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The static hum of the old fluorescent lights in Ward B felt heavier tonight, pressing down on the linoleum floors like a physical weight. Dr. Arthur Vance stared at the glowing monitor on his desk, his eyes burning with exhaustion. On the screen, room 204 was bathed in the pale, sickly green glow of infrared night vision. / Chapter 7 / 15

Chapter 7 - The Face in the MirrorThe mask hit the concrete floor with a heavy clang.

Arthur’s arms went weak, and the rifle slipped from his grip, clattering loudly against the floor. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the cold wall.

Staring back at him wasn't an old man, nor a ghost from the past.

It was Arthur himself.

Older, scarred, wearing the same vintage surgeon's coat, but undeniably his own face staring back with an expression of cold, clinical amusement.

"What... what is this?" Arthur gasped, clutching his chest as a wave of severe dizziness washed over him. Memories rushed into his mind—memories that didn't belong to him, or perhaps memories he had deliberately forced himself to forget.

"You didn't think you were the first director of this facility, did you, Arthur?" the alternate Arthur spoke, his voice echoing synchronously in his own mind. "Every ten years, the mind cracks under the guilt. We wipe our own memories. We institutionalize ourselves as the new 'doctor' to police our own dark creations. The pregnancies... the experiments... it was all designed by us, for us."

Arthur clutched his head as a blinding pain tore through his cerebral cortex. The timeline fractured. He remembered locking the women in. He remembered walking through the secret tunnels in a trance every night. He was both the warden and the monster.

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The hospital room smelled sharply of bleach and antiseptic, a stark contrast to the suffocating scent of the white roses scattered across the linoleum floor. Flynn remained frozen beside the bed, his broad shoulders slumped, the formidable CEO of Vance Global reduced to a hollow, trembling shell.

The hospital room smelled sharply of bleach and antiseptic, a stark cont...

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands.

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

"No..." Arthur screamed, falling to his knees. "NO!"

"It’s time to take your shift, Arthur," his reflection whispered, stepping forward and extending a pale, gloved hand. "The next patient is waiting in room 204."

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