The nanites hummed softly around Karl's Drive Regulator, their light flickering against the glass and steel of the Pampanito. Each particle obeyed without question, ready to follow his thought into motion. Karl flexed a finger, watching them ripple like liquid metal as they formed a precise, delicate lattice around the submarine—an ephemeral echo of the vessel itself.
Agnes hovered beside him, cyan light diffusing like dawn mist. "It's… beautiful," she murmured, voice low, almost reverent. "Even in decay."
Karl's eyes didn't leave the hull. "It survived everything," he said softly, tracing the lines of rivets and plates with care. "War, neglect, time… it endured." He paused, hand lingering on the conning tower. "And so did the people who served here."
He tapped a corner of his HUD, bringing the phone UI into sharp focus. A minimalistic lens overlay appeared, nanites tracing the submarine's silhouette in fine, glimmering lines. The display pulsed faintly with a cyan glow, like Agnes herself approving the shot. Karl adjusted the angle, centering the conning tower in frame, capturing the subtle scars of battle etched into the steel.
"Souvenir," he muttered, a small, almost shy smile touching his lips. A holographic stamp—the faint signature of their work together—etched itself across the frame. Not just a keepsake, but a promise: memory preserved.
Agnes floated closer, soft light brushing his shoulder. "You take souvenirs seriously, Karl. I've seen you dissect entire battleships with the same care."
"Not battleships," he corrected quietly, voice steady. "Lives. Stories. Everything this… this thing represents. Machines are part of it, yes. But it's the people I remember."
She tilted her head, playful yet gentle. "Wise. Thoughtful. As always." Her glow shifted, highlighting the faint contours of the hull behind the glass. "And yet…"
Karl followed her gaze instinctively. The HUD blinked: a tiny compass icon flickered into view, pulsing red. Erevos Prototype—westward. He frowned, curiosity sparking briefly. His fingers hovered over the display.
"Not now," he murmured, tapping the icon away. The compass winked out, leaving only the soft glow of nanites and the submarine. Reverence first. Exploration later.
Agnes drifted closer, her voice softer now, almost intimate. "Even the compass can wait. Some things… demand respect before curiosity can touch them."
Karl's lips pressed into a thin line. "History comes first," he agreed, eyes tracing the submarine one last time. "Exploration second. Then the hunt."
She let silence settle between them, warm and approving. Finally, she teased, light and playful: "Well, Captain, shall we begin disassembling a legend?"
Karl exhaled, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. "…Let's make it count."
The nanites rippled in response, ready, patient, obedient. And together, Karl and Agnes began the work—preserving the past, memory by memory, rivet by rivet, before the future beckoned them onward.
Karl's fingers moved with deliberate precision, each gesture mirrored by the nanites that danced obediently around him. A single panel lifted, then dissolved into millions of tiny, glowing particles, coalescing in the air before sliding along the contours of his waist into the drive regulator.
"Careful," Agnes murmured, hovering close. Her light brushed the edges of a rusted hatch as Karl disassembled it. "That's not just steel—it's memory."
"I know," he replied quietly, voice calm, steady. "Every piece matters."
Another bulkhead came apart, its rivets unfastening with a faint metallic sigh. The nanites streamed toward him, weaving together in midair, folding themselves neatly into the regulator's storage bay. Each particle shimmered briefly, as if acknowledging its purpose, before vanishing into containment.
Agnes tilted her head, cyan glow softening. "You're… almost reverent."
Karl allowed the smallest smirk. "I've learned it pays to be."
A final hatch peeled away, the nanites surging like a living river back into the regulator. He flexed his fingers, feeling the particles settle, a perfect balance of order and chaos now contained.
"Done," he said simply, shoulders relaxing. "Nothing lost. Nothing forgotten."
Agnes drifted closer, voice soft, teasing. "Well… at least you didn't accidentally vaporize a national treasure this time."
Karl let out a small, dry laugh. "Yet."
The nanites shimmered quietly at his waist, ready for the next task. Karl and Agnes shared a brief glance—understanding, silent approval—before turning their attention back to the real submarine. History preserved. Memory secured. And somewhere, far off to the west, the Erevos Prototype waited.
The dock was silent except for the soft lapping of water against the hull. Karl and Agnes stood side by side, eyes scanning the waves where the fight had been—the memory of the megalodon still vivid, a faint ache lodged in Karl's chest. Somewhere out there, beyond the wreckage and debris, a small figure had turned the tide. They had vanished as mysteriously as they appeared, leaving only whispers of motion and the faint echo of an impossible presence.
Karl's hands were folded behind his back, posture rigid, but his gaze lingered. "We wouldn't be here without them," he murmured. His voice was low, almost afraid to disturb the quiet. "They saved… everything."
Agnes hovered a little above him, cyan glow soft, ethereal. "Yes," she said softly, not pushing, letting him feel the weight of his thoughts. "But who are they to you, Karl? Do you know, really?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. I've never seen anyone like them. Not in years… not in anything I've encountered. And yet…" His hands twitched, almost involuntarily, as if reaching for something he couldn't quite touch. "I feel… indebted. Responsible, somehow."
Agnes drifted closer, the faint hum of her nanites a comforting undertone. "Responsible," she echoed, voice teasing but gentle, "or respectful? You can't control who deserves your gratitude, Karl. You can only honor it."
He exhaled slowly, a sound that seemed to release months, maybe years, of tension. "Then we honor them."
He lifted a hand, slowly, deliberately, tracing an invisible line over the air where the figure had fallen. "For bravery," he said quietly. "For… choosing to be there when it mattered. For making the impossible possible."
The nanites around his Drive Regulator shimmered, sensing his focus. Without command, they drifted upward, forming a soft halo of light, a gentle glow that outlined the empty space in front of them. Agnes smiled faintly, impressed by the silent elegance. "I see. You're creating a monument, in a way."
Karl's eyes flickered to the holographic particles. "Not a monument," he said, voice firm but quiet. "A memory. Something that survives even if they don't. Something I can always… return to."
Agnes hovered closer, cyan fingers brushing against his shoulder with a comforting warmth. "You're… always thinking, aren't you?" she murmured. "Even in moments like this. You can't help it. It's why you survived everything. Why you're here. Why I'm here."
Karl allowed the briefest nod, not moving his gaze from the empty space where the small figure had fought. "I never got to thank them. Not properly. And I… I don't even know how. But…" He flexed his fingers, the nanites responding instantly. They formed a delicate representation—a miniature silhouette, small and unassuming, but unmistakably human. The particles glimmered like starlight on water, tiny sparks marking the outline of the savior who had vanished into the currents.
Agnes's voice softened, almost reverent. "Beautiful. You honor them without words. You don't need to know a name to give respect."
Karl's lips pressed into a thin line. "I hope they understand," he said quietly. "I hope… wherever they are… they know it matters. That their choice mattered."
A faint pulse of energy flowed through the holographic figure, almost imperceptible, as if acknowledging Karl's sentiment. Agnes leaned closer, almost whispering, "They would. Even without you speaking, even without recognition. Choices like that… they resonate."
Karl exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing, tension easing in slow increments. "It's… done," he said. "I've… paid my respects."
Agnes's glow softened further, warm and intimate, her voice teasing gently but with sincere warmth. "Knowing you, you'll probably keep coming back. Revisiting, recalibrating, adjusting the light…"
He glanced at her, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe. Or maybe this is enough. Sometimes… enough is enough."
"Enough," she echoed softly, letting the word hang in the air, as if acknowledging a rare moment of closure. "But don't think I'm not going to let you leave without feeling it."
Karl's eyes softened. "I do. I feel it."
For a long moment, the two of them stood in silence, watching the faint shimmer of the nanite figure hover in the air. Not commanding. Not controlling. Just remembering.
"Now," Agnes murmured finally, voice taking on her familiar teasing edge, "do we get back to the hunt? Or do you want to linger in sentimentality a little longer?"
Karl laughed quietly, the sound almost foreign but wholly genuine. "We move," he said firmly, eyes flicking briefly to the horizon. "Respect paid. Memory preserved. The Erevos Prototype isn't going to find itself."
Agnes's glow brightened with a playful pulse. "Forward, then. Together. But don't think I'm letting you forget them. Not now, not ever."
Karl allowed himself a small, private nod, the weight of gratitude lingering in his chest. Somewhere out there, in the vast unknown, a small figure had changed the course of everything. And Karl would honor them… silently, forever, until the end of his long second chance at life.