The corridor stretched into darkness, but Akira could feel them.
Not just the one copy she saw before… but many.
Dozens.
A whisper crawled along the walls:
"Every choice you've made… every one you didn't… we're all here."
The first one stepped out of the shadows—a version of her in a tattered assassin's uniform, face marked with scars, eyes dead and hollow.
"I'm you… if you'd killed him that night instead of letting him live."
Akira swallowed hard. "You look miserable."
The assassin-smirk was sharp. "I am. And I'm stronger for it."
From the other side, another Akira appeared—dressed in royal silks, dripping in gold, a crown crooked on her head.
"I'm you if you'd taken the throne when it was offered."
Akira spun, realizing the hallway was filling with more and more versions:
A timid, broken Akira who never fought back.
A cold, cyber-augmented Akira with metal arms and glowing eyes.
One who carried a baby on her hip, dagger strapped to her thigh.
One who was drenched in blood, smiling like she enjoyed it.
The voice over the speaker returned.
"Fight them… or become them."
The assassin version lunged first, blades flashing. Akira blocked—but the royal version swept her leg from behind, sending her crashing to the floor.
A metallic fist smashed down where her head had been. She rolled, grabbing the fallen dagger from timid Akira's shaking hands.
The maze lit up, walls rising and falling, separating the versions into shifting combat arenas.
Every hit Akira landed, she felt in her own body—pain doubling back on her. Every time she hesitated, one of the others took advantage.
She realized the truth:
She couldn't kill them.
If she did, she'd lose the part of herself they represented.
The maze whispered again.
"To win, you must merge with the version you fear most."
Akira's eyes locked on one—the blood-drenched one, smiling with pure, unhinged joy.
She felt a chill crawl up her spine.
And then… she stepped toward her.