CHAPTER 1: THE OZONE SIGNATURE
The air in the bathroom tasted like a lightning strike.
It was that sharp, metallic tang of burnt ozone—the scent of a copy machine running too hot or a wire fraying behind a wall. Elias stood over the porcelain sink, his hands trembling as he splashed cold water onto his face.
He didn't look at the mirror. Not yet.
He had learned to be afraid of the glass. Three days ago, his reflection had blinked when he hadn't. Yesterday, it had stayed standing while he bent over to tie his shoes.
"It's just stress," he whispered, watching the water swirl down the drain. "You're just tired."
He finally looked up.
Everything seemed normal. His messy dark hair, the tired set of his shoulders, the small scar on his jawline. But then, Elias tilted his head to the left.
The reflection didn't move.
For nearly a full second—exactly 0.7 seconds—the Elias in the glass stayed perfectly still, staring back at the real Elias with a look of cold, predatory curiosity. Then, with a sickening clack—the sound of a bone snapping back into a socket—the image caught up.
The reflection smiled. But Elias wasn't smiling.
THE SUBTRACTION
By the time Elias reached school, the world felt... thin.
That was the only word for it. The colors of the lockers seemed desaturated, as if someone had turned the brightness down on reality. The chatter of the students sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a swimming pool.
"Elias! Hey, glitch-boy!"
A heavy hand slammed into Elias's shoulder. It was Marcus.
Marcus was a varsity linebacker with a personality made of sandpaper. Usually, the impact would have hurt. But today, Elias felt his shoulder give slightly, as if he were made of smoke instead of muscle.
"You look like you're about to vanish," Marcus sneered, shoving him against a locker. "Are you even there, or are you just a projection?"
Elias tried to speak, but his throat felt dry. He looked down at his hand.
His ring finger was gone.
No—not gone. It was transparent. He could see the grey metal of the locker through his own skin. He was losing his "resolution."
The Ozone smell returned. Thicker this time. It stung his nostrils.
Suddenly, the shadow on the wall behind Marcus began to move. It wasn't Marcus's shadow. It was taller. It was darker. It reached out a hand made of jagged, black wires and touched the back of Marcus's neck.
"What... what are you doing?" Marcus gasped.
Marcus's voice began to loop. "Yo-yo-yo-u think you're—[FILE NOT FOUND]."
His body began to stutter. He flickered in and out of existence, his frame skipping back and forth like a corrupted video file on a broken screen.
"Stop it!" Elias screamed, but no sound came out.
With a sound like a record needle scratching across a vinyl, Marcus vanished. He didn't run. He didn't fall. He was simply deleted.
The hallway was silent. The students around them didn't even look up. They didn't remember Marcus. Marcus had been edited out of the script.
THE INVITATION
That night, Elias covered every mirror in his house with bedsheets. He sat in the dark, his heart thumping in a rhythm that felt... off.
Thump-thump... lag... Thump.
A silver key slid under his bedroom door.
It wasn't a physical key. It was a Reflection of a Key sliding across the floorboards as if they were water.
Elias crawled toward it. He looked at his hand—his entire arm was now becoming translucent. He could see his own veins flickering like dying neon lights.
He looked at the vanity mirror, hidden behind a heavy white sheet. A voice came from behind the fabric. It was his own voice, but smoother. Better. High-Definition.
"You're tired of being broken, Elias," the voice whispered. "Let me take the weight. I don't glitch. I don't forget. I'm the version of you that actually works."
Elias reached for the sheet. His hand trembled.
"Who are you?" Elias breathed.
The sheet rustled. A hand—solid, tan, and perfectly real—pressed against the other side of the fabric.
"I'm the one who's going to live your life. I just need you to turn the key."
(TO BE CONTINUED)