Chapter Thirteen – The Clean Room
The hallway beyond the memory chamber was too white.
White like sterilization.
White like erasure.
The lights didn't hum. The air didn't move. Even Rhea's footsteps were silent behind me—like this place swallowed sound the same way it had once swallowed us.
At the end of the corridor was a clean room.
I knew it was the end because the moment we reached it, my vision blurred—like the space itself didn't want to be seen.
Or remembered.
The door opened without us touching it.
Inside, there were no windows.
Only mirrors.
And in the center:
A black chair.
Strapped down. Wired up.
And a body in it.
No.
Not a body.
A replica.
Of me.
Same face. Same jaw. Same old scar from football last year.
But the eyes were open.
And they weren't mine.
> "Prototype AV-09," Rhea said. Her voice was hollow. "The one that came before you."
I shook my head slowly.
"But I am AV-09."
"No," she said. "You're AV-09-B."
I staggered back.
My chest went tight.
"You're saying…" I could barely form the words. "There was another me."
"There still is. That's him." She pointed at the body in the chair. "The original. They kept him sedated. Broken. A template."
The figure's eyes blinked.
Just once.
And it smiled.
My smile.
The kind I made when I lied and got away with it.
The kind I hadn't seen since I was twelve.
> "They erased you," Rhea said softly. "But not him. They kept all the parts of you they liked. Then they made another you. A 'cleaner' version."
My legs gave out.
I dropped to my knees in front of the glass.
"You mean I'm… what? A copy?"
She didn't flinch.
"You're the memory of him," she said. "But they wiped your violence. Your instinct. Your capacity to disobey."
Behind the glass, the prototype began to twitch.
Violently.
Straps creaked.
"You were their experiment in obedience," Rhea went on. "But it didn't hold. You kept drawing the symbol. Kept asking the wrong questions. Loving the wrong girl."
I stared at her.
"You?"
She smiled faintly. "You always chose me. In every version. That's what scared them."
The figure in the chair snapped one strap free.
Then another.
Then it stood.
"I think he's waking up," I whispered.
Rhea didn't look away.
"Because you are."
The lights flickered.
Then went black.
And in the darkness, the glass between us and the prototype hissed and slid open.
> "Rhea," I breathed. "What the hell did you bring me here for?"
She didn't answer.
Not with words.
She took my hand.
Pressed something cold into it.
A blade.
Not a weapon.
A key.
> "Because you need to decide who you are," she said. "The version they made… or the one who broke free."
Footsteps echoed.
Not hers.
Mine.
But wrong.
He was walking toward me.
Smiling like a shadow of my own face.
And I realized—
This wasn't about escape anymore.
This was a reckoning.
One of us wasn't leaving this room.
He stepped out of the clean room like he'd never been strapped down.
Like I had never replaced him.
Same eyes. Same body.
But not me.
Because the way he moved—
It was wrong.
He walked like someone who remembered what power felt like.
What pain did.
And how to return it.
> "Do you know what they took from me?" he said. His voice was low. Almost amused.
I didn't answer.
Because I knew the answer.
> "They didn't erase my violence," he went on. "They refined it. Bottled it. Used it. Until I stopped being a person and started being a tool."
Rhea stood beside me, silent.
She wasn't moving. Wasn't blinking.
Like she was waiting for the moment everything would come undone.
> "Then you," the prototype said, smiling. "You got the pretty life. The school. The family. The fake memories. You even got her."
His eyes flicked to Rhea.
And I felt it.
That shift in the air.
The burn of something old.
Jealousy. Hunger. Possession.
Obsession.
> "She was mine first," he hissed.
"No," Rhea said coldly, for the first time since we'd entered the chamber. "You tried to own me. That's not the same."
He laughed.
The sound was too close to mine.
And then—without warning—he lunged.
I moved without thinking.
Steel met steel.
I hadn't even realized I'd raised the blade she gave me.
But he didn't slow. He slammed into me, teeth bared, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
"Everything you are is a copy of me," he snarled. "You don't get to live while I rot in the dark."
"I'm not you," I gritted, shoving him back.
But his smile sharpened.
"You were always me," he whispered. "Just quieter."
We crashed into the mirrors.
Glass spiderwebbed. Reflections fractured.
I saw myself in every angle—bleeding, shaking, furious.
Not at him.
At the truth.
> What if he's right? What if I'm just the prettier lie?
Rhea screamed my name.
But I wasn't listening.
I couldn't.
Because he knew every move I would make.
He was me.
Until I did the one thing he never expected.
I dropped the blade.
He froze.
I stepped back.
Bared my chest.
And said, "Then kill me. If you really want to take it all back—do it."
He blinked.
Just once.
And in that second, I saw it—
Fear.
Not of me.
Of choice.
Because he'd only ever been used. Told who to hate. Who to hurt. What to be.
And I—
I was choosing not to be him.
He lunged again—but this time, Rhea moved first.
There was a hiss.
And then—
A syringe slammed into his neck.
His body jerked.
He collapsed, twitching.
Eyes wide.
Still awake.
But paralyzed.
Rhea's voice was quiet. Broken.
> "They told me I'd never be able to choose either," she said. "But I chose you. The one who fought the violence. Not drowned in it."
I fell to my knees beside her, shaking.
"I could've been him," I whispered.
She nodded. "You were. Until you weren't."
Silence settled around us like ash.
The prototype didn't speak again.
His eyes followed us as we walked to the door.
And just before we left, Rhea turned back.
> "He was your mirror," she said. "But I was your lock."
She reached into her sleeve.
Dropped something behind her.
A match.
The room lit with fire.