"Early?"
Arwa's voice cracked as she echoed the word.
Her own voice didn't sound right—like it belonged to someone else, recorded and played back half a second late.
She stepped away from the wall, scanning the darkness.
"Who's there?"
No answer. But something shifted.
A subtle hiss in the air, like breath passing through a cracked vent. The cold in the room sharpened. Her skin prickled.
The corner that had been shadowed a moment ago was… darker now. Heavier. A presence.she felt it. Watching.
Waiting.
The screen flashed again.
SUBJECT: ARWA NASIR
OBSERVED INSTABILITY: 19.4%
DUPLICATION STATUS: INCONCLUSIVE
LOCK CONDITION: ENGAGED
Her mouth went dry.
Duplication?
A light strip along the ceiling flickered on. White, sterile.
It illuminated the center of the room—and something she hadn't noticed before.
A second chair.
Facing hers.
She hadn't seen it earlier. It hadn't been there. She was sure of it.
Now, it sat perfectly in the center. Waiting.
No restraints. No monitor. Just a thin silver band across the back with a single engraved word:
ORIGINAL
Behind her, the door made a soft whirring sound.
Not unlocking.
Sealing.
A new voice came through the speaker this time.
Female. Crisp. Clinical.
"Subject 19. You are experiencing overlap. This is a temporary condition."
Arwa backed toward the chair, eyes locked on the speaker embedded in the ceiling.
"Overlap of what?"
"Cognitive identity threads are misaligned. Standard protocol: dualization check."
"What does that mean?" Her voice was shaking now. "What the hell are you checking for?"
Silence.
Then, soft footsteps.
She spun again, heart hammering.
But the door was still closed. And there was no one there.
Yet the sound continued—coming closer.
Each step matched hers.
Mimicked her breath.
Matched her posture.
Then—
A whisper, just behind her right ear.
"Sit."
Her knees buckled.
She stumbled forward and grabbed the original chair to stay upright.
Her hands trembled as they touched the cool metal.
A part of her—deep down—wanted to obey. Just sit. Let it happen. Let whatever this was end.
But another part screamed to move.
To run.
She stood motionless, caught between both instincts, until the screen lit up again.
And this time…
It showed two versions of her.
One, sitting.
One, standing.
Side by side.
Both blinking.
Only one breathing.
Her pulse slammed in her chest.
The one that wasn't breathing turned its head… slowly… and looked straight at her.
Then it smiled.