The Mirror That Lied

The capsule hotel was silent, save for the hum of her burner phone charging beside the bed. Rei sat cross-legged on the mattress, jacket off, phantom card resting on her knee like a coin waiting to be flipped.

She stared at the message again:

> “Node-12 breach in 6 hours. Overwrite required. Target: Echo-Rei.”

She didn’t know what overwriting herself meant. Not really. But she knew what happened if she didn’t act. The Lattice would rewrite her into a ghost — a version of herself built from fragments, simulations, and surveillance. A puppet with her face.

She couldn’t let that happen.

---

03:12 – Shinjuku Underground

The entrance to Node-12 was buried beneath a ramen shop that hadn’t served food in years. Rei slipped through a side door, down a staircase lit only by flickering red bulbs. The walls were lined with old posters — anime characters, missing persons, encrypted QR codes.

At the bottom, a terminal waited. No guards. No passwords. Just a single prompt:

> “ENTER.”

Rei placed her palm on the scanner. The world blinked.

---

The Node

She woke up in a train car. Empty. Moving. The windows showed nothing but static.

Her clothes were different again — this time, a white hoodie with a red barcode across the chest. Her boots were gone. Her phantom card was missing.

Across from her sat Echo-Rei.

Same face. Same eyes. But colder. Sharper. Like someone had sanded down the softness and left only the blade.

“You’re late,” Echo-Rei said.

“I wasn’t invited,” Rei replied.

Echo-Rei smirked. “You were built. Not born. You think you’re real because you bleed. But I remember everything you’ve forgotten.”

Rei leaned forward. “Then tell me. What did I forget?”

Echo-Rei tapped the window. The static cleared for a moment, revealing a rooftop. Riku sat there, sketching. Alone.

“You left him behind,” Echo-Rei whispered. “Every time you chose the mission over the moment. Every time you said nothing when he waited for words.”

Rei’s throat tightened. “That’s not forgetting. That’s surviving.”

Echo-Rei stood. “Survival is selfish. You became a phantom to erase your guilt. But I’m the version that remembers.”

The train screeched to a halt. The doors opened.

Outside — a mirror maze. Infinite reflections. Each one showing Rei in a different moment: crying, fighting, laughing, bleeding.

Echo-Rei stepped out. “Overwrite me, and you overwrite your truth.”

Rei followed.

---

The Maze

She moved slowly, watching the mirrors flicker. One showed her first mission — a rooftop in Osaka, blood on her hands. Another showed Riku, asleep beside her, headphones still playing.

Echo-Rei walked ahead, untouched by the memories.

“You think overwriting me will save you,” she said. “But you’re not here to erase. You’re here to choose.”

Rei stopped. “Choose what?”

Echo-Rei turned. “Which version of you survives.”

Suddenly, the mirrors shattered. The maze dissolved. They stood in a void — black, endless, pulsing with red veins of data.

A console appeared. Two buttons.

> [RETAIN]

> [REWRITE]

Echo-Rei pointed. “Press RETAIN, and I become you. The Lattice accepts me as the real Rei. You vanish.”

Rei stared. “And REWRITE?”

“You overwrite me. But you lose the memories I hold. Riku. Osaka. The rooftop. The sketch.”

Rei’s hand hovered.

She thought of Riku’s drawing — her reflection missing.

She thought of the vending machine that whispered his name.

She thought of the rooftop, the coffee, the silence.

Then she pressed REWRITE.

---

Back in Reality

She gasped, ripping off the headset. Her hands were trembling. Namie stood nearby, watching.

“You did it,” she said.

Rei nodded slowly. “I chose myself.”

Namie handed her a mirror. “Then look.”

Rei stared at her reflection. Same face. Same eyes. But something was missing.

She couldn’t remember the sketch.

She couldn’t remember the vending machine whisper.

She couldn’t remember the taste of peach soda.

Namie touched her shoulder. “You’re clean now. The Lattice can’t trace you.”

Rei nodded. But her chest felt hollow.

---

Rooftop – 05:47

Riku was there. As always. Sketchbook open. Coffee in hand.

Rei climbed over the railing, sat beside him.

He looked at her. “You okay?”

She hesitated. “I think I lost something.”

He handed her a drawing. It was her — standing in front of a mirror, but this time, her reflection was smiling.

“I drew this last night,” he said. “Didn’t know why.”

Rei stared at it. Her throat tightened.

“I don’t remember the sketch,” she whispered.

Riku smiled. “Then I’ll remind you. Every day.”

She folded the drawing, tucked it into her jacket.

And for the first time in hours, she felt real.

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