looked at him. — Are you always this… straightforward? — I’m clean. Cleanliness requires honesty. — Is that philosophy? — It’s hygiene, — Gluk replied. — But also philosophy.

Myaus shook his head. — Fine. In short, I created levels. Each level — my trauma. Childhood grievances, paranoia, anger, loneliness. Everything I accumulated over my life. — And you uploaded your copies there? — Gadget asked. — Not me. They appeared on their own. The system began copying everything that entered it. Emotions, thoughts, fears. And then it started creating… personalities from them. — Copies, — Cheddar said. — Yes. Perfect copies. Without flaws. Without doubt. Without pain. — Sounds like a dream, — Iskra noted. — Sounds like death, — Myaus replied. — A personality without pain isn’t a personality. It’s a program. — Like Liking Cheddar, — Gluk said. — Who? — Long story, — Cheddar waved it off. — We’ll tell you later.

Myaus nodded. — In short, I locked myself in here. Thought I’d figure myself out. Instead… I lost myself. — That’s why we’re here, — Cheddar said. — To help you find yourself. — What if I don’t want to? — Then we’ll find the one who does.

Myaus chuckled. — You’re persistent. — We’re cheese-eaters, — Gluk said. — We’re always persistent. Especially when it comes to cleanliness and cheese. — Cheese has nothing to do with it. — Cheese always has something to do with it. It’s a law. — Whose law? — Mine, — Gluk said. — And the law of cleanliness.

He finished sweeping the floor around the chair and rolled back. — Now it’s clean. You can continue. — Thank you, — Myaus said. — It’s been a long time since it was this clean here. — You’re welcome, — Gluk replied. — Cleanliness is my duty. — And passion? — Iskra asked. — And passion. But duty comes first.

He put his brush away. — Continue. I’m listening.

Myaus sighed. — So, the copies. They’ll wake up soon. — We saw, — Cheddar said. — And when they wake up, they’ll want to get out. — Where? — Into the real world. They think they’re the real ones, and I’m the copy. — Nonsense, — Iskra said. — For them — it’s not. For them, I’m the mistake. And they’re the ideal. — Ideals are boring, — Gluk noted. — Tell that to them.

Gluk thought. — I will. I’m not afraid of ideals. I clean them. — Even ideals? — Especially ideals. They’re the dirtiest.

Myaus chuckled. — I like you, cleaner. — I like myself too, — Gluk replied. — But it’s not important. What matters is we’ll find a way out. — There is a way out, — Myaus said. — But it goes through all the levels. Through all my traumas. — We’ll pass through, — Cheddar said. — What if you can’t handle it? — We will, — Iskra replied. — It’s not our first time. — It will be your first time walking through someone else’s soul. — A soul is like a room, — Gluk said. — If you clean it, it gets lighter. — You clean souls too? — Trying to. But souls are harder than floors. They have many corners.

Myaus stood up from the chair. — Alright, — he said. — Let’s go. I’ll show you the path. — And the copies? — Gadget asked. — The copies will wait. They haven’t woken up yet. — What if they do? — Then we’ll find out who’s real.

He headed for the exit. The team followed.

Gluk glanced back at the empty chair. — You forgot the dust in the corner, — he said. — Leave it, — Myaus replied. — It’s my last dust. Without it, I’ll fall apart.

Gluk thought. — Then I won’t touch it. For now. — Thank you. — You’re welcome. Dust is personal. I respect the personal.

He rolled after the team. Ahead were new levels. New traumas. New copies. And the main question: which of them is real? Gluk checked his brush. It was clean. Which meant he was ready.

CHAPTER 2. DEPARTMENT OF CHILDHOOD GRIEVANCES

Riddle: Why is everything scaled down here?

Part One. Entrance to the Department

Myaus led them down a corridor that gradually narrowed. First Cheddar walked straight. Then he ducked. Then he almost crawled. — Your station is getting smaller, — he noted. — It’s not the station, — Myaus replied. — It’s my soul. In childhood, I was small. — And now you’re big? — Now I’m old. That’s worse.

Gluk, who was rolling ahead, suddenly stopped. — I won’t fit through further, — he said. — Why? — The doors are small.

Indeed, before them stood a door. It was the size of a pot lid. Bright yellow, with painted flowers and hearts. Above it hung a sign: DEPARTMENT OF CHILDHOOD GRIEVANCES. Below it — another: Please wipe your paws and do not cry without reason. — This is a kindergarten, — Iskra said. — This is a trauma, — Myaus replied. — The first one. — Did you go to kindergarten? — All cats do. In the galaxy, there’s mandatory preschool education for sentient felines. — And what happened there? — Everything, — Myaus said. — Enter and you’ll understand.

He stayed outside. — Aren’t you coming? — Cheddar asked. — I can’t. I’m not ready to experience it again. — And are we ready? — You’re cheese-eaters. You’re ready for anything.

Iskra snorted. — Flattering. — Trying, — Myaus replied and vanished.

Only the small door and the team remained. Gluk tried to squeeze through first. He got stuck. — But you’re small, — Iskra said. — I’m not small! I’m compact! — A compact cleaner got stuck in a kitten-sized door. — The door is defective! — You’re defective.

Gluk jerked. Nothing happened. — Help! — he pleaded.

Cheddar grabbed him by the brush and pulled. Shadow — by the chassis. Gadget — by Krylatik, who sat on Gluk’s back and chirped helplessly. — Peek-peek! — Don’t be scared, little one, — Gluk said. — We’ll get out. — Peek! — He says you’re too wide, — Cheddar translated. — I’m not wide! I’m plump! Plumpness isn’t width, it’s volume! — Volume doesn’t fit in doors, — Gadget noted. — Then widen the door! — You can’t widen someone else’s trauma, — Shadow said. — That’s unethical. — And is getting stuck in someone else’s trauma ethical? — You’re stuck in the door, not the trauma. — The door is part of the trauma! — Gluk jerked again, and this time flew forward with a crack.

He rolled across the floor, tumbling, and hit the wall. — I’m alive! — he announced. — And the door is three millimeters wider now. — You broke someone else’s door. — I adjusted it to fit me. It’s called ergonomics.

Iskra shook her head and stepped through the door. Easily. Because she was thin. Cheddar squeezed through after her. Gadget — after him. Shadow — last. — It’s cramped, — she said. — It’s childhood, — Cheddar replied. — It’s always cramped in childhood.

They found themselves in a long corridor. The walls were painted pink and blue. On the floor — soft mats with numbers. On the ceiling — garlands of paper cheese heads. — Cute, — Gadget said. — Too cute, — Iskra replied. — Like in horror movies right before the bloody massacre begins. — There won’t be blood here, — Cheddar countered. — Here there will be tears. — Tears are worse than blood. Blood can be wiped off. Tears can only be cried out.

Gluk rolled up to the first door. A sign on it read: GROUP NO.3: MIDDLE-AGE KITTENS. He peeked inside. The room was empty. Only small chairs, small tables, and one large aquarium with water. — Where are the children? — Gluk asked. — The children grew up, — Shadow replied. — But the traumas remained.