Sim Nation: The Collapse

**Chapter 1: Simulation Sickness**

Green lines of code danced across Stellan's screens, each pixel another thread in America's unraveling. His fingers drummed a precise pattern - three taps, pause, three taps - as civilization crumbled in digital miniature. This simulation ended like the others: society fracturing, then feeding on itself. Month six: widespread cannibalism. His hand shook as he marked it in his leather notebook: "Scenario 2,847 - Urban food distribution critical within 142 days."

He reached for his coffee, stopped, reached again. Had to be the right grip, the perfect angle. The abandoned Tesla factory's hum fought with the whispers in his head - check the numbers again, verify the patterns, run it one more time. Around him, dozens of screens cast their sickly glow over salvaged servers and empty energy drink cans.

"Third night this week." Maya's voice cut through his spiral. She leaned against his desk, dark eyes sharp with concern. "The simulations won't save us if you break yourself running them."

"Can't sleep anyway." Stellan's fingers found their rhythm on the desk edge. "The Trusk raids - the pattern's changing. Faster than predicted. Need to understand why."

Below them, the factory floor sprawled like a refugee camp for the digital age. Thirty souls now - brilliant minds who'd fled when Silicon Valley turned to ash. The Simulation Corps, they called themselves, though some days it felt more like the Last Chance Corps. Stellan had never wanted to carry their lives in his calculations.

"We need supplies," Maya said. "Real world stuff. Medicine, soap, toothbrushes. Basic human things your models can't generate."

"I've mapped sixteen-" Stellan started, reaching for his notebook.

"Stop." Maya's hand covered his, interrupting the tapping. "You can't algorithm your way through everything. Sometimes the real world needs real decisions."

The proximity alarm's wail cut through their argument. Red emergency lights transformed the concrete walls into something from his worst projections. His screens showed three black SUVs approaching - Heritage Guild vehicles, moving with predatory purpose.

"No, no, wrong timing," Stellan muttered, compulsively adjusting his glasses. The simulation had given them another week. His fingers itched to rerun the numbers, check the variables. "Emergency protocol seven! Everyone up!"

The factory erupted into practiced chaos. Hard drives wiped, go-bags grabbed, lives compressed into backpacks. Stellan's hands moved through server shutdown sequences while his mind calculated survival odds. Each missed step, each imperfect action scraped against his consciousness like sandpaper.

"Maya, take group B through the tunnel. East route for the decoy team."

"Your models marked east as highest risk."

"Models were wrong." The words tasted like failure. "Sometimes we have to-" He stopped, forced his fingers still. "Sometimes the math has to wait."

Maya's hand found his shoulder, steadying. "Keep that beautiful, broken mind alive, boss. We're going to need it."

As their people melted into the darkness, Stellan felt the familiar vice grip of uncertainty. Every path sparkled with probability, every choice fractaled into a thousand consequences. The Heritage Guild's engines growled closer. He wanted to check everything one more time, ensure every variable was accounted for.

Instead, he ran. Sometimes survival meant letting go of perfect and embracing the messy chaos of now. Behind him, right on schedule, the first explosion painted the night sky orange. His mind noted the timing - three seconds faster than projected. Always something new to calculate, even at the end of the world.

---

**Chapter 2: Signals and Shadows**

Red dots flickered across Stellan's screen - another enclave going dark. Three this week. His hands trembled as he marked each lost location, knowing those dots represented real people, people he'd promised to protect.

"They're calling us the Tooth Fairy Gang now," Maya said, tossing a tablet onto his desk. The headline screamed: DENTAL TERRORISTS STRIKE AGAIN. Below it, a doctored photo showed their last humanitarian mission reimagined as an armed assault.

"Elmo's work?" Stellan asked, his jaw clenching. The meme carried his enemy's signature - truth twisted into a weapon, their relief efforts transformed into acts of terror.

"His bots are everywhere. Look at these comments." Maya's voice cracked. "People we helped are turning against us, convinced we're hoarding supplies to ransom back to their communities."

Stellan's fingers crawled toward his notebook, itching to calculate, to prove their innocence with pure mathematics. He forced them still. Numbers couldn't fight this kind of poison.

His secure channel pulsed: TWENTY MORE ARRIVED. SCIENTISTS, ENGINEERS. NEED IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION.

"What's our capacity?" he asked Maya, though the numbers were already spinning in his head.

"Denver's crammed triple capacity. Chicago's barely functioning since that Red Ledger hit list exposed our people. We lost Jensen last week - they found him with a note pinned to his chest: 'Death to the Tooth Fairy.'"

Another message flashed: BRINGING CRITICAL RESEARCH. QUANTUM ENCRYPTION PROTOCOLS. DEADLINE 48 HOURS.

"The Burlington route," Stellan said, his mouth dry. "It's our only option."

"That's suicide," Sarah called from her station. "Red Ledger's crawling all over that corridor."

"Which makes it perfect." Stellan's hands danced across the keyboard. "They'll expect us to avoid it. If we time it right-"

"You're gambling with twenty lives," Maya cut in. "After what happened in Seattle-"

"I remember Seattle." Stellan's voice turned sharp. "I remember every face we lost. But these protocols could protect thousands."

"The collective voted for caution," Sarah reminded him. "No high-risk moves until we rebuild our network."

"Then I'll take full responsibility." Stellan opened his private channel. "This one's on me alone."

Maya grabbed his wrist. "You mean on all of us. Your choices affect everyone in this room."

His secure line chirped: AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS. CLOCK TICKING.

Stellan pulled away from Maya's grip, fighting the urge to check and recheck his calculations. "Run the numbers yourself. While you do, I need to make a call."

In the hallway, he flipped open the ancient phone. Three rings.

"Cutting it close, eh?" Marcus's voice carried the weight of shared secrets.

"I need the Burlington corridor. Just once more."

"Christ, Stellan. My neck's already stretched out for you people."

"I have something better than usual. Something that could change everything."

Silence crackled between them. "Last time you said that, we lost three good agents."

"I know." Stellan pressed his forehead against the cold wall. "But sometimes the math isn't enough. Sometimes you have to trust what's real."

Back in the command center, Maya's face was ash-white. "The simulation shows seventy percent chance of catastrophic failure."

"Send the response," Stellan said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Two words: Burlington Route."

He set his notebook aside, ignoring its siren call. Above them, through layers of concrete and fear, another day dawned in their crumbling world. To the north, twenty brilliant minds waited, carrying humanity's future in their desperate flight.

Sometimes survival meant choosing between bad options and worse ones. Sometimes it meant betting everything on that razor's edge between courage and madness.

Time to find out which side they'd land on.

---

**Chapter 3: Collapse Currency**

The electric toothbrush hummed in Stellan's palm - one of the last working models in the network. Its blue glow pulsed against the command center's steel walls, each flash a heartbeat of civilization's remnants.

"Another trade request," Maya said from her workstation. "Family of four in Burlington. Offering programming expertise for basic supplies."

Stellan set the toothbrush in its charging cradle. "What kind of expertise?"

"Neural network architecture. The youngest is sixteen, already has three patents."

"Add them to the priority list. Send them a care package."

Maya's fingers hesitated over her keyboard. "The Oral-B Pro series? We're down to our last dozen."

"Which is exactly why they need them." Stellan's hand trembled as he opened his notebook, pages dense with probability trees and resource calculations. The numbers never lied, but lately they'd started to blur. "Talent like that, Trusk will hunt them hard."

The network had evolved beyond mathematics. What began as desperate trades between scattered survivors had grown into their lifeline. Each toothbrush, each water flosser represented another mind saved from Trusk's grasp.

A red alert pierced the quiet. Maya's breath caught. "Stellan..."

The security feed showed a convoy materializing from the pre-dawn fog. Black vehicles surrounded their Burlington distribution point like circling wolves. Armed figures emerged, led by a man whose red armband gleamed like fresh blood.

"That's the Burlington shipment," Maya whispered. "Zara's leading it."

His chest tightened. Zara, who'd shown up three years ago with nothing but a backpack and a genius for logistics. Who'd built their communication network from scraps. Who still left coffee by his desk on bad nights.

The feed crackled. Gunfire strobed across the screen. Zara's team scattered, but she stumbled. A figure grabbed her hair, another her arms. Her glasses fell, cracking against concrete. The last frame showed her fighting as they dragged her toward the vehicles.

"Signal's gone," Maya said, voice raw. "They took out the cameras."

Stellan's hands gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles whitened. The probability trees in his notebook screamed one solution: cut losses, protect the network, run. Cold equations demanding colder choices.

He reached for the supply shelf, withdrew a small case. Inside nestled three Sonicare DiamondClean brushes, their platinum finish unmarred by time or desperation.

Maya touched his arm. "Those could keep fifty families supplied for months."

"And Zara keeps hundreds alive with her routes." His voice cracked. "Get me Marcus. Tell Burlington to stand ready."

The monitors blinked with red incursion dots, Trusk's forces tightening their noose. Stellan opened his notebook, each breath measured against fading time. Sometimes survival meant defying your own calculations. Sometimes love outweighed logic.

He began to write, each word a move in a game where the pieces were people, not numbers. Above him, the electric toothbrush continued its vigil, counting heartbeats until dawn.

---

**Chapter 4: Perilous Alliances**

The soft glow of monitors cast shadows across Stellan's face as his fingers danced over the keyboard. Numbers and projections scrolled past, each simulation another possible future slipping through his grasp.

"Your cortisol levels are spiking," Maya said from her workstation. "When's the last time you slept?"

Stellan's jaw clenched as the latest model showed a ninety-three percent chance of network compromise within seventy-two hours. He ran it again. Ninety-four percent.

A notification pinged. Another message from the Kanadians, their third this week: "Sanctuary."

"Delete it," Stellan muttered, throat tight.

"We can't keep ignoring them," Maya said. "Or the Europeans. The network's fragmenting. People are disappearing."

"What they need is certainty. Control." His fingers trembled over the keys. "If I can just-"

"They're dead, Stellan."

Raj's voice cut like ice. Stellan turned to find his oldest friend in the doorway, holding a data chip. The young programmer's eyes were red-rimmed, his usually gentle face twisted with grief.

"The Chicago team. My sister. The probability models said ninety-eight percent survival rate." Raj's voice cracked. "Numbers don't scream when they die."

The room went silent except for the soft hum of servers. Maya's breath caught.

"The simulations need refinement," Stellan said. "If we adjust the variables-"

"I watched the security feed." Raj's knuckles whitened around the chip. "While you were running scenarios, they burned her lab. She trusted your models, your precious control. She waited for an escape route that never came."

Stellan's chest constricted. He looked down at his notebook, at the probability trees that suddenly seemed to writhe like snakes. "I never meant-"

"I made copies." Raj held up the chip. "Sent them to everyone - Kanadia, Europa, the Underground. Because I watched my sister die for your perfect solution, and I won't let it happen again."

The betrayal ripped through Stellan's carefully ordered world. "You compromised everything we-"

"We're not your puppets!" Raj slammed his hand down. "We're not integers in your equations. We're people who believed in you."

A warning klaxon shattered the air. Maya's fingers flew across her keyboard.

"Multiple breaches," she gasped. "Elmo's signature. They're targeting the core servers."

Stellan's mind raced through scenarios, each one crumbling. "Reroute power to-"

"No." Raj stepped forward and yanked Stellan's power cord. The screen died. "We're done dying for your certainty."

The klaxon grew louder. Maya's voice shook. "Outer firewall's failing. They're inside."

Stellan stared at his dark screen, at years of control slipping away. His hands trembled as he touched his notebook.

"What did Europa offer?" he whispered.

"Research labs in Amsterdam. Protection. Freedom to choose our own path."

"Kanadia?"

"Joint development. Shared resources." Raj's voice softened. "A future that doesn't rest on one person's shoulders."

The klaxon screamed. Red warnings bloomed like wounds across Maya's screen.

Stellan opened his notebook to a blank page. The emptiness terrified him more than any equation.

"Maya," he said. "Begin distributed backup. Personal data first, then research. Send to both sanctuaries."

"Both?" Maya's fingers hesitated.

"Both." Stellan met Raj's gaze. "Some variables can't be controlled."

He picked up his case of DiamondClean brushes - his last illusion of control. "Split these between teams. Let them choose their paths."

The tension eased from Raj's face. Outside, dawn painted the sky in uncertain colors. Soon they would scatter, seeking new futures in the chaos.

Stellan closed his notebook. Sometimes the hardest calculation was learning to let go.

"Maya," he said. "Tell them we're ready to listen. Tell them... we're ready to trust."

---

**Chapter 5: The Toothbrush Accord**

The morning sun cast long shadows through the compound's windows as Maya's fingers danced across three keyboards. Data cascaded across her screens - lives and research dissolving into encrypted streams bound for Amsterdam and Toronto.

"Ninety-three percent complete," she announced, her voice tight. "Incoming hostiles."

Stellan's hand twitched as he studied the surveillance feed. Eight black SUVs snaked down the access road, and behind them, an armored personnel carrier lurched into view.

"Time?"

"Eight minutes. Wait-" Maya's face paled. "They've got EMP charges. Six minutes."

Raj burst through the door. "Teams are ready, but Jensen's group is demanding more brushes. Says Amsterdam can't be trusted after what happened in Prague."

Stellan's fingers drummed against the DiamondClean case. Inside lay thirty-two electric toothbrushes, each worth a small fortune in a world where clean teeth meant you could still be trusted. Still be human.

"These aren't bargaining chips," he said. "They're lifelines. Amsterdam gets their share."

"Tell that to Jensen's people. They lost family in Prague."

A distant explosion rattled the windows. Maya's screens flickered.

"Transfer at ninety-seven percent," she said. "They're hitting the power grid."

Stellan divided the toothbrushes between three bags, his movements precise, measured. Each brush had to go to the right sanctuary, the right hands. One slipped into his pocket, its weight familiar against his leg.

"Jensen," he said into his comm, "Prague was a trap, but Amsterdam didn't spring it. We need all the allies we can-"

The lights died. Emergency generators hummed to life as boots thundered overhead.

"Transfer complete," Maya announced, initiating their final protocol. Screens blinked out one by one.

They split up without ceremony. Stellan took the east tunnel, counting steps. Behind him, glass shattered. Someone screamed.

The tunnel opened into their underground garage. Jensen's team stood apart from the others, faces hard in the emergency lights.

"Amsterdam gets their share," Stellan said, holding out a bag. "But you get first pick of the Toronto routes."

Jensen's jaw clenched. A woman behind him touched his arm, whispered something. Finally, he nodded.

"Breach in the north wing!" The warning crackled through their comms. "They've got Trusk's new tech!"

Engines growled to life. Stellan's van led the convoy up the ramp into chaos. Smoke twisted against the morning sky. Guards in black tactical gear swarmed the compound.

A figure stepped into their path - sleek body armor, face hidden behind a mirror-finish mask. One of Trusk's elite. The agent raised something that hummed with deadly energy.

Stellan's driver swerved. Energy crackled past them, leaving ozone and burning paint in its wake. The van fishtailed, then shot forward as Jensen's vehicle rammed the agent from behind.

"Go!" Jensen's voice was rough over the comm. "We'll keep them busy."

Three vehicles scattered into the morning, each carrying pieces of their future. In his mirror, Stellan watched Jensen's team lead their pursuers toward a false trail. The toothbrush pressed against his leg as his van climbed into the mountains.

"All teams clear," Maya reported. "Initiating final wipe."

Behind them, precisely placed charges erased their old sanctuary. Stellan opened his notebook one last time. A single zero marked the page - an end, and a beginning. Ahead, the mountain roads wound toward whatever future they would forge together, if they could learn to trust again.

---

**Chapter 6: Homespun Futures**

The morning sun painted long shadows across the Kanadian border station. Stellan's fingers traced the worn spiral of his notebook as the guard studied his documents. Five minutes and twenty-three seconds had passed. He knew because he'd been counting.

"Welcome to Kanadia, Mr. Saur," the guard said, handing back his papers. "Your research visa's been approved."

Stellan nodded, shouldering his backpack. The weight of his laptop pressed against his spine like the burden of those he'd left behind. His hand brushed the electric toothbrush in his jacket pocket - one of the last American-made Sonicleans. Sarah had trusted him with her collection before Heritage took her. He swallowed hard and kept walking.

The safe house lurked at the edge of Vancouver, its peeling paint and overgrown yard a deliberate disguise. Maya met him at the door, her dreads now dyed purple instead of blue. Adapting, always adapting.

"The others made it," she said, leading him inside. "EU team landed yesterday. Asian contingent goes dark tonight."

The living room had become their nerve center, screens covering every wall. Faces flickered across them - scientists, programmers, teachers, all part of their growing exodus network. Some broadcasted from basements in Berlin, others from hidden labs in Seoul.

"Show me the latest," Stellan said, trying to ignore the empty spaces where familiar faces should be.

Maya pulled up their simulation. Red lines crisscrossed the globe, tracking the flow of knowledge and resources. Blue dots marked their sanctuaries. Green indicators showed successful trades - everything from quantum algorithms to hydroponic designs.

"Three new enclaves running sustainability protocols," Maya said. "That's eighteen total. But there's growing friction. The Singapore group wants to start arming themselves. Berlin's threatening to cut ties if they do."

A chime sounded. Their scattered allies appeared for the weekly gathering. An engineer in Tokyo held up a vintage Oral-B. A biochemist in Prague displayed bamboo bristles. Each item carried stories, connections, trust built one small exchange at a time.

"Today's trade," announced a young physicist from Mumbai. "Three cavity-prevention protocols for one bacterial cultivation technique. Who's in?"

"We need more than toothbrushes," the Singapore lead interrupted. "Heritage is expanding into Asia. We should be discussing defense systems."

"That's not what we're about," Berlin shot back. "The moment we militarize, we become what we're fighting against."

Stellan's pocket buzzed. A message from Dr. Elmo: "The noose tightens, friend. Still room at the table. Name your price."

His thumb hovered over delete. Through the window, he spotted a black SUV crawling past - probably nothing, but his heart raced anyway. The message stayed unread.

The trading session dissolved into tense debate. Maya brought him tea in his chipped mug, her eyes worried. "They're scared. We all are."

"I know." Stellan watched lights appear across the city. Some belonged to their allies, others to locals who'd chosen to help. "But fear makes us count wrong. Trust is still our best algorithm."

"Running final numbers for the knowledge commons launch," Maya said. "Want to check them?"

"No need." He surprised himself with the answer. "We built it together. That's better than any simulation."

He pulled out his notebook, drew a single line across the last empty page. Not an ending, but a beginning. Tomorrow they'd start a new count, write a new story. His hand found Sarah's toothbrush, thumb running over its worn power button. Such a small thing to carry so much meaning - loss and hope, endings and beginnings, the mundane magic of starting over.

Somewhere in the gathering dark, a thousand other hands held similar tokens, each one a thread in the web they were weaving between the old world and whatever came next. If they could hold together long enough to finish what they'd started. If Heritage didn't find them first.