Noah didn't want to keep moving, but stopping felt worse. Every minute the timer kept bleeding away seconds, and every second felt like it carved off another thin slice of who he used to be.
He followed Liora down the stairs, the air growing stale. The building felt like it was sinking—like the world around them aged faster than they did.
The basement level was darker than the rest. Lights flickered like dying fireflies.
Noah's voice was barely above a whisper.
"What exactly are we looking for down here?"
Liora didn't answer immediately. Her shoulders were tense, and her grip on her flashlight was so tight her knuckles were white.
Finally she murmured, "A place they called the Echo Corridor."
"Why does that sound terrible?"
"Because it is."
She stopped at a heavy metal door.
Scratches lined the surface—fingernail marks, long and desperate.
Noah's heartbeat picked up.
"Someone was trying to get out," he whispered.
"No," Liora replied softly. "They were trying to keep something from coming out."
Inside the Corridor
The moment the door opened, a low, hollow hum filled the air.
The hallway wasn't long, but its walls were mirrored—dusty, cracked mirrors stretching from one end to the other.
"No…" Noah whispered.
His breath caught.
Because in the reflection, he wasn't alone.
There were three versions of him standing behind him.
All blurry.
All glitching.
All staring back with hollow eyes.
Liora grabbed his wrist.
"Don't look directly at them."
"What are they?"
"Echoes," she said. "Leftover memory shells. People who lived here before… or versions of you the system is trying to overwrite."
Noah's skin went cold.
"My memories… are becoming people?"
"Not people," she corrected. "Ghosts the system uses to test how much of you it can remove without breaking the host."
He wanted to vomit.
The reflections began to move—slowly at first, then faster, as if drawn toward him.
One of the echoes pressed its face to the mirror, its pupils shrinking to pinpoints.
It mouthed a word.
Noah leaned forward unconsciously.
"What is it saying?" he breathed.
Liora stiffened.
"It's not speaking to you."
The echo slammed its hands violently against the glass.
It's speaking for you.
Noah's blood iced.
The echo opened its mouth wider—too wide—until its jaw cracked.
A horrible grinding noise filled the corridor.
Liora yanked him backward.
"Don't listen to it! That's how they steal the next memory!"
Noah stumbled, his pulse spiking.
"My next memory?"
"Yes!" she shouted. "Once an echo speaks your name or your past, the system deletes it to 'avoid conflict with update data.'"
Noah's breath broke.
The echo leaned closer.
Its mouth moved again.
This time Noah heard it.
A whisper.
Soft.
Familiar.
It said a name.
His mother's.
Noah screamed, clutching his head.
The countdown flashed violently:
[22:31:59]
[22:31:58]
[22:31:57]
[Memory Integrity: -4.1%]
Liora grabbed him hard.
"NOAH! Look at ME! Not at them!"
He forced his eyes away.
Tears streamed down his face—not because he remembered something painful.
Because he realized he no longer remembered the sound of his mother's voice at all.
Her voice was gone.
Erased.
Consumed.
An agony unlike any physical pain tore through him.
Liora pulled him into her arms, trembling.
"Noah, I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
He shook violently.
"I—I don't want to disappear."
"You won't," she whispered, but her voice cracked.
"I won't let you."
The echoes began pounding harder, their faces distorting, mouths stretching wider.
The corridor shook.
"We need to get out NOW!" she shouted.
Noah didn't argue.
He ran with her, both of them staggering toward the exit as the echoes clawed behind the mirrors, glass cracking like frozen rivers.
Once They Escaped
The metal door slammed shut behind them.
Both collapsed to the ground, gasping, shaking.
Noah pressed his hand to his forehead, his voice barely a breath.
"I didn't forget everything… but the emotion is gone. The warmth. The meaning."
Liora wiped his tears with trembling hands.
"That's why we need to find the Core," she whispered.
"The original node that controls the memory rewrite."
Noah lifted his head slowly.
"And if we destroy it?"
She met his eyes—haunted, determined.
"Then we might save what's left of you."