Lyra didn't flinch when the syringe touched her neck. The momentary sting was nothing compared to the emotional bruises she'd carried since she discovered who was pulling the strings behind Zenth Corporation. The formula injected into her bloodstream wasn't meant to kill her it was something far worse. It was meant to control her.
The lab lights above her flickered slightly, not from power issues, but from the strange energy pulsing through her body. She wasn't tied to any chair or cell anymore. They didn't need restraints. They thought the serum would be enough. They thought wrong.
She remembered Dr. Kelvar's face cold, smug, hollow. He had been the one who handed her the hot chocolate the day she was brought in. The one who pretended to be her ally. She should've known. People who smile too warmly usually hide the sharpest knives.
As she lay still, pretending the serum had done its job, her brain ran calculations. Not just probabilities, but neural interference patterns, escape routes, the amount of pressure needed to snap the electronic collar on her neck. Her innocence was their weapon, but now it would become their miscalculation.
The door hissed open. Two guards stepped inside, tall and silent, wearing those ridiculous visors that supposedly protected them from "neural backlash." They were trained not to talk. But Lyra had studied them over the last few days. One of them tapped his left boot before turning, every time. The other one always checked the corner of the room before stepping in. Humans were always predictable, even when trained not to be.
"Subject 147 appears stable," one said. His voice sounded like it had been run through a blender and filtered back unnatural, layered, synthetic. Lyra wondered what kind of monsters could look in the mirror after modifying their own guards like that.
As soon as they turned their backs, she moved.
Her fingers slipped beneath her collarbone and pressed into the skin, just above her heart. There it was a small bump, almost undetectable. She pressed down harder. A soft click. A microchip she had implanted in herself weeks ago activated, sending a short-range electromagnetic pulse through her collar, frying the circuit inside.
The guards turned.
Too late.
Lyra was already on her feet. She didn't run. She walked forward, eyes locked on them. Calm, precise, unreadable.
One guard lunged. She ducked low and kicked his knee sideways with exact force. The crack echoed like a firecracker. He went down hard. The second guard raised a pulse gun, but she threw the metal clip from her collar into his eye socket before he could aim. His visor sparked and shut down.
She took the pulse gun from his hand before he could scream.
For a moment, silence.
And then, the alarms.
Red lights spun violently across the walls. But Lyra didn't panic. She walked toward the door, calmly, like she owned the place. Because right now, she did. Her mind was three steps ahead, always.
She moved through the corridors, memorising the patterns of movement she had picked up during the fake "recovery" sessions. Every thirty-two seconds, a security drone passed through hallway K-17. Every twenty-two seconds, the floor sensors on corridor R-2 refreshed. She used these intervals like dance steps, gliding through blind spots like a ghost with a grudge.
Down in Sublevel 3, she finally found what she was looking for.
Room 1047.
Behind that steel door was something she had both dreaded and craved for weeks the original copy of Project MIRA's logbook. The logbook that proved she wasn't the only one. There were more girls. Smart girls. Scared girls. Forgotten girls.
Sisters.
As she approached the biometric scanner, her hands trembled not with fear, but anticipation. She placed her palm against it.
"Access denied," said the voice.
Of course. She wasn't on their access list anymore.
But the system didn't know she had mapped the fingerprint residues of Kelvar himself two nights ago when he'd leaned too close.
She pressed her thumb to the emergency override port, slid a filament-thin piece of synthetic skin over it perfectly copied fingerprint and tried again.
Beep.
"Access granted."
The door slid open with a sigh.
Inside was darkness.
And someone breathing.
Not just breathing humming.
Lyra stepped in carefully, her pulse gun aimed ahead.
A girl sat on the floor, cross-legged, drawing on the metal wall with her own blood. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Her glasses were cracked, and her school uniform was torn at the sleeves.
Lyra froze.
This wasn't just another girl. This was someone who should've been dead. Listed as terminated in Week 3 of Project MIRA.
"Rina?"
The girl didn't stop humming. She didn't blink. But the drawing on the wall Lyra recognised it.
It was her.
She was drawing Lyra's face.
"Rina… what did they do to you?"
"They said you'd come," the girl whispered. "The voices in the mirror. They said you'd save us."
Lyra knelt beside her. "I'm here now. We're getting out."
Rina looked up finally. Her pupils were dilated, but her voice was suddenly sharp. "You shouldn't have come alone."
It was a warning. Not fear. A signal.
The room sealed shut behind her. Lyra turned.
Kelvar stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes dead as glass.
"I knew you'd follow the scent," he said. "You always cared too much. It's your flaw."
"No. It's my edge," she replied.
The room flickered. Gas hissed from vents above. Lyra grabbed Rina and yanked a filter mask from her coat. She only had one. She strapped it onto Rina without hesitation.
Kelvar watched, amused.
"Still playing hero, Lyra?"
She raised her pulse gun. "No. I'm rewriting the damn script."
He lunged. She fired.
But he didn't fall.
He shimmered.
Hologram.
Her heart sank.
Too late again.
But then… Rina spoke, calmly.
"That wasn't him."
Lyra turned. "What?"
Rina's cracked glasses glowed faintly.
And for the first time, Lyra noticed the tiny silver port behind her ear.
"She's part of the project," Kelvar's voice came through the speaker. "An upgraded interface. Organic AI. A mirror of you. What you could've been if you weren't still clinging to that useless thing called empathy."
Lyra's mind raced.
This wasn't just about rescuing someone.
This was a test.
She'd walked into her own simulation.
But something about Rina's eyes told her the story wasn't over.
Because those eyes were too human to be fake.
And the blood on the wall was real.
Lyra stepped forward again.
If this was a trap, she would flip it.
If Rina was a mirror, she would teach it how to shatter.
And if Kelvar thought this was the end, then he didn't understand her at all.
She wasn't a pawn.
She was the glitch.
The ghost in their perfect machine.