MIRROR CAGE – CHAPTER 3: MASK ON, MASK OFF
"People don't love you. They love the way you make them feel about themselves."
[Present Day – Lagos Megazone, District 9]
Lunch period. The courtyard buzzed with conversations, phone cameras clicking, laughter echoing in the polluted air.
Elijah sat on a bench beneath the only half-dead jacaranda tree in the courtyard, bathed in gold sunlight that didn't touch him. In this body—his real body—he didn't exist.
A student walked right by him and dropped a plastic wrap. Elijah's foot was in full view. The boy didn't even blink.
"It's like I'm a background object," Elijah muttered. He waved his hand in front of a passing girl. No reaction.
He stood up. Walked through the courtyard. He wasn't trying to be stealthy—he was testing.
One girl looked directly in his direction, paused, and then her eyes slid away like oil on water. Her brain refused to register him.
Then he switched.
It was a weird sensation—like his soul unzipped itself. An internal crack of pressure and heat as muscle swelled, his skin smoothed, his bones aligned into perfection.
Now the "other" Elijah stood where the first one had been.
Immepdf diately, reality adjusted.
People turned. Students did double-takes. Two girls who had been fighting started whispering.
"Isn't that the guy from the scholarship trials?" one said.
"Yeah. He's fine as hell."
They'd never spoken to Elijah before. But now, they remembered him. Or rather, this version of him.
Even their memories were biased. Rewritten.
He walked toward the cafeteria entrance. The door was opened for him before he even reached it.
The Cafeteria Hierarchy
Inside was a battlefield. The tables weren't arranged randomly—they were tiers.
Top-center was the Influencer Circle. Mostly rich kids, high followers, sponsored by brands, rocked vintage Techwave fits, and casually dropped ₦100k like it was nothing.
Just below them were the Sports Alpha Crew—captains, gym addicts, boxers, and district streetball legends. Loud, violent, always with someone filming.
The middle was a mix of Normals—those trying to be noticed, orbiting like satellites.
Then, the edge. The Forgets.
Where Elijah used to sit.
He didn't sit there today.
He walked past the middle and casually sat near the Alphas. Some heads turned. A few confused stares. Then—
"Yo, that's the guy who chin-checked Daoud from Unity High."
"No way. That happened?"
"I saw the clip. Clean counter."
A clip?
Elijah blinked. I didn't record that.
His other self—the "Perfect Elijah"—had fought back once when some punk tried to jump him last week. But no cameras were out. He was sure of it.
Yet here it was. A clip circulating.
People wanted to believe in him. In this version of him. So reality bent to fit it.
"New face?" a voice said beside him.
Elijah turned.
Tami.
Long braids, sharp eyes, a scar over one eyebrow. A queen in this place—not because she tried to be, but because she didn't need anyone. She ran a side hustle selling bootleg notes, tutoring, even crypto arbitrage on the side.
He didn't know her. But she was looking at him like they should know each other.
"You from Silverstream?" she asked, sipping zobo from a flask that definitely wasn't school-approved.
"No. New transfer."
She hummed. "Figures. Got that... imported confidence." Her eyes flicked up and down him. "You model?"
"No."
She smiled faintly. "You will."
After School – The Locker Incident
Elijah switched back to his real body before leaving school. He didn't want anyone to follow him.
As he walked toward the exit, he passed his old locker. The metal was bent—someone had stomped it in.
He stopped. Touched the dent.
"Still invisible. Still hated."
"Not hated," a voice said behind him. "Just... out of frame."
Darius.
The kid was leaning against the wall, wearing a hoodie far too thick for the heat. Sweat ran down his face, but his stare was cold.
"I see the outline," Darius muttered. "You... you shine when you switch. It leaves a residue. Like you're glitching the system."
Elijah froze. "You know?"
"I know enough." Darius walked closer. "That you're not the only one. That there are others like us. Some broke. Some thriving. All hiding behind mirrors."
He handed Elijah a folded page from a notebook. On it were rough diagrams. Two silhouettes—one faded, one sharp. Lines connecting them. Equations. Observations.
"The world only acknowledges the ideal. But the ideal is hollow. It drinks your soul."
"Switching is not without consequences. The longer you wear the mask, the harder it is to take it off."
"Cognitive Sync Rate: 93%"
"You're syncing with it," Darius whispered. "One day, you won't want to switch back."
Elijah felt his throat dry up. "And if I don't?"
"Then you lose you. And he becomes real."
That Night – [Mirror Interface Online]
In his room, Elijah stared into the cracked bathroom mirror.
The system flared to life again:
[MIRROR VALUE SYSTEM – ACTIVE]
Subject: Elijah Cole
Primary Form: [Perfect Body]
Origin Form: [Shadowed/Obscured]
Social Rating: B
Cognitive Sync: 93%
Fragment Risk: Medium
Influence Trail: Expanding
Stat Adjustments Available: Locked
Memory Imprint: Distorting (3%)
User Note:
"You're not playing the system. You're becoming it."
Elijah backed away from the sink.
His reflection stared back, breathing heavily.
Only it wasn't him.
Not fully.
"The higher you climb, the more snakes you attract. And some wear smiles."