A Face of My Own

I leave the greenhouse and re-enter that long hallway. There's still no one here. With that beautiful field of plants behind me, I've returned to the dull gray world I've always known. But instead of awakening from a dream, it feels like a cloud that lifted has now returned.

This place seems to stretch on and on. The concrete gives off a natural chill, making me shiver in soul rather than body. After the the first door lead me to such a strange place, I hasten to check more doors. The metal plates next to them are all named things like A-12 and BR-3. I have no idea what any of it means, leaving me no choice but to open them and see.

Immediately next to the greenhouse is a storage room, filled with shovels and other tools. I suppose that makes sense. There's no time to waste, but I quickly scan the shelves in case there's anything I can use. Hammers, pliers, and rows of chemicals in bottles I have no idea the use for. They're probably toxic to humans, but without knowing the specifics I can't do anything with them, so I leave them where they are. The only thing that looks to be of some use is a pair of wire cutters. I grab them and leave this place behind me.

The next room after that looks to be a communications room of some sort. The door only opens a crack before I see more of those people in black masks. Like those in the greenhouse, they seem to not care even if they notice me. Radios line up from left to right across the room, blinking with different colored lights. I can't hear anything coming through; it must all be suppressed under headphones.

I close that door as well. There's nothing to do if the people there won't talk to me. I need to find an archive room or something.

Room after room goes by. Office, bathroom, some sort of armory where everything is locked down tight. Some doors themselves are locked, too, even with the key I took from the delivery man I killed. After a while, the hallway starts to shift and makes several turns. I've gone down a few different branches. With no way of knowing where to go, I just pick a random direction each time. As time goes by I'm just swirling down a maze.

At some point I should run into a delivery man in a mirrored mask or at least some stairs, right? This can't go on forever. I'm getting thirsty again, and the corners of the hall are blurring in my vision.

Step, step, step, step. There's no sound other than my increasingly frantic footsteps and my slamming of the doors. It echoes off the halls back into my ears, taunting me like a jeering crowd. There's too many doors. I stop checking them all. This hallway is so long it has to be made to drive me insane. I just want to find the end.

And then, after I've gotten to the point where my legs are close to buckling underneath me, I see it.

A final door, at the very end of the hallway. It's not the only end, as I'd need to go back to all the turns I didn't take, but it is an end. It's proof I'm still alive and haven't sunken to the bottom of the sea.

I tear open the door and step inside, letting it shut behind me.

Darkness. That's all I see. Wait, no, there's light. There's so much light it's blinding me into only seeing darkness.

I blink, and the world comes into focus.

It's another hallway, but not one of concrete. Shimmering silver lines every wall. Every inch, every corner and sliver of space in the room, it's all covered in mirrored masks. They hang from the wall like trophy kills I've read about in books. I take a step, and so does my reflection. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of myself surround me on all sides. And since I'm wearing a mirror, all that shows is infinite infinities, silver upon silver going on forever.

Walking forward, I take off my mask and see a man with dark hair. I turn. No, it's a man with brown hair. Red. Blond. Gray. It all collides with each other. Every reflection, the shape and color of my eyes are different. But every single one is staring at me.

I turn to move, they all move to look at me. I open my mouth, and so does the silver crowd.

An orchestra. I've read about those in books too. Dozens of different instruments playing together in unison. This is an orchestra of sight, all different yet making the same expression. It makes me feel sick. The silence is too loud. There's no noise but I hear them screaming.

Why.

Who is this.

WHO IS THIS.

A door opens.

There's footsteps behind me. I turn around, and there's a delivery man standing there, the first one I've seen in ages. There's no comfort in that feeling. But at least it's familiar.

He's too far away for me to see my reflection in his mask, but I don't let him get closer. I can no longer think. Stay away!

I dash down the hall of mirrors, seeing every me run beside me. Every version of myself is running, twisting and turning down this long hall. The hall is so long, even longer than I could have imagined. No matter how much I run, I don't see an end. It's the other hallway all over again, but far far worse. I wish I was back in that gray hallway. I wish I could no longer see myself in the mirror.

Why… WHY!

My legs fail and I slam forward hard against the ground, skidding on the smooth surface. I turn around from my position on the floor and brandish my wire cutters.

The delivery man is right there above me. I stab at him and manage to gouge a deep cut into his leg. But it's useless. My body is too weak. He bends down and grabs the wire cutters, then throws them far away behind us.

Of course. What good is there at even trying.

Click.

The delivery man has unclasped his helmet and is taking it off.

I see his face.

Ah…

Ahhhhhhhhh…

I'm so far below the depths of the sea I can't tell which direction is up. Everywhere I look it's dark, the fading light of stars or life compressing me. I long to see a shark, or squid, or anything of the sort. I long to be eaten, to be ripped to shreds and freed from this endless ocean.

I wish the bear had killed me.

I wish the gray man in my cell had swallowed me whole.

Before me is a man with blond hair, dark eyes, round nose, and thin jaw.

"A shame," he says. But my brain doesn't process the words. Information is meaningless and scrambles inside of me."I would have thought you'd last longer. But enough from you, now."

Myself is no longer myself. My voice is no longer. My muscles aren't my own.

The man puts his mask back on, and I can see my reflection in his mirror.

I see no hair. No eyes. No nose. No mouth. A pale, blank void.

Oh, that's right, I think as I see him raise his baton over his head. At the final moment of my life, I remember now.

I never had a face to begin with.

Smack!