The office was quiet. The kind of quiet that rings in your ears.
Noah stood in front of the desk, his hands hovering over the pile of "artifacts." In the stark light of the office, they looked tragically mundane.
The Ark was just a dusty wooden model.
The Ring was a simple gold band.
The Red Rock was a piece of gravel covered in dried acrylic paint.
The Space Drawing was wrinkled construction paper.
"I don't understand," Noah whispered, his voice trembling. "I fought monsters for these. I climbed the Spine of the City. I defeated the Rat King."
Dr. Catwell took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You fought yourself, Noah. And you won. That's why you're standing here."
"But the Purr-sident..." Noah gestured to the empty air where the tuxedo cat used to be. "He gave me orders. He told me to fetch."
"I asked you to remember," Dr. Catwell corrected gently. "For six months, we have been sitting in this office. I would hand you the drawing, and you would tell me a story about a 'Space Kitten.' I would hand you the ring, and you would hallucinate a 'Fish-Monger' who stole your warmth."
Noah gripped the edge of the desk. "No. It was real. The rain. The fog. The static."
"The static was your mind rejecting the trauma," Catwell said. "You created Catsopolis, Noah. You built every skyscraper, every carpeted wall, every neon sign. You built a world where humans were pets because pets don't have to make decisions. Pets don't have to plan funerals. Pets just... exist."
Noah looked down at the stuffed cat, Mr. Whiskers. "I wanted to be small," he admitted, the truth cracking his voice. "I wanted someone else to be in charge."
"It is a natural defense mechanism," Catwell said. "Dissociation. You couldn't handle the pain of being Noah, the father who lost his daughter. So you became 'Subject 42,' the pet who lost his toy. It was easier to look for a lost toy than a lost child."
Noah felt a wave of dizziness. The walls of the office seemed to pulse.
"So I'm the villain," Noah whispered. "I'm the one who made the monsters. I created the Dobermans."
"The Dobermans were just orderlies, Noah. They were restraining you when you tried to hurt yourself. When you panicked in the White Zone—the hospital wing—you tried to smash a window. They stopped you."
Noah closed his eyes. He remembered the "Rat King" shouting his own insecurities at him. You failed her. You're weak.
"It was all me," Noah said, a tear sliding down his cheek. "I was haunting myself."