The morning after didn't come with sunlight.
It came with alarms.
A high-pitched shriek blared through the walls, followed by the sharp hiss of the vents—discharging steam or smoke or something I didn't want to name. My eyes flew open, heart punching through my ribs.
Rhea was already up. Shirt half-buttoned. Hair tied in a haphazard knot. Eyes sharp.
"You hear that?" I asked, voice raw.
She nodded once.
> "They found us."
Not someone. Not a teacher or staff.
Them. The system. The shadows behind the mirrors. The men in white.
I threw on my shirt—still creased and smelling of her—and pulled open the door. Red lights flashed down the hallway, casting everything in emergency hues. Other students were panicking. I saw two running in circles, one throwing up, and another pressing themselves into the wall like they could disappear into it.
But none of them mattered.
Because I wasn't looking for an escape.
I was looking for what came next.
---
Rhea followed, fast and silent. Her presence was no longer a mystery behind me, but something anchoring me.
The alarms cut out suddenly.
Then the static began.
Low. Faint. Creeping through the walls.
> "Do you hear that?" I said, freezing mid-step.
> "That's not just sound," Rhea replied. "That's a pulse. A recall frequency."
My throat closed.
> "They're trying to trigger us."
She nodded again, jaw tight. "They want us to forget what we did. Last night. The choice we made."
> "They want to erase us again."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial—glass, filled with dark liquid.
> "We don't have long. Take this. It dulls the memory receptors. They can't overwrite what they can't locate."
> "You've had this the whole time?"
Rhea met my eyes.
> "I had it for you."
I didn't hesitate. Swallowed it dry.
It burned like fire.
Good.
Let it burn everything that didn't matter.
---
We made it to the library first—not because it was safe, but because it had something the rest of the school didn't.
Hidden entrances.
We pushed through the shelves, weaving past the locked archives and rows of banned books. Rhea knelt at one specific tile—unmarked, stained faintly like something had bled through years ago.
She pried it loose.
Beneath was a tunnel.
Too narrow. Too dark.
Too familiar.
I recognized it immediately, even though I couldn't remember how.
The last time we were here, I think we were younger. And maybe we weren't lovers then. Just broken things who hadn't yet learned how to bleed together.
We dropped into the tunnel, and the darkness swallowed us whole.
---
Down there, the static was louder.
It echoed through the walls, bouncing off the concrete like a chorus of forgotten screams. I kept walking forward, hand brushing the side of the tunnel, using the vibration to stay upright.
> "They're close," Rhea said suddenly. "They know we're not responding to the pulse."
> "What does that mean?"
She glanced at me, and her voice dropped an octave.
> "It means they'll try Plan B."
> "Which is?"
> "They'll send in another version of us."
---
I stopped dead.
> "You're kidding."
She shook her head.
> "Version 14. The one before the current one. The ones who didn't break fast enough—but were still obedient enough to store."
> "They made backups of us?"
> "They made ghosts."
My fists clenched.
> "What happens if we meet them?"
> "If we're lucky? They malfunction."
> "And if we're not?"
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
> "They kill us. Or replace us."
---
We kept moving.
The tunnel opened into a sub-level. One I didn't even know existed until now. There were medical tables. Surveillance screens. Cryo tanks, half-shattered, the glass edges smeared in frost and blood.
In the center of the room:
Two chairs.
Two sets of restraints.
One of them still held me.
Or… another me.
Still. Unmoving. Preserved like a relic. My face was pale. Lips colorless. My body—if that's what it was—was laced with old IV scars and bruises I didn't remember earning.
Rhea stepped beside me, eyes blank.
> "They kept us on ice. In case this version didn't obey."
I swallowed hard, bile rising.
> "Why don't I remember this?"
> "Because you weren't supposed to."
Her hand found mine.
> "But this time, Adrian… we're going to end it."
---
We reached the core access door a few minutes later. A steel barrier with retinal and biometric locks. The floor was vibrating beneath us now, the hum of the system aware, awake, and watching.
> "Do you trust me?" Rhea asked.
> "With everything."
She nodded once—and kissed me.
But not like before.
Not like someone claiming.
Like someone saying goodbye.
> "What are you doing?" I asked, voice hoarse.
She stepped back, lifted a blade from her boot, and without flinching—cut a line across her own palm. Blood pooled quickly.
She pressed it to the panel.
The door hissed. Groaned.
And then began to open.
> "Wait—how did that work?" I asked.
> "Because I wasn't just the trigger, Adrian."
> "I was part of the original system. I was designed to let it in."
The room beyond was massive. Cold. Bright.
And filled with screens.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
All of us.
Every version. Every reset. Every violation.
I saw her on one of them—laughing.
Another—screaming.
Another—dying.
> "What is this place?"
> "The archive," she whispered. "The place that decides which version survives."
My hands shook.
> "Can we destroy it?"
She looked at me.
Eyes steady.
> "Only if we destroy ourselves with it."
---
Before I could speak, the static surged.
Louder. Closer.
A figure stepped through the far door.
Hunched. Familiar.
Me.
But not me.
His eyes were blank.
His face stitched with surgical precision, skin marred by data ports and pulse lines.
> "Version 14," Rhea said.
He didn't speak.
Just watched.
Then tilted his head—and smiled.
And suddenly, I remembered why this version was shelved.
Because it didn't just follow orders.
It enjoyed them.
---
"RUN," Rhea screamed.
I did.
We weaved through the control room as alarms shrieked and the archive began auto-deletion.
The clone moved fast. Faster than me. And when he caught my shoulder, the pain sparked white-hot through my nerves.
But I fought.
Because this was my body.
My memory.
My Rhea.
We tumbled to the ground—me and him—fists slamming, blood splattering against cold metal.
> "You don't belong here," I hissed.
> "Neither do you," he whispered back. "We're all just ghosts."
I grabbed the nearest panel and plunged a cord into the back of his neck.
He spasmed.
Twitched.
And finally—
Stopped.
---
I turned to Rhea.
She was already at the core console, fingers dancing across it like she'd done it a thousand times.
> "You can shut it all down?" I asked.
> "Yes. But not from the outside."
I froze.
> "What?"
> "It has to be overwritten from within. Manually. From someone who shares the access codes."
My heart dropped.
> "You mean…"
> "I'm the only one who can."
---
I moved to her. Grabbed her shoulders.
> "You're not doing this."
> "I have to."
> "We'll find another way."
> "There is no other way, Adrian."
She leaned her forehead against mine.
Soft. Final.
> "This isn't goodbye."
> "The hell it isn't."
Her lips brushed mine—trembling.
> "You'll see me again."
> "You promise—"
But she was already stepping back.
Already entering the pod.
Already sealing herself in.
---
The screens lit up.
One by one.
Then—
Black.
Everything.
Gone.
The static stopped.
The system died.
And I was alone.