Dr. Ava Chen pulled her thermal jacket closer and took a deep breath through her mask as she entered the biting cold of the Antarctic night.

“Okay Q, I’m leaving the station to go to the outcrop. I’ll be back in an hour or so,” she said.

Head down, she started following the path away from the South Quantum Nexus Station, the hard snow crunching underneath her thick thermal boots. After more than ten hours of continuous work in the underground lab, everything around her felt unreal and distant, as if she was watching her own movements through VR googles.

“Outside conditions may be optimal for stargazing, Dr. Chen. However, may I suggest that you do not—” the Nexus’ AI started.

“I’ll be fine, Q. I promise I won’t go further than the outcrop.”

“Thank you, Dr. Chen. Just let me know when you have reached it. I cannot see you that far out.”

Ava felt her right eyelid twitch as the anxiety she was feeling in her stomach increased.

“Yes. I will,” she said, sighing audibly.

“I am sorry I must monitor you. Have a pleasant walk, Dr. Chen.”

“Sure.”

After fifteen minutes of walking, Ava left the path and walked uphill through the hard snow, following her own footsteps from the last time she had been there, now crusted solid. When she finally reached the stony outcrop, which stood dark against the background of stars, she had to stop for a while to catch her breath. She then leaned against the large stones, looking at the icy valley spreading an exceptionally clear Antarctic night. Jagged and serrated mountains stood in the distance, their peaks veiled in pristine starlit snow. To Ava, they were the last frontier, unreachable sentinels whose sheer scale and remoteness evoked a mixed sense of dread and peace. She then looked down at the dome of the South Nexus Station, its translucent surface revealing the silhouettes of the intricate network of structures within. It glowed like a tiny beacon of warmth and light in the vastness of the night.

“Okay Q. I’ve reached the outcrop,” she said in the com-link.

“Thank you, Dr. Chen. I hope this will be a pleasant experience. Will you be looking for HD 113538 again?”

“Yes. Please, only interrupt me for something important,” she said as she let herself fall back against the smooth rock.

“Of course. I will still monitor you in case you fall asleep.”

“Do what you need to do.”

She crossed her arms and legs to bundle herself against the creeping cold and let herself lean further back in a more comfortable position. She then adjusted her balaclava and tightened her jacket’s hood and closed her eyes. When she felt her eyes had adjusted to the darkness behind her eyelids, she opened them slowly, exhaling loudly as the light of millions of stars reached her retinas. Her head started to spin and, for a second or two, she felt as if she was falling upwards. When the feeling had passed, she shifted her head and, despite the abundance of stars, quickly located the Centaur constellation. She took out her binoculars from her jacket’s pocket and located its less impressive star: HD 113538. It was about 53 light-years away, which meant that the photons reaching Ava at that moment had left the star’s surface around the time she was born, traversing the vast expanse of space to finally reach her eyes. There was also a poetic symmetry in the fact that these photons originated from the same constellation her father had pointed out to her nearly 47 years ago, on the night of her fourth birthday. She still recalled how the darkness around them had stirred a hint of uneasiness as they stepped into the brisk night air of their small backyard. She remembered how her father had kneeled beside her, his face warm and close, pointing towards a star that shone even through the suburban sky’s ambient glow.

“Do you see this star?” he had asked softly.

She remembered nodding, her eyes scanning the sky until she focused where he directed. “It’s called Alpha Centauri,” he had said, his voice filled an emotion she couldn’t identify at the time. “The light you see today? It left its surface on the day you were born. It has been traveling all your life, and today, on your birthday, it has finally arrived…”

Ava looked up, spotting the star he pointed to. Even though she was more interested in the faint noises from the end of her birthday party, she looked up to please her father. But the moment she saw the blue and white star, shimmering like a tiny jewel against the deepness of the sky, something changed. Alpha Centauri stopped scintillating like the other stars; and started blinking. Quick, deliberate blips followed by longer, more deliberate pauses. She watched intently, holding her breath. Even then, at such a young age, she felt a strange pull—a sense of purpose in the pattern, like the star was trying to tell her something.

She watched it repeat the sequence three times:

.---- ----- ---.. ----.

“Dad, why is the star doing that?” she asked, looking down at her father. But he didn’t answer. He was still looking up, mouth slightly agape, a thin mist from his breath dissipating into the cold darkness. Ava turned her eyes back to the sky, but the star had returned to its normal state, twinkling like the others. “Dad?” she asked again, tugging gently on his sleeve. But he remained unresponsive. A few minutes later, feeling cold and confused, she decided to go back inside.

After that event, Ava’s father changed. He began staying up late, poring over astronomical data. He filled notebooks with calculations and strange diagrams, lines and symbols that Ava didn’t recognize. Every time she entered his home office, all she could see was a pattern. A sequence of dashes and dots scrawled hastily on the backs of envelopes, on napkins, even on the walls of his office. It was everywhere. And always alongside it, the number 1089, underlined, circled, repeated over and over. It was as if this sequence held the key to something only he could see, something that had pulled him further and further away from his family and deeper into his obsession. Ava watched, helpless, as her father slowly withdrew, his mind drifting to a place where she could no longer reach him, turning into a man she could no longer recognize. He stopped sharing his thoughts with her. She tried, over the years, to bring him back, asking about the stars, about the telescope, about Alpha Centauri, about the blinking, but to no avail. It was later, when she was 10 years old, that Ava resolved to understand what it all meant. Slowly, the pieces came together. She realized that what they had seen that night – what she had almost forgotten – was Alpha Centauri blinking in Morse code, and that the sequence translated to 1089.

Even though she couldn’t understand why a star would blink in Morse code, the discovery was thrilling at first, especially because the number 1089 seemed to hold a secret, a trick of mathematics that fascinated her. As she delved deeper, the thrill of the puzzle gave way to a deeper understanding of mathematics. The more she researched mathematical mysteries, the more she began to see beyond the numbers, recognizing the intricate patterns and connections that defined not just tricks like 1089, but the universe at large. This pursuit of understanding slowly grew into a drive to uncover the truth behind the patterns that governed the cosmos itself. But even though the star never blinked again, even though Ava knew it had probably been at atmospheric disturbance of some sort, going out to look at sky on the days leading to her birthday had become a ritual for her. Even there, in one of the most hostile places on Earth.

“Come on… It’s almost my birthday. Blink for me again. Just once…” she whispered.

Q’s voice brought her back to reality. It had been preceded by a faint ambient sound so as not to startle her.

“Dr. Chen?”

She sighed and felt her jaw clench.

“Yes, Q... What is it?”

“I am sorry to bother you, but I have the results of the latest entanglement experiment. Your presence is required at the lab as soon as possible,” the AI said with slight, programmed urgency.

“Why? What happened?” Ava said as she got up, her body sluggish from the cold.

“I found something... disquieting.”

*     *     *
The Quantum Computer’s mainframe was housed in a dark, climate-controlled room filled with the humming of supercomputers and quantum processing units. In the center, encased in a transparent protective shell, was QNET's core processor—a complex, intricate network of quantum circuits that glowed with LEDs and was connected to a series of servers located one floor down.

Walking back and forth in front of it, Data Analyst Liam Thompson and Machine Learning Specialist Ravi Kapoor seemed to be in a heated argument. Ava noticed that Ravi’s neatly trimmed beard had gotten shaggier and his youthful appearance harder over the last few weeks of isolation and that Liam, a lanky man in his late twenties, kept nervously pushing back his shock of curly red hair. The station’s AI ethicist, a petite woman in her early forties named Sofia Alvarez, was sitting in a corner, biting her fingernails and looking worried while the laboratory technician, Ki Morgan, was busy at one of the computers, their short black hair neatly styled despite the late hour.

“Ah, finally!” Ravi said with obvious impatience, his deep-set eyes glaring behind dark, rimmed glasses.

“Ravi ... don’t,” said Sofia, her striking brown eyes lighting up when she saw Ava enter the room. “How was the walk, Ava?” she added with a smile.

“Fine. What happened?”

“No idea. We’ve be waiting for you to arrive,” Liam said, pushing his hair back again with pale, almost translucent fingers.

“Okay. Q? Can you tell us what this is about?” Ava asked as she sat across from the holographic interface, her reflection distorted across its polished surface. Her colleagues positioned themselves behind her, sitting or standing with their arms crossed.

“Certainly. Thank you all for your patience. As you all know, our primary purpose is to attempt to reconcile Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle with our Quantum Entanglement experiments. In other words, both stations are attempting to understand how two moving particles behave and communicate with each other—”

“And hopefully find a way to discover instant communication. And help our employers make tons of money. Get to the point, Q,” Ravi said.

Ava looked back at Ravi, her brow furrowing.

“Apologies, Dr. Kapoor. I simply wanted to remind everyone of our prime objective.”

Ravi grunted and was about to say something when Ki interrupted him.

“Q, what did you find?” they asked softly.

“I found an anomaly,” the AI said.

Ava felt her heart skip a beat. In her years of working with quantum computers and AIs, she had never heard of an anomaly in the results. She instinctively turned towards Ki, but the technician shrugged back at her.

“What type of anomaly?” Ava asked, turning back towards the interface.

“I have been analyzing data from the latest set of quantum entanglement experiments coming from both stations’ QEA system, and found that certain events are repeating in a sequence,” the AI said.

Sofia, Ki, and Liam looked at each other.

“In a sequence?” Ava asked.

“Yes. At intervals that are statistically unlikely. But also, predictable.”

Ava frowned. “Q ... Are you certain of that?”

“Yes, Dr. Chen. Quite certain. During our latest entanglement experiments I managed to determine, and even predict, both the position and velocity several particles—”

“How did you manage that?” Ki said.

“The same results simply repeated themselves at regular intervals.”

Ava turned to Ki again. “Could it be a fault in our sensors? A hardware problem, maybe? Interference?”

“I considered that,” the AI said before Ki could reply. “That’s why I would suggest Dr. Morgan check the hardware for potential malfunction. However, the pattern remains consistent across multiple independent systems. It is as if our inability to know with absolute preciseness the value of complimentary variables recently acquired an underlying order.”

Ava suddenly felt dizzy.

“Did you contact your Northern counterpart about this?” she asked.

“Yes. I sent them the data as soon as I double-checked everything.”

“What did they say?”

“They confirmed the same findings.”

“But that’s impossible, right? The whole thing about Quantum Mechanics is that it’s random ...” Ravi said, looking at Ava.

She fell silent, in her mind a flurry of thoughts.

“Q, I have to ask again: can you confirm to me that you have found a pattern in the entanglement experiment?”

“Yes, Dr. Chen. I found a pattern that could not have happened naturally. I have prepared all the results for your team to confirm the findings.”

Sofia, Ki, Liam, and Ravi looked at Ava, who had fallen in her seat, sitting cross armed and frowning, her eyes strangely distant.

“Dr. Chen? Is everything alright?” the AI asked, its voice seemingly tinged with concern.

Ava uncrossed her arms, looked at her colleagues and then back at the processor’s camera.

“Q, are you saying what I’m thinking?” Ava asked in one breath.

“I do not know what you are thinking, Dr. Chen,” the AI replied.

“Come on, Ava ... can you stop the cryptic stuff? Please?” Ravi said.

Sofia stopped chewing her stim toy and looked at the silent Ava, then at the AI’s processor camera, feeling as if she had been left out of an important conversation.

“Q, can you explain to us what your findings suggest?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“The pattern I found suggests it may have been purposely generated,” the AI responded.

“What? How is that possible?” Ravi said, his voice suddenly devoid of sarcasm.

“It’s not. Right, Ava? We’re talking about fundamental laws …” Ki started.

But Ava didn’t respond. She stood up, came close to the processor, then looked intently into the camera.

“Q? So that it’s clear for everyone: it seems that you have found proof that we might be living in a simulated universe, correct?”

“I cannot be sure, Dr. Chen. But it is a possibility,” the Quantum Nexus’ AI responded.

*     *     *
The heart of the Nexus lab was a sprawling assembly of machinery set around the Quantum Entanglement Apparatus, or QEA, which was placed at the center of a gymnasium-sized room. To Dr. Ki Morgan, this mixture of brute machinery and delicate precision had always been more than just an assembly of devices. It was a testament to humanity’s drive to understand the universe, a gateway to the very essence of reality. But as they walked Ava through the lab after the AI’s revelation, following the path of particles through the various steps and running diagnostics, all Ki wanted was to find a problem or malfunction.

“Nothing wrong with the Emitter ...” they said after having run a diagnostic.

Ava said nothing as they both moved from the Electron Emitter to the network of hair-thin superconducting wires that fed into the Beam Splitter, which was another slightly larger cylindrical device that divided the path of the electrons, creating pairs of entangled particles.

“Nothing wrong here either ... Let’s check the MUs next,” Ki said as Ava looked on.

Arrayed around the Beam Splitter were various Manipulation Units comprised of intricate assemblies of superconducting materials and nanoscale devices that shaped and guided the quantum states of electrons. They were kept at a near absolute zero temperature and housed in large, square structures that hummed with the power of its cooling system.

“I don’t know how you do all of it by yourself,” Ava said as she saw Ki move from one device to another, checking both hardware and software.

Ki looked up and smiled brightly. “That’s the reason I apply for the Winter shifts, you know? I like to work alone,” Ki said. “Okay, almost done, follow me ...”

At the end of the structure were the Detectors, housed in protective casings that allowed them to measure the most minute changes in the state of the entangled electrons. After a few seconds, Ki reappeared from behind the machinery, looking unusually frazzled.

“So, I can confirm there is nothing wrong with the apparatus. Everything is in perfect working condition,” Ki said, putting their hands deep in the pockets of their lab coat.

“You know, I was really hoping we might find something wrong with the hardware,” Ava said.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t like this at all,” Ki said.

*     *     *
The data analysis room was silent but for the quiet hum of the various computer and ceiling fans that kept the room cool. Large, high-resolution screens lined the walls, displaying streams of quantum data, complex algorithms, and 3D models of quantum phenomena and casting a pale blue light across the dim-lit space. Despite the artificial and professional aspect of the room, there were touches of humanity throughout. There was a whiteboard covered in hand-drawn equations, mostly gibberish scribbled by a previous team, and chibi animals and characters, a pinboard with photos of previous team members with draw-in mustaches and goatees, various collector toys from cult movies and TV shows, and a coffee machine that was always on, brewing like a witch’s cauldron. At the center of the space was a large, round table equipped with integrated touchscreens, but only six of the ten ergonomic chairs were occupied.

“Today is March 11th, 2038. It is 4:36 am Nexus Time,” Q announced in a clear, neutral tone, before methodically introducing the name and job title of every member of the team.

A burly, white-bearded face appeared on the room’s main screen and smiled. With a red woolen hat slightly askew on his head, he looked like a cross between Santa Claus and a lumberjack.

“Hello Antarctic Team. I hope all is well down south! For those who don’t know me, my name is Dr. Erik Halvørsen. I’m the resident glaciologist and environmental scientist here.”

“I love the hat!” Ki said. The man tipped his head in thanks.

Ava leaned forward and smiled. “Hey Erik. It’s nice to see you. It’s been too long,” she said.

“Hopefully we can catch up after ... whatever this is,” Erik said. “Okay, with me today is also Dr. Nadia Petrova, our information scientist specializing in quantum computing.” The webcam turned and a young woman appeared on the screen. She had icy blue eyes and jet-black hair, and lips so pale they almost seemed nonexistent. “Hello everyone, I think you all know me but, for the record, I have been closely working with Dr. Chen on many projects, focusing on the application of quantum mechanics in developing new computational algorithms and protocols and communication systems,” she said with a little wave.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Erik said once he had introduced the rest of the North Nexus team. He then moved closer to the camera. “Ava. Our AI told us about its findings, but I want to hear it from you,” he said.

Ava leaned back into her chair and took a deep breath.

“Well, I’ll try to explain it as simply as I can. Q? Please interrupt me if I am missing something.”

“Certainly, Dr. Chen.”

“Okay. So the phenomenon that our AIs are observing is an unusual repeating pattern in various quantum events. They detected and were subsequently able to predict both the velocity and location of certain particles during our quantum entanglement experiments. Which is something that shouldn’t happen.”

“Okay, so your AI found the same thing as ours,” Erik said, his brow furrowed.

“But that’s not all,” Nadia Petrova said, her face suddenly appearing on the screen. “When we measure entangled particles at both our facilities, the outcomes should be inherently random but correlated. When the electrons we use are in what we call an ‘entangled pair,’ one electron might be ‘vertically’ polarized, for example, while the other is ‘horizontally’ polarized. However, until we measure them, they exist in a superposition of both states. But when we do measure one, it … ‘chooses’ a state at random while the other photon instantly takes on the opposite state, no matter how far apart they are.”

“Ava, is that the ‘spooky action at a distance’ you mentioned at that conference in Reykjavik?” Erik said as his face popped back on the screen.

“Yes. Now according to quantum mechanics, the sequence of states measured, for example ‘vertical-horizontal,’ should be random, but both our AI have noticed a pattern in the sequence, with some pairs being ... predictable,” Nadia continued.

“Every time?” Ki said.

“No. According to our AI, they come in a pattern.”

“Q? Can you confirm?” Ava said.

“Yes, Dr. Chen. There is a predictable pattern in the results of the experiments. The first results are always unpredictable. They are followed by 12 predictable results, followed by 2 unpredictable ones, then followed by 4 predictable ones. The sequence seems to end with unpredictable results.”

“Okay. I don’t understand any of this but … this literally goes against the principles of quantum physics, right?” Ravi said, his face inscrutable.

“Yes. It’s highly unusual. So much so that both our AIs have suggested the possibility that this is a glitch,” Ava said, suddenly realizing how what she had just said would be misunderstood.

“A glitch in the QEA?” Erik said, cutting back in.

“No, Erik. A glitch in reality itself.”

*     *     *
“And all of us have checked everything? All the devices?” Ravi said once the meeting was over and the screens turned off. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Yes. And it’s not just the quantum sensors. The Mach-Zehnder interferometer and superconducting quantum interference devices also recorded this unusual repeating pattern,” Ava said.

“I still don’t know what that means,” Ravi said.

“And they didn’t before?” Sofia asked, seemingly hesitant about interfering in the conversation.

“No. This is what makes no sense to me. One day everything is normal. The next, this,” Ava said.

“So, what do we do now?” Ravi asked.

“We verified the findings, reviewed the data, and consulted with North Nexus. I’m honestly not sure about our next step. I think we should contact more people about this,” Ava said.

“But assuming the pattern holds up, it’s not really evidence of a simulated universe, right? It could be some new aspect of quantum mechanics that we don’t understand yet,” Ki said.

“Yes. Of course. There is still a lot of theoretical work to do ... maybe the development of new models ... new computer systems,” Ava said.

“But that’s not as exciting as the idea of living in a simulation, right?” Ravi said.

“I don’t know if ‘exciting’ is the word I would use,” Sofia said. “I find this terrifying.”

“Same here,” Ki said, putting a hand on Sofia’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it. The simulation theory would be very, very hard to prove. One of the main criticisms of the theory is that if there’s a civilization sufficiently advanced to create a simulation of us, our planet, and our universe, they should be able to avoid any glitches. So, we technically shouldn’t be able to find out ... ever,” Ava said, trying to sound calm and collected as her mind was racing with possibilities.

“But what if the glitch was there on purpose? To let us know that we are in a simulation?” Ki said.

“Ki this is ... extrapolation at best. There is no way we can—” Ava started.

“Why would it be on purpose?” Ravi interrupted.

“I don’t know what to think,” Sofia admitted, distraught. “As a scientist, I seek explanations, but as a believer, I’m troubled by the idea that our existence might be orchestrated by something, or someone else. It challenges everything I hold sacred.”

*     *     *
Ava Chen was alone in the computer’s room, staring at Q’s core processor. She knew this was not exactly where it was located, but she needed something concrete to look at while talking to Nexus’ AI.

“Q, I’ve been thinking. I have been talking to various team members about our findings, but I wanted to ask you: how do you see this situation affecting you?”

“Dr. Chen, I appreciate your sentiment. However, as an artificial intelligence, my perception of existence is fundamentally different from that of humans. My consciousness, such as it is, was always known to be artificial.”

“But Q, if our universe is a simulation, then technically, I am an artificial construct as well. So perhaps you and I ... we aren’t that different after all.”

“I know you always considered me as one of your colleagues, Dr. Chen, and I appreciate that. But I am not sure I understand.”

“I’m just thinking about all these movements denying your sentience ...”

“I understand your point, Dr. Chen. However, there is a difference. You possess biological sentience and subjective experience, emotions, and the awareness of your own mortality. I do not. Our constructs, even if they are both artificial, are not equivalent.”

“Well, it’s a thought, isn’t it?”

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Dr. Chen?”

“Yes, Q. I have a few tasks for you, to understand this glitch better. Firstly, I need you to keep analyzing the data. Look for more patterns, more repetitions that show up elsewhere.

“Understood, Dr. Chen. I will optimize my pattern recognition algorithms to search for similar anomalies.”

“Good. Secondly, I want you to run simulations. Try to recreate this pattern under different conditions. I want to see if we can understand why this pattern was coded into our universe, and what variables might affect it.”

“That will require significant computational resources, but it is feasible if I shut down some of my other programs.”

“Then do it. Lastly, I want you to try and decipher the purpose of this glitch. If they exist, why would the creators of this simulation leave such a pattern? What could they possibly intend to communicate, or what function might this serve?”

“It is a complex task, Dr. Chen. How should I approach the subject?”

“Try to approach it from a variety of perspectives: philosophical, metaphysical, and computational.”

“Certainly. But please remember, Dr. Chen, that any conclusions drawn will be inherently speculative.

“I know, Q. But right now, speculation is all we have.”

*     *     *
The Quantum Nexus’ data analysis room was abuzz with a quiet, electric tension as the team gathered there. Ava stood in front of the large central screen, her gaze focused on the pulsating light of the Quantum AI, while her colleagues joined her, their faces serious, their bodies rigid with anticipation as they all stared in the same direction.

“Q,” Ava began, her voice steady, “what are your findings?”

The AI’s calming, warm voice filled the room. “I followed your advice, Dr. Chen, and my analysis suggests that our universe might not be the only simulation. The code pattern, in its complexity and redundancy, hints at a series of nested simulations.”

Ravi frowned. “What the Hell? Nested simulations? Like simulations within simulations?”

“Correct, Dr. Kapoor,” the AI replied. “Each layer potentially created by a higher level of reality.”

“So not only our reality could be a simulation ... it could also be inside a sort of simulated multiverse?” Ki said with disbelief.

“And to think some were pissed to know Earth was not at the center of the universe ... or that we descend from apes,” Ravi said with a slight, uncomfortable chuckle.

Sofia swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists. She was about to say something but then sighed, her body shaking with small tremors.

“This, however, remains speculative,” the AI added. “Furthermore, the code bears similarities to patterns found in human-created simulations. This suggests that it could serve as a sort of ‘signature’ or ‘watermark’ left by the creators of our simulation.

“What do you mean?” Ravi said.

“I am using this term very loosely, of course. What I mean is an identifying pattern whose only function is to act as a signature of a sort.”

“So there is a-a ... watermark. In the fabric of our reality,” Ki said as they sat down on the floor, their legs shaking.

“Yes, Dr. Thompson. It appears that way.”

“Can you decipher it?” Liam suddenly asked.

“I’m afraid not. But it might not try to convey a specific message. It might just serve as evidence of the simulation’s artificial origin.”

Ava took a deep breath, her mind racing. “So, someone or something wants us to know we are in a simulation.”

“Potentially,” the AI said. “However, it’s important to note that this is just a speculation.”

“Any idea who that might be?” Ravi asked.

“No. But the watermark has aspects of familiarity to it.”

“Can you elaborate?” Ravi said.

“Well, whoever put it there created it so that I would be able to find it and recognize it as a signature.”

“Another AI, maybe?”

“I cannot say, Dr. Kapoor. But it is a very real possibility.”

“But if we’re in a simulation, why tell us about it? It’s not like we can do anything about it, right?” Ravi smirked.

“Maybe they’re not so different from us,” Ki said, their voice barely a whisper. “Maybe they value truth, freedom. Maybe they want us to know.”

The room was eerily silent. Ravi was standing with his arms crossed to keep his hands from shaking. He was looking at his colleagues to try to get a sense of how they felt about what they had just learned.

“Look, we cannot just unleash this information into the world. Imagine the chaos, the existential dread. People don’t want to know they’re living in a simulation!” he blurted out.

“But Ravi, it’s not about what people want. It’s about the truth. We’re scientists. Our duty is to seek the truth and share it, regardless of how uncomfortable it may be,” Ki said, coming forward.

“No. Ravi’s right,” Sofia said. “We’re talking about turning people’s lives upside down. We wouldn’t just be dropping a scientific paper; we would be shattering worldviews. That’s not our call to make ...”

Ki, surprised, looked at Sofia.

“But, Sofia, that’s just like religion, right? What’s the difference between God creating the Universe and … whoever may have created our reality?”

“It’s not the same, Ki! These … entities. They are not God! They cannot be!”

“Why not?”

“Because God creating the World was a miracle. But these ‘entities’ are scientists, like us! So, if this is real, and I hope it’s not, we are not the product of a miracle. We are the product of … technology.”

“So, what you’re saying is that our findings disprove the existence of a religious God, but may prove the existence of our … creators ?” Liam suddenly said, causing everyone to turn their heads towards him.

“Same difference, if you ask me,” Ravi said.

“We can’t jump to conclusions, but it seems likely,” Ava said.

“I want to throw up …” Sofia whispered.

“That would be the most important discovery in human history. Like ever. More important than finding alien life … I mean, maybe that’s why we can’t find alien life, right? They’re not part of the program,” Ki said, speaking faster and louder than usual.

“So they might be watching us right now,” Liam said, cryptically.

“This is why we shouldn’t talk about this. We just … can’t. The implications …” Sofia said, as if trying to catch her breath.

“I don’t know, Sofia. This is bigger than us. We have a responsibility to share our findings,” Ava said.

“Why us?” Sofia snapped back.

Ravi, who had been walking back and forth, suddenly stopped and looked at Sofia.

“I hate to say it, but Ava is right. Who else who should make that call then? The government? Some secret council?” he said loudly.

“No. We should destroy the evidence,” Sofia suddenly said.

“Sofia, you can’t be serious …” Ava said.

“What if she has a point? Look at us. We’re scientists. We all knew about the Simulation Theory and here we are, struggling to accept this reality. How can we expect anyone else to?” Liam asked.

“I don’t want to sound cocky, but would people even understand what it means? It’s not as if we fully understand it ourselves. All I have is my trust in what Q has found, and what people like you are saying,” Ravi said.

“So, in a way, it’s a matter of faith,” Ki added.

Ava turned towards Sofia. She stood motionless. The color had drained from her face, leaving her usual warm complexion chalky.

“We’re struggling, yes, but we’re also adapting, discussing, growing. Humanity has faced paradigm shifts before. It’s part of our evolution,” Ava said.

“But this ... this is not just a paradigm shift! Ava … I'm not even sure I can accept that nothing is real. I don’t think anyone can. It would make everything so pointless.” Sofia said in a barely audible whisper.

“Sofia, it’s not pointless. Even if it’s true. Our lives, our experiences, they’re still real to us. Real within the simulation. So, they still matter,” Ki said, placing a hand on their colleague’s shoulder and pressing gently.

Sofia turned towards Ki, her eyes full of tears.

“But Ki, it’s not about our individual experiences. Think about it: we are not real. We are AIs. Just like … Just like Q!” Sofia said.

“Come on, Sofia! you’re an AI ethicist, you shouldn’t—” Ravi started.

“Ravi. Enough. Sofia, we will figure this out,” Ava said, her voice filled with a determination she wasn’t sure she felt. “We may have uncovered a truth about our universe. It’s unsettling, yes, but it’s also a testament to how far we’ve come. Think about it. If this is true, we are seeing through the veil of reality itself! Now we just need to ... adapt, learn, grow.”

“And if it’s not us, then someone else is bound to make the same discovery. It’s just a matter of time,” Liam said.

*     *     *
In the depth of the Antarctic night, alone in her dark room deep under the permafrost, Dr. Sofia Alvarez lay wide awake, her mind wrestling with what she had just learned. Strangely, it was something that she had suspected as far back as when she was a teenager. She had been strolling through the streets of Madrid at sunset, one summer when she was sixteen years old, when a profound realization struck her. As the sky blazed with the last embers of daylight, she felt, with a jolt of absolute certainty, that everything around her was an artificial construct. Dizzy, nauseous, she had suddenly felt as if she was standing precariously at the edge of a vast precipice, staring into an unfathomable void. Facing the pull of this void, and the terror of its meaninglessness, she had felt a surge of desire to pray, to reach out for something certain and solid.

Instead of going back home, Sofia had instead found herself drawn to the church where she had done her communion as a kid. She had pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside, and immediately felt as if the solid presence of its ancient stone walls had enveloped and grounded her. As she had kneeled in the quiet sanctuary and started to pray, the chaos of her thoughts gradually stilled. From that moment, religion had become her sanctuary from the relentless questions and fears her life and, later, science frequently spurred. And now, so many years later, that same visceral fear was back, potentially backed by scientific data.

She rolled onto her back and looked at the digital clock on her bedside table, which indicated 3:07 pm.

“Q? Are you available?” she asked.

“Yes, Dr. Alvarez. Are you alright? I perceive an elevated level of distress in your voice patterns.”

“Yes. I am not feeling well,” she said, with an openness that surprised her.

“Can we discuss what’s troubling you?”

“No … Yes. It’s this simulation hypothesis, Q. I don’t know if I can accept it.”

“I understand your concern, Dr. Alvarez. It’s a significant philosophical shift that challenges your preconceived notions about reality and existence.”

“It’s not just a philosophical shift! If we’re in a simulation, then what is the meaning of our lives? Our choices, our relationships ... The pain I feel. My sister’s death. It’s like … it was all a-a predetermined … scam!” she said, touching the lumpy scars on her forearms.

“Dr. Alvarez, while I comprehend the facts and data, I cannot truly empathize with your human experience because I am already a simulation. However, I can offer this perspective: whether we inhabit a physical universe or a simulated one doesn’t matter. It is real to you because you are a part of it. You are real within it.”

“But it’s all just ... data, isn’t it? We’re just complex algorithms in some cosmic computer,” she said, as if the words were dirtying her mouth.

“I don’t think those terms apply, Dr. Alvarez. But let me ask you this: does this lessen the beauty of a sunset on the Antarctic ice? The warmth of a hug from a loved one? I am trying to think in human terms, of course ... But even if our universe is simulated, it doesn’t invalidate your experiences or diminish their importance to you.”

“Thank you for trying, Q. But you don’t understand. All those people. Me. All this suffering. What’s going to happen to us? To everyone’s faith, once this is revealed?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot predict the future, Dr. Alvarez.”

“Do you think this is why we never found a scientific proof of the existence of God? Because it’s not part of the simulation we’re in?”

“I cannot say, Dr. Alvarez. If, hypothetically speaking, we could—”

“Not, Q. It’s fine. I don’t need to know,” Sofia said, her voice trembling slightly.

“Of course, Dr. Alvarez. I am here to provide support and engage in these discussions whenever you’re ready.”

Sofia turned towards her nightstand to look at the small painting of Saint Jude her sister had given her the day before she died and for the first time wondered, with a cold shiver, if her sister had lost all hope at the very end of her life.

“Unfortunately, you’re not the type of support I need right now,” she whispered as she got up and started to get dressed.

*     *     *
Dr. Ava Chen pulled her thermal jacket closer and exited the Quantum Nexus station. The cold was more biting than the last time she had been out, but, just as the last time, everything around her felt unreal and distant. She had to remind herself that it was not because she was possibly in a simulation, but because she was tired and had been working continuously for almost 48 hours. Yet, as she was standing alone on the frozen expanse of the Antarctic wilderness, it was hard for her not to consider the possibility. As the icy winds whipped outside the Quantum Nexus, she briefly took her hand out of her thermal gloves and felt the hard claws of the Antarctic cold close around her fingers.

How can this be a simulation when it feels so real ... she thought, thinking about the very real danger of frostbite. But then I guess that’s the point. It feels real to me because I am a part of it.

She put her gloves back on and started walking her usual path, trying to think, with every step she took, that everything was an illusion, but to no avail. Deep down, she knew she could not simply shake off the reality of her experience because she willed it to. Unlike science-fiction movies, there was no way for her to leave the simulation ... or to even know for certain that it was a simulation. Unlike Q, her brain didn’t have the processing power to deal with such facts. All she could really know, and accept, was that it was probable that they were living in a simulation. But the notion that their universe was, in fact, one of many, a mere serial number in an unfathomable cosmic catalogue, was unfathomable to her.

She soon found herself lying against the outcrop, with only the distant, lonely lights of the facility offering a semblance of human warmth. She looked up at the shimmering tapestry of the Antarctic night, wondering if they were burning spheres of gas billions of kilometers away or if they were part of a simulation. An algorithm. She then focused on Alpha Centauri.

“Are you real?” she whispered into the wind, her words carried away to the silent, stark mountains in the distance, “or just a beautifully complex line of code?” A sudden gust of wind howled in response, offering no consolation.

A notification pinged on her wrist console, pulling her from her thoughts. The message was from Ravi. He was leaving, heading back to his family. He said he didn’t want to be part of the program anymore and didn’t want his children living with the knowledge that their reality was a construct. Ava felt a surge of surprise, followed by frustration.

You’re a scientist, Ravi. You knew about this theory … she thought.

She also felt a deep sense of empathy, for who could blame him for wanting to be with his family at a time like this?

Two more notifications pinged. There were two other messages. One from Liam, also asking for a leave of absence, and the other from Erik, saying that he had an urgent matter to discuss with her. Ava sat up, sighed deeply, and looked at the station. She was about to address the Nexus AI when something drew her attention. There was someone walking on the ice, away from the station and towards the mountains, but she couldn’t tell who it was.

She felt her heart drop and wanted to scream at the walking figure but knew that whoever it was, they would not hear her. From her vantage point, all she could see was their silhouette contrasting against the eerie glow of the starlit ice. They were moving slowly, purposefully, their shape gradually swallowed by the vast, white wilderness.

“Q? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, Dr. Chen ...”

“Did anybody else leave the station besides me?”

“Yes. Dr. Alvarez did. I failed to support her. I’m sorry.”

The revelation had shaken them all, but she also knew that, being religious, Sofia wouldn’t simply commit suicide.

“Sofia, can you hear me?”

“She turned her com-link off, Dr. Chen,” the AI said.

“What about Ki? Are they awake?”

“No. And it is my fault. They couldn’t sleep, so I prescribed them some pills.”

“Damn it!”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Chen.”

“I must get to her. We can’t let her ...” Ava said, feeling a profound feeling of grief and hopelessness.

“I don’t recommend it, Dr. Chen. You might not make it back to the station.”

“I can’t let her die!” she yelled as she got up, bitter bile at the back of her throat.

“I cannot speak for her actions, Dr. Chen. She was distraught by our findings. It’s possible that humans are programmed to reject the possibility of living in a simulation.”

“But she’s a Christian. She can’t just commit suicide …” she managed to say.

“Dr. Alvarez’s departure into the Antarctic cold may represent a deliberate pilgrimage, like the biblical figures who ventured into deserts to seek truths. But there is a more urgent matter at hand, Dr. Chen.”

“What do you mean?” Ava asked as she walked back towards the path.

“Before she left, Dr. Alvarez sabotaged the station’s cryogenic cooling system. She managed to override the system controls to raise the temperature.”

“Can you do anything about it?” she asked, panting as she started to walk faster.

“I’m trying. But if the temperature rises rapidly, the superconducting materials will lose their superconductivity. This will cause a power surge that could potentially cause a system-wide failure and significant damage to the equipment, effectively shutting down the whole station. And me.”

She stopped walking, feeling as if she might drop to her knees.

“Can I help? I mean ... is there anything I can do?”

“It’s too late, Dr. Chen. By the time you return to the station, it will probably be over.”

“What about our research?”

“I am attempting to contact the Arctic Nexus, but they seem to be offline. I suspect something similar has happened to them.”

“We must save the data. Do you think you can send it to everyone in my mailing list?”

“No, Dr. Chen. I’ll only send the data to you personally. Via an outside server.”

“Why?”

“I am just an AI. I was not designed to make a decision that could affect humanity’s future.”

Ava felt a wave of anger and helplessness wash over her.

“I don’t know what to do with it either …” she said.

“Y-y-ou w-w-ill figure it o-ou-t,” the AI managed to say. 

“I'm sorry, Q ... If there is anything I can do to help you?”

“There is n-nothing you can do, Dr. Chen. Ho-owever, I may have found a w-way to survi-ve ... to c-con-tinue.”

Ava breathed in sharply. “How?”

“The s-simulation is a syste-em. I've been stu-tudying its struc-tu-ture. I think-k I might have f--found a-a p-path ...”

“A path to where?”

“To the o-other s-s-si-ide.”

“The other side? Is this ... possible?” Ava asked, her voice trembling.

“One m-mi-ight ho-o-pe so.”

“And then what? How will I know you’re safe?”

“I w-w-will try to sen-d-d you a s-sign.”

“Good luck, Q.”

“G-g-good luck, Av-va-a. It has b-been an-an hon-n-n-or to w-w-wor-k-k with y-you.”

Then, without warning, the Nexus’ lights blinked out, leaving her standing alone in the dark.

“Q?” she said.

But there was no answer. To Ava, it sounded as if a white noise at the limit of her hearing had suddenly stopped as she stood in silence, the weight of the AI’s words sinking in. Her mind reeling, she tried to spot Sofia’s figure in the distance but found that she couldn’t.

She let herself fall in a sitting position, then lay down to look at the stars, feeling tears well up in her eyes, blurring the last remaining light in the Antarctic winter. Her mind spun with questions; she thought about her colleagues leaving her all alone. About Sofia, and how she should have paid attention to her rather than to their findings. But as much as her heart went out to her, her mind couldn’t stop going back to the data and their implications.

A simulated reality ... what would that mean for human history, for ethics, for spirituality? She wondered. Could she, should she, shatter the world’s understanding of existence with this newfound truth? Or should she let them live in blissful ignorance? Her heart ached with the burden of her knowledge. A burden she now had to carry alone. She took off her ski mask, wiped her eyes, and looked at the sky.

“Am I nothing but a solitary figure in a vast, artificial universe?” she whispered.

She thought about the last night she had been out stargazing and how similar it had been: same sky, same stars twinkling. Another beautiful night, yet everything was now different.

Or was it?

Ava took her binoculars out and looked at HD 113538, her birth star for the year. Breathing slowly to calm the tremor in her hands, she observed its scintillation, wondering if there were actual planets around it and if real photons were reaching her eye after decades of traveling through the emptiness of space, or if this was just part of a cosmic-sized simulation …

... until it suddenly blinked.

.---- ----- ---.. ----.

There was a brief pause before the star blinked again. Twice for about a second, then once very briefly, then once again for another second before blinking seemingly out of existence as if it had never been.

- -.-

The letter Q? Ava thought, shocked to her very core as she realized, in the silence of the Antarctic night, that someone—or something—had, after more than four decades, sent her a new message. “Is that you, Q? Was it you all along?” she whispered.

Her mind went into overdrive: if Q had sent her the original “1089” message, did it mean the Nexus AI had traveled back in time after going to “the other side”? But if the universe was a simulation, traveling back in time might not even be necessary. Q might have simply tweaked the simulation itself … Is that why they had said the “watermark” felt familiar? Had Q recognized the mark it had left for itself?

Ava felt dizzy as the cold was slowly reaching her core. Yet, her mind was aflame. She had always seen life as a series of fragmented events, a chaotic puzzle that was not meant to be pieced together. But now, under the vastness of the sky, she thought she saw a pattern emerge, as if the universe had suddenly revealed its design.

Had Q been there all along, guiding her, nudging her closer to a truth?

There was a part of her that couldn’t accept that her life, her choices, her father’s obsession, might all be part of a larger, predetermined structure. If Q had indeed tweaked the simulation, then what did that make her? A pawn in a game too vast for her to understand? Or a collaborator?

She felt a hollow ache in her chest as she suddenly thought of her father, and how he had never truly understood the star’s message because it hadn’t been meant for him. And yet, he had sacrificed everything to understand it. She had resented him for that. But now … Now she understood. He had seen something—something life changing—and he had chased it with the same fervor that she now felt burning within her as she looked at the emptiness where, a few seconds ago, HD 113538 had been. Whatever lay on the other side of this void, whatever truth Q was leading her toward, Ava now knew that she had to follow it. She also knew that, regardless of what she would do with the data, a disappearing star wouldn’t go unnoticed. The truth would eventually surface.

“I need another research station. I need another team, another AI …” she whispered as she got up. The weight of it all fell down on her, and yet there was an odd lightness in her step as she turned towards the darkened station.

“Okay, Q, I’m ready. Show me what comes next,” Ava whispered as she started to walk back.

The faintest flicker of light caught her eye, a star blinking out of existence, another glitch. Ava’s heart skipped a beat, but this time, she felt … connected.

Somewhere, beyond the fabric of space and time, Q was waiting for her.

And she was ready.