She was Me

I used to think mirrors lied.

But now I know — the real lie was me.

...----------------...

The glitch didn’t go away.

If anything, it’s growing louder.

Not in sound, but in silence.

In static that hums behind my eyes when everything else is still.

In how my body remembers things my mind doesn’t.

The weight of a necklace I’ve never worn.

The way my fingers twitch like they once played music.

A habit of folding paper cranes, though I don’t know what they mean.

They erased everything — but not well enough.

...----------------...

We’re taken to Block B today. A different wing of the facility. We don’t ask why.

Replicas aren’t meant to ask questions.

I keep my head down, movements sharp, obedient. But inside, I’m screaming. Not from fear — from friction. From something inside me trying to claw its way out.

We pass another corridor. Its doors are black instead of gray. Marked EX-PRIME. Disposal Units.

My chest tightens. I know what those are.

The failed replicas.

The ones that remembered.

The ones who refused to forget.

I swallow hard. My mouth tastes like metal.

We enter a wide chamber lined with chairs and cables. “Cognitive Sync Simulation Lab,” the sign reads. The Originals call it empathy training. I call it what it is — infiltration. They load memories into us, test how well we imitate the source. The better you sync, the longer you live.

I sit. They strap a neural band to my temple. Cold. Tight. The lights dim.

Then it begins.

A face appears — hers.

Seraphina Rowe.

She’s laughing on a yacht. A real one. Her hair dances in the ocean wind. Her friends — real friends — call her “Sera.”

My name.

I feel nausea twist in my gut. This isn’t training. This is a mockery. They’re making me watch the life I could’ve had — the one I was made to copy, to shield, to replace.

She blinks at the camera. Her lips part. And then, she says something that snaps everything in me.

“They made her for me, you know. My little shadow. So if someone tries to kill me — they kill her instead.”

She smiles.

I scream.

But not out loud. Just in my head. My body stays still, like it’s supposed to. But inside, something explodes.

A thousand broken glass memories.

A crash.

A siren.

Blood on white marble.

Hands dragging me away.

Needles.

Codes.

The lab.

I rip off the neural band. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts. A guard steps forward. I brace myself for the blow.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, I hear a voice. Calm. Curious.

“You glitched.”

I turn. A boy leans against the wall — no uniform, no tag. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, scan my face like he’s seen it before.

He holds up a clipboard. Then flips it shut.

“SR-08. Class B. Stable until now. Strange.”

I narrow my eyes. He’s not a guard. Not a replica either.

He smirks.

“Name’s Jin. Cognitive engineer. Technically.”

I don’t respond.

He walks closer, steps slow and confident, like he’s testing how close he can get before I flinch. I don’t.

Instead, I look at him straight on.

And something in his gaze flickers. Just for a second.

Recognition.

...----------------...

“You remember something, don’t you?” he says quietly.

My pulse spikes. I say nothing.

He crouches to my level. Voice lower now.

“Don’t lie. I’ve seen what they do to the ones who start remembering. You should be dead already.”

I clench my jaw.

He leans closer, his breath warm. “Which means… they missed something.”

Then, softer — almost like regret:

“They always do.”

...----------------...

That night, I lie awake.

The name Seraphina loops in my mind like a wire around my throat. I know her. I was her. No — I am her, stripped down, rewritten, rebooted.

I’m the prototype.

The insurance policy.

The perfect replica.

But they made a mistake. A tiny, irreversible one.

They let me live.

...----------------...

And now, I will remember.

Every stolen piece.

Every hidden truth.

Every reason to destroy her.

Because the only thing more dangerous than a glitch…

…is a glitch that learns how to lie back.

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