The stairwell was silent.
Not the kind of quiet you get when no one's around—the kind that feels like something is holding its breath. Like the walls themselves are listening.
Skye ran her hand along the damp concrete. The word "WATCHTOWER" loomed above her like a warning—or a dare.
The access door creaked open.
Inside, flickering monitors buzzed on the walls like angry wasps. Security footage rolled in black and white: old hallways, dark rooms, staircases that spiraled forever downward.
And in the center of it all, a massive screen glowed with a single blinking phrase:
ECHO PROTOCOL INITIATED.
Skye stepped inside cautiously. The ring on her finger was pulsing now—like a heartbeat not her own.
On the floor lay a worn-out tape recorder, already spinning.
She knelt and pressed PLAY.
Click.
"If you're hearing this, it means you survived the first cycle. That's… rare."
The voice was her own.
"You won't remember leaving this message. That's the whole point of the Protocol. You volunteered to forget. You said it would be safer that way."
Skye's breath caught in her throat. The voice on the tape continued, emotionless and calm.
"By now, you've met the Merchant. Don't trust him. He trades in memory, but never in truth. Every time you 'wake up,' he rewrites part of you. That ring? It's the anchor. As long as you wear it, some part of the real you stays intact."
Skye looked down at the ring. It felt heavier now.
"You have to find the Mirror Room, Skye. It's the only way to verify which memories are yours. The others—they're planted. False backstories. Fail-safes. Lies."
The tape crackled.
"One more thing… if Maevra finds you again, run. She's not what she looks like. And you'll recognize her—because she'll look exactly like you."
The tape snapped, the recorder sparking. A lightbulb above her exploded.
Skye spun around.
Behind her, the wall had changed.
No, not the wall—the reflection in the screen. A hallway, like the one she just walked through. But something was moving in the reflection.
Something with her face.
The figure turned. Smiled.
And winked.
Skye backed away—but the hallway behind her was gone. The door she'd come through? Sealed shut. She was trapped.
Suddenly, the screens all flickered—and every single one showed a different version of her.
Skye in a lab coat. Skye with blood on her hands. Skye laughing in a hospital bed. Skye running through flames.
How many versions of me are there? she thought, stomach twisting.
Her ring pulsed rapidly now. Danger.
A soft click echoed in the room.
A door slid open near the corner, revealing a long corridor lined with mirrors. Each one distorted, cracked, and humming with electricity.
Above it:
MIRROR ROOM – LEVEL 7
Skye squared her shoulders, heart pounding.
She had questions. She wanted answers. And if that meant staring herself down through a hundred twisted reflections—so be it.
She took one step forward—
And the lights died.