POV: Chris – Blackwood 1
I stood before the monitor wall in the command chamber. Every screen glowed with silent footage—grainy thermal feeds of the rebels winding their way through my Empire's buried arteries.
"They're scared," Amara murmured beside me.
"No," I corrected, sipping dark tea. "They're hopeful. That's more dangerous."
I zoomed in on her.
Mira – 17,984.
Age: 21.
Parents: Executed for theft.
IQ: 168.
Known for leading 40 surviving citizens out of the wastelands.
Danger: Potential Icon.
"Hope must be dismembered in public," I said. "So that fear may reign again."
"Orders?" Amara asked.
"Seal every exit. Force them into Chamber 7."
"That's… the Mirror Room."
"Exactly."
She paused. "You want them to see themselves?"
I turned to her slowly. "I want them to choose who they are—before I remind them."
---
POV: Mira – 17,984
The tunnel opened into a vast dome lit by soft white panels. Walls of mirrors surrounded us, hundreds of them—each reflecting not just our bodies, but our numbers... our pain.
One by one, the doors slammed shut behind us.
No way out.
I stepped forward. "He's watching."
Of course he was.
And somewhere up there... smiling.
---
POV: Classic – Number 4
I burst into the command room.
"You're testing her?" I asked Chris. "She's not ready."
"She's not meant to pass," he replied, calm as a god.
"Then what is this?"
"A demonstration."
He tapped a button.
A loudspeaker echoed inside the Mirror Room.
> "Mira 17,984. Lead your people. If you fail… they all die."