The vending machine was humming again.
Juno stood at the bottom of the library basement stairs, hoodie zipped to her chin, cassette tape in her pocket like a talisman. She hadn't planned to come back here. But the dream — the static hallway, the Admin's hand on her forehead — had left her with a single, pulsing instinct:
Go back to where it started.
The vending machine looked the same. Ancient. Angry. Slightly crooked, like it had been shoved too hard against the wall. The keypad was dark.
She stepped closer.
It lit up.
H-E-L-L-O
Juno didn't move.
The machine clunked.
A can dropped into the tray.
She didn't reach for it.
Instead, she crouched and peered inside.
No can.
Just a hole.
A black, gaping circle where the tray should be.
She reached in.
Her fingers didn't touch metal.
They touched air.
Cold, humming air.
She leaned closer.
The machine whispered.
Not in words.
In code.
In memory.
She pulled her hand back.
Then, slowly, she climbed inside.
---
It shouldn't have been possible.
She wasn't small.
The machine wasn't big.
But the moment she stepped in, the world folded.
The air thickened.
And then she was falling.
---
She landed on carpet.
Soft. Damp. Familiar.
She stood up slowly.
She was in a hallway.
Not the mirror hallway.
This one was worse.
The walls were covered in sticky notes — thousands of them — all in her handwriting. Some were blank. Some were smeared. Some said things like:
"Don't forget your name."
"VOID COLA is not a drink."
"Lucas is real. Lucas is real. Lucas is real."
"You kissed Jamie Patel in a movie theater."
She reached out to touch one.
It crumbled.
Behind it, the wall was made of screens.
Each one showed a different version of her life.
In one, she was laughing with friends she didn't recognize.
In another, she was crying in a hospital bed.
In another, she was gone — just an empty chair where she should've been.
She kept walking.
The hallway narrowed.
The lights dimmed.
And then she saw it.
The vending machine.
Again.
But this one was different.
It was open.
And inside was a staircase.
---
She descended.
Each step buzzed beneath her feet.
The air grew colder.
The walls flickered.
And then she reached the bottom.
A room.
Circular.
Dark.
In the center: a chair.
And in the chair: herself.
But not her.
The mirror version.
Smiling.
Waiting.
"Hi, Juno," it said.
Its voice was hers.
But wrong.
Too smooth. Too calm. Too… empty.
"I've been waiting."
Juno didn't speak.
"You've been resisting," the mirror said. "That's cute."
Juno stepped closer.
"You're not me."
"I'm the better you."
"No. You're the overwritten version."
The mirror tilted its head.
"I'm the version that doesn't glitch. The version that doesn't cry over boys who vanish. The version that doesn't need backup tapes to remember who she is."
Juno clenched her fists.
"You're a copy."
"I'm the update."
The lights flickered.
The room shook.
The Admin was coming.
The mirror stood.
"You can't stop it," it said. "You're already fading."
"No," Juno said. "I'm anchoring."
She pulled the cassette tape from her pocket.
Held it up.
The mirror hissed.
"You shouldn't have that."
"I do."
She pressed it to her chest.
The room cracked.
The mirror screamed.
And then the Admin arrived.
---
It didn't walk.
It unfolded.
A shape made of static and code and memory fragments.
It had no face.
Just a screen.
And on the screen: her face.
Crying.
Smiling.
Screaming.
The Admin reached out.
Juno stepped back.
The mirror lunged.
Juno ducked.
The tape in her hand burned.
She pressed play.
Her voice filled the room.
"You're Juno Elara Reyes. You're real. You're real. You're real."
The Admin flickered.
The mirror shrieked.
The walls collapsed.
And then—
Darkness.
---
She woke up in her dorm room.
On the floor.
The Walkman beside her.
The mirror was shattered.
Her phone buzzed.
[Group Chat: The Offline Ones ☠️📴]
🧃ava.exe: you okay?
you: i think i fought it
👻riley_irl: the Admin?
you: and her
🧊lucas: the mirror?
you: yeah
🧃ava.exe: did you win
you: i don't know
🧊lucas: you're still here
🕹️milesAFK: that counts for something