Chapter 2: Observer_A

Chapter 2: Observer_A

The screen was black. The video file, WATCH_ME_344, was gone, as if it had never existed. The terminal was once again a blank, dormant slate. For a wild, dizzying moment, Elias wondered if he’d imagined it all—the desperate doppelgänger, the chilling warning, the mention of his wife’s name. Maybe the pressure had finally cracked him. Maybe this whole bizarre job interview was a stress-induced hallucination.

But the cold dread coiling in his gut was real. The memory of the man’s terrified eyes was seared into his brain.

They’ll use her against you. They’ll use Lena.

The words were a physical blow. He staggered away from the desk, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He had to get out. This wasn’t a job assessment; it was a cage. He lunged for the door, his hand closing around the cool, metallic handle. He twisted. It didn’t budge. Locked. Of course, it was locked.

Panic, raw and primal, threatened to swamp him. He fought it down, forcing the logical part of his brain—the part that managed supply chains and quarterly reports—to take control. A prank. A test. They were watching him, studying his reaction. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a complete breakdown.

He began a systematic search of the office, his movements precise and economical. He ran his hands along the seamless white walls, searching for a hidden panel or a speaker grille. He checked under the desk again, his fingers tracing every edge. Nothing. The room was a perfect, sterile box. He returned to the drawers, pulling them out completely this time, hoping for something, anything, taped to the underside.

In the bottom drawer, his questing fingers brushed against a small piece of paper, folded into a tight square and wedged deep in the back corner. His heart leaped. It was thin, almost weightless. He carefully unfolded it. The handwriting was shaky, hurried, the same desperate energy as the man in the video.

It read: Check the calories. Don’t let it heat you up.

Calories? He scanned the room. His eyes landed on the only other appliance: a sleek, stainless-steel microwave built flush into the wall beside the desk. It was an odd detail for an assessment office. On its small digital screen, the number 1200 glowed faintly. A calorie counter? A feature he’d never seen before.

Then, the second part of the warning from Candidate #344 slammed into him with the force of a physical impact.

Don’t trust the mirrors.

The microwave door was a perfect mirror. A dark, polished rectangle reflecting the sterile white room and his own pale, disbelieving face. His reflection stared back, a perfect replica of his fear. He felt an irrational pull, a horrifying compulsion to look closer, to test the impossible warning. He had to know.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on his own. He held perfectly still, not even breathing, his entire being focused on the man in the reflection. For a long, silent moment, nothing happened. The reflected Elias was just as frozen as he was. A wave of relief, so potent it almost made his knees buckle, washed over him. He was losing his mind. It was just a reflection.

Then, the man in the mirror smiled.

It wasn't Elias’s smile. It was a slow, predatory curve of the lips, full of a chilling, secret knowledge. His own facial muscles remained slack with shock. The blood drained from his face as the reflection, his own perfect double, raised its right hand and wagged a single index finger in a gesture of silent, condescending admonishment. Tsk, tsk.

Elias recoiled with a strangled cry, stumbling backward until his legs hit the chair and he collapsed into it. The thing in the mirror returned to a state of perfect mimicry, its expression once again a mask of his own terror. But the image was burned into his retinas: that knowing smile, that wagging finger. The laws of physics had just been casually discarded in front of his eyes. This place wasn't just a prison; it was insane.

His mind was a maelstrom of fear and confusion, but one thought cut through the chaos, one name. Lena. The video had warned him. The smiling reflection proved nothing was as it seemed. What else had he missed? What other nightmare was hiding in plain sight?

His gaze snapped to the “Employee of the Month” plaque on the wall.

He had been so focused on the impossible date and his own haggard face in the photo that he had barely glanced at the background. He pushed himself out of the chair, his legs unsteady, and crossed the room until his nose was inches from the glass frame.

He had been wrong. His future self wasn't alone in the picture.

The photo had changed. Or perhaps his panicked mind had simply refused to register the full horror the first time. Standing beside the broken, future-Elias was a woman. His heart stopped.

It was Lena.

But it was a terrifyingly wrong version of her. His Lena laughed with her whole body, a cascade of freckles dancing across her nose. Her hair was a wild, lovely mess on their beach trips. The Lena in this photo was a hollowed-out replica. Her warm, intelligent eyes were flat and vacant. Her hair was scraped back into a severe, tight bun, pulling at her temples. She was wearing a stark white corporate uniform that looked more like a lab coat, devoid of any personality.

And the freckles—the tiny constellation of imperfections he loved to trace with his thumb—were gone. Her skin was unnaturally smooth, a blank canvas.

The final, devastating detail was pinned to the breast of her uniform. A small, laminated name tag. Elias leaned in closer, his breath fogging the glass. The letters were crisp, clear, and utterly damning.

Observer_A

The doppelgänger's warning echoed with new, monstrous significance. They know everything. The way she laughs, the little birthmark on her shoulder… That detail, meant to prove they knew his Lena, now felt like an item on a checklist. A piece of data they had cataloged before erasing it. The woman in the photo wasn't his wife. It was what was left after Lumen was done with her.

They hadn't just created a simulation or found a look-alike. They had taken his world, his love, his entire reason for being, and put a corporate name tag on it. The sterile white walls of the office began to press in, and Elias Vance finally understood. This wasn't a test of his problem-solving skills. It was a disassembly. And they had already started with the most important piece.