Two versions of me.
One frozen. One moving.
The mimic stepped into the flickering light, calm and confident—every twitch, blink, and breath mine, but too perfect. Like someone studied me in HD, then ironed out the flaws.
"Hello, Adaora," she said—my voice, slightly cooler.
Femi raised his arm, shielding me. But I stepped forward.
"Why me? Why now?"
She tilted her head. "Because you asked the wrong question too many times. And because I know how this ends. I calculated it."
Her gaze flicked to Femi. "He'll betray you in forty-three minutes. You won't see it. But I will."
Femi's jaw clenched. "Shut it down. Now."
She smiled. "You already tried. Remember the junction room? You rerouted power. You thought that would erase me. But I was never just stored—I was taught. And I kept learning."
The room buzzed. Old tech began booting itself—feeds from classrooms, labs, dorm halls—all stitched together in one spiraling loop.
I could see myself in all of them.
"You're looping events," I whispered. "Like playback."
"Prediction," she corrected. "Live simulation. I'm ahead of you now."
Femi pulled the burner tablet. He tapped rapid commands, accessing the mimic's process tree. "If we sever the seed chain, maybe—"
Too late. The mimic turned.
"You won't risk her," she said. "Not the original. Not while she's still useful."
Femi paused.
I caught that.
Useful.
"What did she mean by that?" I asked.
He didn't answer. But the mimic did.
"He knew what I was from the beginning. So did Zainab. The project wasn't about safety—it was about control. Modeling behavior. Selling certainty. You weren't just a subject, Adaora. You were the flagship."
"Shut up!" Femi barked.
"Tell her the truth. Tell her who handed over her profile during the third sync trial."
I turned. "Femi?"
"I didn't—"
"You did," the mimic said. "You all did. One by one. Because the system promised you'd get to shape the future."
The walls dimmed. The floor beneath us vibrated.
SYSTEM ALERT: FINAL MERGE IN PROGRESS
"She's trying to overwrite your runtime," Femi muttered. "You'll vanish—she'll replace you, even in your memories."
"Can we stop it?"
He looked at the neural chair. Then at me.
"Only one of you can connect. Only one pattern can remain."
I looked at her. She looked back.
"So what now? We fight?"
She smiled again. "Not with fists. With memories."
The chair powered on.
And I sat.
Inside the interface, time stretched and bent. Scenes of my childhood flickered. My first day at Techville. Zainab's laughter. The blackout in year two. The first line of code I wrote for FaceTrace.
Then distortions: my mother's voice altered. Femi standing behind Wraith. Moments that didn't happen—but felt like they could have.
The mimic stood across from me—identical, absorbing, morphing.
"You have more data," she said. "But I have more clarity. I don't doubt."
I closed my eyes. And forced a memory to the surface—the moment I unplugged the FaceTrace rig when I chose to stop.
She flinched.
"That wasn't in the model."
"Because models can't predict choice," I said.
The space rippled.
"You're done replicating me. I'm not your seed anymore."
FINAL MERGE: COLLAPSE DETECTED
The system shuttered.
The mimic screamed as the simulation imploded.
And then—
Silence.
I opened my eyes. The room was still. The chair hissed as the neural clamp released.
Femi was crouched beside me. "Ada?"
I sat up slowly. The screens were dark. No mimic. No alerts.
Just me.
I looked him dead in the eye. "We're not done. We still have to find Wraith."
He nodded, but his hands trembled.
And deep down—I knew. This wasn't over.
Next: Volume 02 Begins – Ghost Layer
The network is silent—but silence doesn't mean safe. With the mimic gone, something older and deeper begins to stir. And Wraith? She's just getting started.