I woke up drenched in sweat.
Not just any sweat. The kind that sticks to your skin, chills your bones, and burns your chest with every heartbeat.
The room was white. Too white. Too sterile. The walls glowed faintly under lights I couldn't see. The floor felt colder than ice.
I tried to move, but my body refused. Every muscle was stiff, unresponsive. My mind raced, recalling flashes of memories—none of them mine, yet all too real.
I was somewhere else before this.
A door hissed open. Light spilled in, cutting across the room.
And then I saw him.
A man. Young, sharp, cold. Eyes like machines. Watching me.
"Good," he said. "You're awake."
I tried to speak. Nothing came out. My throat was raw. My lungs burned.
"You don't remember, do you?" His voice was calm, deliberate. But I could feel the danger behind it. Every syllable a blade against my mind.
"I… I don't…" I croaked.
He stepped closer. "You will. Soon."
A screen flickered to life behind him. Hundreds of faces stared back at me. All of them mine. Versions of me. Every expression. Every fear. Every failure.
A chill ran down my spine. "What… what is this?"
"This," he said, "is your reality."
And then it hit me—the memories. Not mine. But mine.
I remembered dying. Over and over. Hundreds, maybe thousands of times.
Every day, a different life. A different body. A different world. And every day, the same fear.
The man watched me closely. "You are not supposed to remember," he said.
"Then why—why do I?" I screamed.
His eyes narrowed. "Because you are the anomaly."
The word echoed in my mind, bouncing off walls I couldn't see.
Anomaly.
Something different. Something dangerous. Something alive inside me.
Suddenly, the room shifted. The walls pulsed like they were breathing. The floor vibrated. The screens flickered faster.
A shadow appeared behind one of the versions of me on the screen. Not real. Yet real. Its eyes glowed with malice.
I stumbled backward. My heart raced. My body finally obeyed, trembling with adrenaline.
"Stay calm," the man said. Calm as ice. "Or it will consume you."
I swallowed hard. "Consume… me?"
He didn't answer.
The shadow moved closer, slithering across the screen as if it were alive. I realized then: it was not just a reflection. It was aware. Watching me. Learning me. Waiting.
My breathing quickened. Every second felt like an eternity.
I needed to escape. But there was nowhere to go.
I clenched my fists. Pain shot through my arms. My mind screamed. And yet, deep inside, a strange sensation emerged. Power. Energy. Something I didn't understand, but felt.
The man tilted his head. "Do you feel it?"
"Yes," I whispered. "What is it?"
"That," he said softly, "is your survival instinct. And something more. Something the system didn't plan for."
The shadow lunged from the screen.
Not physically—but mentally. I felt it. Pushing into my mind. Trying to fracture me. Break me. Erase me.
I screamed, not out loud, but inside. And then—I fought back.
The energy surged. A wave of force erupted from me, shattering the illusion of the shadow. Screens flickered. The versions of me shrieked, frozen in digital agony.
The man smiled faintly. "Interesting. You resisted."
I gasped, trembling. "I… I can't keep this up…"
"Yes," he said. "You will. Every day. Until you understand."
I sank to my knees. Sweat poured. My heart thundered. Every nerve in my body alive, screaming, awake.
And then, the whisper.
Not from him. Not from the shadow. From inside me.
Tomorrow… you will die again.