Part 1: The Warning
The first time I saw Room 9, I wasn’t even supposed to be on that floor. I was a rookie back then, fresh into the Intelligence Directorate with a crisp black badge and wide-eyed enthusiasm. The air in The Tower felt thick, always humming with electricity and hidden tension, like the building itself was holding its breath.
My mentor, Agent Lin, noticed me staring down the hallway that led to Room 9.
“Don’t let your eyes linger,” she warned quietly. “The walls have ears here.”
“What’s in there?” I asked, already knowing I shouldn’t.
She looked me dead in the eye, the usual sharpness in her voice dulled by something closer to fear.
“Nothing you’ll ever need to know. That’s the rule. Don’t ask, don’t look, don’t even think about Room 9. People who do, disappear.”
And so I didn’t.
For three years, I passed that hallway without a glance, like a reflex. My career moved fast. I solved the encrypted Hayworth breach, uncovered two embedded moles, and was promoted to Special Analyst within eighteen months. That earned me Level Seven clearance—rare air that gave me access to sub-basement levels, black labs, red dossiers.
And, technically, to Room 9.
But no one ever used their access to go there.
Because The Silence Protocol wasn’t a suggestion. It was something else—ritual, taboo, curse.
Then came the night of the breach.
An unknown signal disrupted the Tower’s perimeter at exactly 02:07 a.m. Untraceable. Silent. Like a ghost passing through wires. The system auto-sealed the high-risk levels. I was trapped on Level Seven when it happened.
I remember the alert flashing on my wrist monitor: THREAT SIGNAL DETECTED. SECURE ALL PORTALS.
I ran to the control hub, but the override interface was fried. No contact with central command.
And then, something strange—Room 9’s door light turned green.
It shouldn’t have.
No one should’ve been in there. Ever.
I stood before it for a full minute, my heart pounding against the glass of my chest. Something felt wrong—not dangerous, exactly, but like gravity itself had bent around that space.
And then I broke the rule.
My badge touched the panel. The green blinked. The door hissed. And I walked into the forbidden.
Part 2: The Mirror Self
The door sealed behind me with a mechanical sigh, like the room itself had exhaled after holding its breath for decades. I didn’t know what I expected—steel walls, surveillance equipment, maybe a locked vault. But Room 9 looked… ordinary.
It was square, windowless, lit by a cold blue hue from above. A single metal chair sat in the center, bolted to the floor. A full-length mirror faced it on the far wall. That was it.
I stepped forward cautiously. The silence was oppressive—thick like fog. My own breathing echoed unnaturally. It was the kind of silence that made you feel like someone else was holding it open for you.
I approached the mirror. That’s when I saw it.
My reflection didn’t move.
I blinked. It didn’t. I tilted my head slightly. Nothing.
A cold line of sweat ran down my spine.
Then, it smiled.
Not a natural smile. Not mine. It was wide, deliberate, patient. My reflection tilted its head—slowly, almost curiously—and then stood up.
But I hadn’t moved.
I stepped back in panic. The reflection stayed where it was—still smiling, still watching.
Then it spoke.
“Finally.”
My voice. My tone. But I hadn’t said a word.
“What is this?” I whispered.
The figure behind the mirror chuckled. “You broke the rule. That’s what this is.”
I tried to run to the door. No response. I slammed my badge against the panel. The light turned red. Locked.
My voice—its voice—echoed again. “Relax. It doesn’t open once it’s begun.”
“What’s begun?”
“You. Me. The trade.”
My heart thumped like a war drum. “This is a test. Right? A psych eval or simulation?”
“No.” The figure’s face hardened. “This is real. You’ve been living half a life. I’m the other half. The one they locked in here when you were born.”
I wanted to laugh, scream, deny it. But deep inside, something recognized the truth of what I was hearing. A resonance I couldn’t explain.
She walked forward—my doppelgänger, my mirror self. She looked exactly like me, but her movements were sharper, smoother, like someone who had no fear of consequences.
“They created the rule because I was never supposed to leave,” she continued. “But they forgot something. Curiosity is stronger than fear.”
“You expect me to believe you’re me?”
“I don’t expect anything. I’m telling you: I am you. The part with no leash. No guilt. No obedience.” Her eyes gleamed. “And I’ve been waiting for you to break the rule.”
She touched the mirror. And it shimmered like water.
I stepped back. “I won’t let you out.”
“You already did.”
A surge of force pulled at my chest. I stumbled backward, but it was too late. The mirror swallowed her like smoke, and suddenly—I was the one inside.
And she… she was walking away in my body, turning at the door just before it opened.
She smiled. “Time to live your life, better than you ever could.”
Then she was gone.
And I was trapped.
Alone.
Staring at a blank wall.
Part 3: The Fracture
Days passed. Or maybe weeks. Time in Room 9 didn’t behave like it did in the rest of the world. There was no clock, no shift in light. Just silence and a mirror that no longer showed anything at all.
I screamed. Punched the walls. Begged.
Nothing answered.
Until something did.
It began with a flicker. Not in the mirror, but in my mind.
Memories—but not mine.
She—the other me—was living my life. Walking the halls of The Tower. Laughing with my coworkers. Drinking my coffee. Reading my case files. Wearing my face.
And worse… she was better at it.
She was confident where I was cautious. Ruthless where I was careful. She moved through the world like it owed her something—and people loved her for it.
I felt it all like ghosts brushing against my skin. Every time she smiled, every step she took in my body, I felt a piece of myself stretch thinner, like I was fading.
But then, I discovered something.
When she slept—I could think more clearly. Her dreams leaked into my consciousness, and I saw how she got out.
It wasn’t just a switch. It was a ritual—something ancient, forbidden, buried under bureaucracy and lies.
The Tower wasn’t built to contain data or criminals.
It was built to contain us.
I wasn’t the first.
There were others.
Every person who “disappeared” after breaking the rule hadn’t vanished. They were here. Trapped like me. Echoes behind mirrors.
And now, we were awake.
It began small—a flicker in the mirror. A spark. A reflection that wasn’t hers. It was mine again.
She noticed it too.
One morning, while brushing her teeth in front of her bathroom mirror, she froze.
My face was behind her, in the reflection—but smiling.
She recoiled.
I grinned.
Every time she looked into glass, I grew stronger. More present. She started avoiding mirrors. Cameras. Polished surfaces.
But the world is filled with reflections.
She couldn’t run forever.
Then came the fracture.
She was giving a briefing on a high-stakes intel breach. A dozen officers watched her on the projection screen. Confident. Sharp.
Until her reflection on the glossy table turned and stared directly at her.
She stuttered. Lost her words.
Everyone noticed.
“Are you okay, Agent Rye?” they asked.
She nodded quickly. Smiled. But I felt her heart skip.
Good.
She was afraid.
One night, she went back to Room 9. She stood outside, staring at the sealed door, fists clenched.
“You can’t come back,” I said aloud, though she couldn’t hear me. “You broke the seal. You let me in. The trade is done.”
But I underestimated her.
She was me, after all.
She had figured something out.
She had the building evacuated under false pretense of a toxic leak. Triggered a controlled system override. Powered down the grid for exactly seventeen seconds.
And when everything rebooted—the door opened.
But she didn’t come in.
She threw in a device.
Something humming. Vibrating. Old tech—a containment trap.
And I felt my soul tugged, pulled, compressed like a scream in reverse.
The next moment, I wasn’t in Room 9 anymore.
I was in the mirror again.
But not just watching.
I was sealed.
I saw her walk back in. She stood before the mirror, breathing heavily.
“I learned from you,” she said. “You think I didn’t notice how you watched, how you waited for me to get reckless. But I’m not like them. I’m not going to let this happen again.”
She touched the mirror.
“You’ll stay in there this time. Permanently.”
She smiled.
“Thanks for the upgrade.”
That’s where most stories end.
But not this one.
Because she forgot something.
The Tower wasn’t built to trap me.
It was built to multiply me.
And I wasn’t alone in that mirror.
Thousands of eyes blinked open across a sea of glass—agents, analysts, broken selves, fractured identities—locked away just like me.
And when she broke the power grid, we all saw the light.
Room 9 was a gate, not a prison.
Now we’re all awake.
And the reflections?
They’re not following anymore.
They’re stepping out.
⸻
The End
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