Chapter 2: The First Fall
The mango's black core pulsed once — and the world exhaled.
The asphalt rippled under Leila's sneakers like liquid glass. Her first instinct was to drop the fruit, but her fingers wouldn't obey. It felt magnetized to her palm, its heartbeat syncing with hers.
Above, the mirror sky convulsed. One of the other Leilas — the one with a bleeding temple and cracked glasses — jerked forward as if yanked by invisible wire. Her scream fractured into a thousand digital echoes.
Then she fell.
No one below moved to catch her. Not because they didn't want to — but because time broke. The wind hung still. A boy mid-shout hovered in place, sound trapped in his open mouth. Birds above froze mid-wingbeat, like origami cranes waiting for the next fold.
Only Leila and the mango moved.
The falling girl hit the ground without a sound. Her body didn't splatter or crumble. It shimmered — pixelated — and bled into reality like watercolor on wet paper. For a split second, their two shadows merged into one.
Leila staggered back. The air around the corpse warped like heat above desert sand, and the mirrored city flickered. The other Leilas stared down at her — no longer distant reflections but observers behind glass. One raised her hand and traced a circle in the air.
The mango responded.
A thin seam split open in the world just a meter in front of Leila. It wasn't a door. It was a crease, as if reality were nothing more than a map ready to be folded. Warm wind blew through, carrying the smell of ozone and wet concrete.
Then the corpse twitched. Its fingers curled.
"Nope," Leila hissed, stumbling back into a parked delivery drone.
The twitch became a shudder. Then the dead girl sat up, eyes black and starless. She opened her mouth, and a distorted voice crawled out — not sound, but vibration.