She didn't move.
Couldn't.
The screen in front of her showed another Naya, walking barefoot through a sunlit hallway, humming. Her skin glowed, unscarred. Her eyes—wide and soft—held none of the darkness clawing at the real Naya's insides.
She looked whole.
And she was laughing.
Laughing.
Naya stared, frozen in her crouch, her hands trembling over the shattered tape on the floor.
This isn't real. It can't be.
It's a trick. A simulation. Another manipulation.
But the video kept rolling. It didn't pause like the others. It wasn't a loop.
The girl raised a glass of orange juice, took a sip, and spoke to someone offscreen.
"Kael," she said.
Naya's heart stopped.
She whispered his name like he was her lover. Her savior.
Naya stumbled back, knocking over a metal stool. It hit the ground with a crash that echoed off the sterile walls.
Everything in her screamed that this had gone too far.
Too deep.
Too broken.
⸻
"She's better, isn't she?"
Kael's voice slid through the room like oil.
"She doesn't scream in her sleep. She doesn't fight. She doesn't break things. She trusts me."
The air thickened, pressing down on Naya's chest.
"You made her," she spat. "You made her."
"I perfected her."
There was no static now. His voice was clear, close.
"You wanted to be free. So I gave her the life you couldn't handle."
⸻
Naya rose, fists clenched. "Where is she? Where's that version of me?"
The screen zoomed out, revealing a wide open room. Windows. Trees outside. A life.
Real or fake, she didn't care.
"I want the truth," Naya growled.
"Do you?" Kael asked. "Because the truth is crueler than the lie."
The screen split into two. One side showed the other Naya—the one smiling. The other showed Naya herself, recorded now in real-time from above. Alone. Cold. Filthy. Face streaked with dried tears.
"You were broken," Kael continued. "And I can't fix what doesn't want to be healed."
"So I made a version of you that could be saved."
Naya stared at the two versions of herself.
One free.
One forgotten.
Something inside her snapped.
"You killed me," she whispered.
⸻
She stormed out of the surveillance room, her boots slamming against the tile. The hallway twisted into a sharp turn, red lights flickering above her. The deeper she went, the colder the air grew.
New voices emerged from the walls—softer ones. Not Kael.
Whispers.
"You asked for this…"
"You were the first. The original."
"Prototype."
Her steps faltered.
Prototype?
She reached a final door. Unlike the others, this one wasn't metal. It was wooden. Carved with something that made her stomach turn — her own initials.
N.D.
Naya Dane.
She hesitated, heart hammering.
She turned the knob.
⸻
The room inside looked like a bedroom.
A child's.
Soft pink curtains. A cracked dollhouse. Drawings taped to the wall. But everything was coated in dust. Forgotten. Left behind.
She stepped in slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the twin bed.
The sheets still held the faint imprint of someone who had once slept there.
On the wall, one drawing stood out. A crude pencil sketch of two girls holding hands.
One had "ME" scrawled above her head.
The other: "HER."
Underneath, in shaky handwriting:
"If she dies, I die too."
Naya's breath caught.
She remembered.
She drew that.
When she was still… herself.
⸻
A scream ripped through the hallway behind her.
Naya turned sharply, running back the way she came. The hall was darker now, walls pulsing with a low red glow.
She followed the sound down a new path — one she didn't remember walking through.
The hallway ended in a glass wall.
On the other side — her.
Not the free version.
The other one.
Tied to a table. Needles in her arms. A mask over her face.
Another Naya.
Struggling.
Bleeding.
And standing over her—
Kael.
Not through speakers. Not in a recording.
Him. In the flesh.
He turned slowly, as if he had known she would come.
He smiled.
"You made it."
⸻
Naya's knees nearly gave out.
"What is this?" she choked.
"The experiment," Kael said. "The part you forgot."
He stepped aside, revealing a wall of files.
Footage. Charts. Brain scans.
"We tried to remove trauma. Fear. Guilt. To leave only obedience."
"But you…" he smiled wider, "You were different."
He pointed to the strapped-down version of her.
"She's the original."
Naya's blood ran cold.
"What are you saying?"
Kael took a step closer to the glass.
"You're the clone."
⸻
Silence.
A void.
The floor seemed to disappear beneath her.
"You were created when the original couldn't handle the tests anymore. We tried to erase the memories, but fragments stayed."
"Your nightmares? Her memories. The voice in your head? Hers."
Naya stumbled back.
"No."
Kael nodded.
"Yes. You weren't supposed to wake up. But you did. Curiosity… rebellion… all echoes of the original's pain."
He pressed a button on a nearby console.
The girl on the table screamed.
And on the screen beside him, the happy Naya flickered and vanished.
Deleted.
Like she was never real.
⸻
"I want the truth," Naya gasped. "All of it."
Kael nodded slowly.
"You'll have it. But only if you make a choice."
The glass door hissed and slid open.
Inside the room stood two switches.
One red. One white.
Kael pointed.
"One saves her," he said, gesturing to the girl on the table. "But deletes you."
He pointed to the white one.
"One lets you live, and she dies."
The lights flickered.
"You can't both exist," Kael whispered. "You were never meant to."
⸻
Naya stood at the threshold.
Two choices.
Two versions of herself.
Only one could survive.
And time was running out.