The reflection moved first. Isla stood frozen, watching her doppelgänger tilt its head, the stitched mouth twitching with something like hunger. It raised one hand and pressed it to the inside of the mirror, palm-to-palm with hers.
Her real hand was trembling. Then without warning, the reflection's head slammed forward. Crack, a jagged spiderweb fractured the glass. Blood seeped through from the other side, trickling down the mirror in slow red veins. But her reflection didn't stop. It kept pushing.
Crack.
Isla stumbled backward, heart racing. Behind her, the hallway stretched endlessly in both directions.
"Don't let it out."
The whisper wasn't from the speaker this time. It came from behind her soft, male, out of breath.
She turned quickly.
A man stood there, about thirty, barefoot, wild-eyed. His white jumpsuit was stained red at the cuffs. In one hand, he held a rusted metal pipe; in the other, a flashlight flickering like a dying star.
"Back away from the glass," he said. "It wants to switch."
"Switch?" Isla asked, her voice shaking. The mirror cracked again. A single stitch in the reflection's mouth began to unravel.
"No time. Come on"
The man grabbed her arm, pulling her down a side corridor she hadn't noticed before, low ceiling, buzzing lights overhead. The floor sloped downward. They ran. As they did, Isla asked, "What is this place?" The man didn't answer. Instead, he held up his flashlight to a metal door at the bottom of the hall. On it, scratched in deep grooves, were five words:
STAY AWAKE OR STAY HERE.
He punched in a code on a keypad. The door hissed and opened. They slipped inside.
SLAM.
Darkness swallowed them until the room's emergency lights flickered on, dim red and purple strobes. Isla gasped for air. The walls here were padded, the corners rounded. No visible exit.
"Safe room," the man muttered. "For now." He turned to her, eyes scanning her face. "What do you remember?"
"Nothing. Just waking up. The clock. The voices. My reflection"
"Yeah," he said bitterly. "It's always the reflection first." She studied him. "Who are you?" He hesitated, then: "Name's Mason. I've been awake for... three days, I think. Hard to tell. Time plays tricks down here."
"Down where?" He looked at her, something dark flickering in his expression. "This place is a memory trap. A test. Or a punishment. I don't know. But if you listen to the voices too long, if you fall asleep... you forget who you are. Or worse—something else remembers for you." Isla swallowed. "What happens when the clock runs out?" Mason looked down at the countdown etched into his wrist.
00:53:17. Then up at hers. The numbers were identical. "Then we find out how many of us are left."