Chapter 8: The Man in the Mirror

There is no mirror in this room.

Not really.

The TV screen is the closest thing I have—a black surface, smudged with fingerprints from the thousand times I’ve pressed my hands against it. For months, maybe years, it only reflected fragments: my cheekbone under the fluorescent glare, the shadow of my jaw, a pair of eyes that weren’t quite mine anymore.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, the reflection spoke.

“You’re looking worse,” it said, with my voice, only smoother. Colder.

I didn’t move at first. Thought maybe it was the static whispering again. But the lips moved when mine didn’t. A split-second lag, like a poorly dubbed film.

“You’re cracking,” it told me. “You’re becoming what they want.”

I stared. “And what’s that?”

“A weapon. Or a ghost. Maybe both.”

I laughed, because what else could I do? But it didn’t laugh back.

---

I stopped laughing after the third conversation.

Because now the mirror—my double—asks questions I don’t want answered.

“Do you even remember what you did, Rei?” it said today, tone almost gentle. “The knife in your hand. The red spray on Yukari’s face. The way Aiko screamed.”

“Lies,” I muttered.

“Are they?” The reflection tilted its head like a predator curious about its prey. “You’re a detective. Facts matter. Evidence matters. But tell me, what’s the difference between a memory and a planted thought, when both make you cry?”

I gripped the shard of metal I keep near the bed. My only anchor. My only proof that something in this room is real.

The reflection smiled.

“That won’t work on me.”

---

Hours later, I tried to test the hallucination. Blink fast. Turn away. Count to ten. Stare again. Same thing: the reflection stayed, eyes sharper, grin wider. A better version of me—stronger, confident, unbroken. The kind of man who would carve his way through a hundred captors without blinking.

And maybe that’s why I started listening.

Because what it says… makes sense.

---

“Simulation,” it whispered today, as the static rolled across the screen like a storm. “That’s what this is. Not revenge. Not punishment. Training.”

“For what?” I asked before I could stop myself.

The grin widened.

“Survival. The world outside isn’t the one you remember, Rei.”

---

I wanted to smash the screen then. Wanted to end the voice. But the reflection leaned closer, lips almost touching glass.

“The real question isn’t who did this to you…” it murmured, and my skin crawled because I could feel its breath even though that’s impossible, “…but why you let them.”

I froze.

Because for the first time, I didn’t have an answer.

---

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Not because of fear, but because of the growing certainty that the voice was right.

Not punishment. Not revenge.

A preparation.

And if that’s true… what the hell is waiting for me on the other side of this door?

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