Lena stared at the version of Cal.
He looked exactly like she remembered — same brown eyes, same neat stubble, even the same denim jacket he wore during late-night press room marathons. But something about him was... hollow. Like someone had used Cal's photo to mold a mannequin.
"Subject 6-LM," he repeated, stepping aside and gesturing toward the chair. "You're safe now. We just need to recalibrate your data."
"I'm not sitting anywhere," Lena said sharply, inching back. "What are you? What is this place?"
Cal tilted his head. "You've experienced memory fracture. It's expected. Loop seven induces greater resistance to calibration." He tapped something on the console behind him. "But we're making progress. Your reaction time is improving. Emotions remain unpredictable."
She moved closer to the console, eyes darting across its strange interface. Symbols danced across the screen — some familiar, some alien. Among them was a flickering file labeled: Original Lena | Status: Inactive.
"What is this?" she asked, voice trembling. "Why does it say 'original Lena'?"
Cal didn't blink. "There have been six iterations prior to you. Each processed through Observation Wing 428 before transfer to Testing Wing Delta. You've shown the highest retention rate so far."
"I'm a copy?" she whispered.
"No. You're a replica," he replied calmly. "Your memories, behaviors, and instincts were synthesized from the original Lena Marris, recovered from Event Zero. The Halcyon Facility is your reboot point."
Lena felt the floor drop beneath her, though her feet were still planted. Every moment she thought she'd escaped the worst — a new horror opened up.
"I'm not real?"
Cal walked toward her slowly. "You are real now. But that reality depends on how well you perform."
Then came a shriek — not hers.
From the corridor behind her.
Another version of herself burst through the chamber door, blood streaked across her temple, eyes wild with terror.
"Don't let him touch you!" the bloody Lena screamed. "He reboots you the second you sit down—don't let him—"
A sharp buzzing sound cut her off.
The floor opened beneath her.
She vanished into darkness.
Lena's knees buckled.
"What did you do to her?" she whispered.
"That version was collapsing," Cal said, pressing a glowing button. "Incompatible response pattern. Unstable. You're better. You're clearer. You've lasted longer."
The console blinked:
Integrity Breach Detected | Chamber Synchronization Failed
Red lights blared.
The walls started to shift again — folding, collapsing, rebuilding themselves.
Cal's expression remained unchanged. "We'll need to move you."
Before she could react, metal restraints shot from the walls toward her wrists.
But Lena was ready.
She dropped to the floor and rolled toward the panel the other Lena came through. The door was still open, glitching like a video buffering too slowly. She dove through it.
Darkness.
Then light.
And then—
A blinding landscape of white sand under a blue sky. No buildings. No sound. Just endless dunes stretching in every direction.
She turned back.
No door.
Only sand.
But beneath her feet was something half-buried — a plaque.
She brushed the sand away, revealing the words:
EXIT SIMULATION 7 // ERROR 428: REMNANT HAS BREACHED CONTAINMENT
And scratched beneath that, faintly, in what looked like dried blood:
"You are the memory, not the mind."
Lena backed away from the plaque. The air felt heavier. The sky rippled. And then she heard it again—
Her own voice.
But this time, multiplied. Thousands of echoes calling her name from beyond the dunes.
She wasn't alone.
And she wasn't the last Lena left.