MIRROR CAGE – CHAPTER 12: ECHOES OF BLOOD
"The crowd forgets. The cage remembers."
[Morning – Kingsvale Institute, Infirmary Wing]
Elijah woke to the dull hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of antiseptic. A white curtain surrounded his cot, though he could hear the voices of other injured fighters murmuring through the partition.
His ribs ached. A headache throbbed at the base of his skull. Bruises bloomed across his body like ink stains.
He blinked the fog from his eyes. Then, a notification.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Wounds healing: 43%
Neurological fatigue: Mild
Public Interest Rating: +12.2
He exhaled through gritted teeth. The fight with Cain hadn't just earned him recognition—it had painted a target on his back.
A nurse stepped in. She barely looked at him. He was invisible to her. The system didn't affect everyone equally. Not in this body.
[Switch POV – Naomi, Upper Office]
Naomi watched the footage again. Frame by frame. Elijah Cole's movements were precise, yet unrefined. Powerful, but not polished. It didn't make sense.
Not unless there was something else.
She zoomed in. A moment during the second round—Elijah staggered, then shifted like a glitch in motion.
No one else had noticed.
"You're hiding something," she whispered to the screen. "But what?"
A knock at her door interrupted the thought. Her father's assistant entered, pale-faced.
"The Board wants a meeting. They're interested in Cole."
Naomi nodded.
"I figured. Let them come."
[Cafeteria – Later That Day]
Elijah sat at the far end of the cafeteria. His tray untouched. Every time he looked up, students were staring. Some with awe, others with jealousy, more with quiet fear.
He was a ghost with a spotlight on him.
Marco and his crew strutted past, making a show of laughing. One of them bumped his tray. Milk spilled across the table.
Elijah didn't flinch.
"Not so tough now, huh?" Marco sneered.
He waited. Dared Elijah to react.
But Elijah just picked up the cup, set it down, and stared through him.
Marco hesitated.
Then walked away.
Not a win.
Not yet.
Just control.
[Internal Monologue – Elijah, Later That Night]
I can't afford enemies right now. I'm still not strong enough. Not in either body.
He lay on his bed, back flat, watching the cracked ceiling. The world still only recognized his perfect self. The one he didn't earn.
But this pain? The bruises? I earned all of it. That has to mean something.
He switched bodies.
The familiar rush. Then the ache in his bones shifted. His skin smoothed. Muscles tightened.
He stood in the mirror.
Beautiful. Untouchable.
Fake.
[Underground Office – Kingsvale Elite Boardroom]
The room smelled of cigars and money. Ten men and women sat around a curved glass table. Naomi stood at the far end.
A holographic projection of Elijah's fight hovered above the center.
"His metrics are rising," one of the old men said. "But he has no sponsor. No patron."
"That makes him dangerous," another added. "Or useful."
Naomi tapped the table.
"He's more than metrics. He's surviving. Alone. That speaks volumes."
"You think he can be shaped?"
She paused. Then nodded.
"Or weaponized."
[Final Scene – Rooftop, Kingsvale Dorms]
Elijah sat alone beneath the stars. Wind tousled his hair. The lights of the city below flickered like broken constellations.
He held his hands out in front of him.
Still shaking.
I bled in that cage. I bled and they cheered.
He clenched his fists.
This isn't about being liked. It's about never being powerless again.
Behind him, the rooftop door creaked. Footsteps.
He didn't turn.
"I know you're watching me," he said.
Naomi stepped beside him.
"You're not the only one wearing a mask, Elijah."
He looked at her, expression unreadable.
"Then I guess we're both in the cage."