Chapter Fifty Two: Mirror
513 Words
Mila’s POV
The glass vibrated under her palm.
Ripples of blue light ran through the tank like lightning in water. The girl inside blinked — once, twice — her movements slow, unsure, like someone learning to breathe for the first time.
Mila stumbled backward, heart slamming in her chest.
This wasn’t a dream. The other her was awake.
The monitors around the room flickered to life — data streaming across every screen: brainwave patterns, vitals, codes repeating the same word over and over —
> LINK ESTABLISHED.
Mila’s temples burned. A sudden, piercing pain sliced through her skull, sharp and cold.
Images flooded her mind — not hers. A white room. A man’s voice saying: “She’ll never remember the first sequence.”
Hands, gloved and shaking. The hum of machines.
And then — silence.
When her eyes refocused, the girl inside the tank was staring straight at her.
Not with confusion. With recognition.
> “Mila…”
The voice wasn’t spoken aloud. It echoed inside her head. Mila gasped, stumbling back again, clutching her head. “No — no, this isn’t real.”
> “We are real,” the voice whispered.
“You were made to forget. I was made to remember.”
The tank lights pulsed faster. The glass hissed — cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. Blue fluid began to leak out, running across the floor in shimmering veins.
Mila turned to run, but froze when the clone spoke again — her tone calm, eerily gentle.
> “Don’t run from me. You’ll need me to survive what’s coming.”
Then the tank burst.
A wave of cold blue fluid crashed against Mila’s legs. The girl fell to her knees among the shards, breathing hard, her eyes glowing faintly. She looked up — and smiled.
It was the same smile Mila had seen in the mirror countless times.
“Who are you?” Mila whispered, voice shaking.
The girl tilted her head. “I’m what they erased from you.”
Mila’s blood ran cold. “You’re saying—”
“I’m your memory,” the girl said softly. “And they’ve been trying to kill me for years.”
Before Mila could respond, the sirens blared louder — now joined by the pounding of boots. Guards stormed down the corridor outside.
The clone’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to Mila. “If they find us together, neither of us lives. Trust me.”
Mila hesitated. Her mind screamed run, but her heart — her instincts — said listen.
“Fine,” she breathed. “Then what do we do?”
The girl stood, glass crunching beneath her bare feet. “We finish what they started.”
She reached out her hand — steady, sure, familiar.
And for the first time, Mila took it.
As soon as their palms met, the lights in the facility dimmed — then surged, systems rebooting, data flashing like static across every surface.
Far below, in a room filled with servers and sealed doors, a single message appeared on-screen:
> PROJECT MNEMOSYNE: REACTIVATION COMPLETE.
- Writer
