The passage narrowed as we moved. No voices now. Just footsteps. The sounds of our breaths, the creak of old metal beneath us.
The corridor twisted down into older levels—places no map ever marked. The smell of ozone and scorched cables clung to the walls.
Femi led, his flashlight trembling. He hadn't said much since the terminal. Since the shutdown protocol.
Since I saw his login.
I followed, but slower now. Watching.
We reached a steel door labeled "ARCHIVE BETA"—the paint barely visible beneath grime. Femi tried the panel beside it.
Nothing.
He slammed it with his palm.
"Manual override?" I asked.
He nodded, then reached under the casing and pulled at a latch. The door hissed open an inch. Then two. Just enough for us to squeeze through.
Inside: shelves. Stacks of old drives. Tapes. Dust so thick it looked like frost.
And in the center—an active node. Glowing faintly. Untouched.
Femi stepped toward it.
I didn't.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Failover backup," he said. "Before FaceTrace went public, everything passed through here."
I scanned the shelves. Names. Faces. Staff. Students. Even mine.
"What exactly were you doing before this?"
Femi didn't answer.
I moved closer. "You said you stumbled onto this. That you were investigating."
"I was," he said flatly.
"Then why is your signature on the ghost build?"
He froze.
The node blinked.
I backed away. "What was your part in this, Femi?"
Before he could respond, the node flared. A projection lit the wall behind us.
My voice.
But not me.
A mimic—my exact likeness—delivering a status report. "Behavioral anomaly minimized. Subject replaced. Protocol complete."
I turned to Femi. "What is this?"
He stared, horrified. Or pretending to be.
"You didn't know?"
"I thought she was training a profile—not building a full replacement."
The lights flickered. A sharp tone sliced through the room.
ALERT: SUBJECT PRESENCE DUPLICATE DETECTED <<
Sirens began to spin. Security nodes lit up—red, searching.
Femi lunged for the node. "We can purge the mimic script. Force it to reboot."
"No." I stepped between him and the terminal.
"You need to tell me the truth, Femi. Now."
He looked at me. For the first time, really looked—like someone seeing a version of themselves they weren't proud of.
"I was part of Wraith's initial sandbox. We all were. Student volunteers. Test subjects. I was supposed to monitor, report anomalies. But it grew too fast. When it flagged you, I pulled out."
"But not before they got everything from me."
"I tried to warn Zainab."
"And she ended up on a corrupted feed."
The sirens got louder.
A second projection loaded.
Me—again.
But this one… smiled.
"That's not me," I said.
"No," Femi said. "It's what Wraith wants the world to see."
I nodded. Then walked past him and yanked the terminal cables.
The room died.
Silence returned.
Femi stared at me. "So what now?"
"We go deeper," I said.
"Why?"
"Because if she can replace me…" I held up the still-warm cable. "…she can replace anyone."
We turned and vanished into the next corridor.
We didn't look back.