The mirrored hallway was silent.
Not empty — silent. A swallowing kind of silence, where even Thea and Igor's footsteps felt distant and swallowed. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made entirely of polished glass, each mirror subtly off-kilter, slightly warped, just enough to make your reflection look… wrong.
Thea stepped forward first, scanning her surroundings with the careful composure of someone who knew how quickly things could twist. Igor followed, his eyes flicking from mirror to mirror.
None of the reflections matched exactly.
One Thea smiled too long.
One Igor blinked twice as fast as he did.
One mirror showed Thea alone.
Another? Igor… but aged. Worn. Haunted.
"Okay," Igor whispered, voice deadpan, "so this is fun. Nothing like being silently judged by a million unsettling versions of myself."
Thea reached for his hand briefly — not out of fear, but solidarity. He gave it a small squeeze.
"We keep moving. No eye contact with the reflections for too long," she murmured. "This place… it's testing identity."
"Testing it how?" Igor asked.
A low hum vibrated through the air, as if the mirrors themselves had taken offense to the question.
Suddenly, a reflection of Thea stepped out from the mirror beside them.
It made no sound.
Its face was nearly identical, except the eyes — too bright. Too wide. Unblinking.
"Run," Thea said.
They took off.
As they sprinted, more reflections stepped out, slow and surreal — distorted mirror-Igors and mirror-Theas with slight, horrifying differences: one with no mouth, one whose face was a shifting swirl, one bleeding from the eyes but smiling anyway.
The hallway bent unnaturally, the mirrors beginning to curve inward like the throat of a giant snake.
Ahead, the corridor split in two.
Left: a red door, flickering with static.
Right: a glowing blue archway that hummed with strange lullaby music.
They stopped for a second, breathing heavily.
"Trap logic?" Igor asked, hands on his knees.
Thea scanned them both quickly. "Red door is marked — danger. Blue's calming, almost too inviting. Which one do you think the test wants us to choose?"
Igor nodded. "So we go red."
They burst through the red door just as one of the mirror-creatures lunged behind them. It slammed into the door as it shut, cracking the glass. Thea heard it scream — a sound like grinding tape and white noise.
The new room was pitch black at first, until a single spotlight snapped on above a stage.
A stage.
Yes — a literal theater stage.
Red curtains, gold trim, even rows of empty seats. But the seats weren't empty.
They were filled with mannequins.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds. All dressed like audience members from different eras — '50s housewives, Victorian gentlemen, punk rock teens, 2000s office workers — sitting perfectly still. All facing forward.
Thea and Igor stood at center stage.
From somewhere above, a microphone descended slowly.
Then a voice — mechanized, slightly amused:
"Time for your performance. You have two minutes to explain why you deserve to leave. Only one speaker allowed. Begin."
The timer lit up behind them: 120 seconds. Counting down.
Igor opened his mouth.
"No," Thea said quickly. "They want to break us. Pit us against each other. That's the final test."
"They've been conditioning us for this," Igor murmured. "All the 'only one may leave' messages. This is where most people snap."
They looked at each other.
Neither spoke.
The mannequins began to twitch.
One clapped — slowly.
Another shook its head, disappointed.
"You want a show?" Thea growled. "We'll give you a show."
She grabbed the mic.
"I don't care about passing your test," she snapped into the dark void. "And neither does he. You want us to betray each other? To prove we're 'worthy' by tearing someone else down?"
She stepped closer to the edge of the stage.
"That's not how we work."
The mannequins all turned toward her at once — necks cracking.
The timer froze at 00:43.
Then the theater blinked out.
Gone.
They were standing in an open white room now. No doors. No mirrors. No mannequins. Just one screen on the far wall.
TEST: INVALIDATEDAnomaly Detected.Recalibrating Final Sequence…
Igor exhaled. "That can't be good."
A small cube rose from the floor. It unfolded like origami, revealing two pills: one red, one black.
And one line of text:
This decision cannot be shared.
"Classic," Thea muttered. "The 'pick a pill' trick."
Igor stepped closer. "It doesn't say what either does. Just that we can't decide together."
"What if both are bad?" Thea said.
Igor shrugged. "Then we pick neither."
A mechanical voice interrupted:
"You must choose within 60 seconds, or both will be voided."
They looked at the pills. Then each other.
Then at the screen again.
"No," Thea whispered suddenly. "Look closer."
Igor narrowed his eyes. He leaned toward the base of the cube. Beneath the fold — barely visible — was a third slot.
Empty.
"I think there's supposed to be three pills," he said slowly.
"And someone… removed one."
A screen lit up again. This time, with different text.
"Protocol Override Detected.""Observer Key Activated."
Behind them, a hiss.
A wall opened.
And standing there, tall, lean, and smiling faintly —
Was a woman.
She looked about forty. Lab coat. Glasses. Her face familiar in a strange way — like a face Thea had seen before but never in person.
She nodded at them.
"Hello, subjects," she said softly. "Or should I say… survivors?"
Thea's blood ran cold.
"You've been watching us," Igor said.
"For a long time," the woman replied. "And now… the real test begins."