The creak of the door finished shattering the silence.
Mayu stepped in first, her gaze sharp, every sense on high alert. The room was narrow, lit by a harsh overhead light that flickered intermittently. The walls were lined with shards of broken mirrors, reflecting their forms in a thousand jagged fragments—a remnant of what this facility must once have been before it descended into chaos.
Seth and Lia followed, weapons raised, their boots barely stirring the dusty floor.
And then they saw it.
At the far end of the room knelt a figure. Not a corpse, but a person, motionless, back turned to them.
Mayu instinctively raised her hand to signal them to stop. Her heart pounded, a heavy, muffled drum.
Something was wrong.
The floor around the figure was stained with dried blood, yet there was no breath, no movement to animate it—only that oppressive stillness you feel just before a storm breaks.
She took a step. Then another.
And the figure rose sharply.
With a single motion it pivoted, revealing a smooth, featureless mask—black and polished, without eyes or mouth. A mask as neutral as it was terrifying.
The being—no, the human—stood upright, utterly silent, not even drawing a weapon.
"Mayu…" Seth whispered.
She said nothing.
Her mind raced, recognizing this presence, this coldness. A spark of memory flashed: the same emptiness, the same dead gaze behind the mask… like his.
Before she could think further, the opponent lunged.
Mayu barely managed to block the strike, the impact vibrating through her bones. A furious exchange followed: direct blows, feints, precise sweeps.
She backed away, parried, dodged, and countered.
Around them, Seth and Lia tried to find an opening, but the cramped space restricted their movements. And above all, they knew this fight was not theirs.
It was hers.
Each movement of the enemy spoke a language her body knew. The motions were too familiar, too… perfect. Like a broken mirror of her own style.
Their blades clashed, then slid aside before violently snapping apart.
Mayu stumbled back, breathless, sweat beading her brow.
The enemy froze. Tilted its head slightly, as if studying her, waiting for something—words, a memory, a fracture.
And without warning, it sprang again.
Their battle moved through the heart of the room, weaving among the mirror shards as their distorted reflections multiplied around them. Mayu struck once, twice—each blow echoing against the smooth mask.
No cries. No pain. Just that horrifying silence.
Then, with a motion too swift to see, the enemy sidestepped behind her and disarmed her with a sharp twist. Her dagger flew from her hand and clattered against a wall.
Mayu fell to her knees.
The masked figure approached.
Slowly, it raised a gloved hand—and pressed it to Mayu's cheek.
She did not flinch, unable to move. Her eyes locked on that faceless mask, but in that gentle touch she felt something:
A warmth.
A doubt.
A hesitation.
Then, without explanation, the figure stepped back—and vanished into a panel of wall that slid open silently.
"Mayu!" Seth cried, rushing to her side.
But she did not respond. Her mind had slipped away.
She saw the tubes. The syringes. The muffled screams. The glass cells where other children, like her, watched from distant windows without understanding.
And among them… a boy.
Silent.
Eyes hidden behind a mask.
Not a clear memory—only an echo.
"Mayu…" Lia murmured, kneeling next to her. "What was that?"
Mayu swallowed, her throat dry.
"Someone… like me," she whispered. "Maybe worse."
A hush fell, then Seth added:
"You recognized him, didn't you?"
She did not answer.
But her fists clenched tightly.
The corridor where the enemy had fled led deeper into the complex—the levels they had yet to explore, where the darkest secrets still slumbered.
She rose slowly, legs shaking, gaze steely.
"We keep going," she said. "We have to see it through."
Behind her, Seth and Lia nodded.
And the three of them, without another word, plunged into the darkness.