Kai stopped trusting mirrors.
He stared at himself in the bathroom that morning and swore—just for a second—his reflection didn't blink when he did.
He didn't scream.
Didn't run.
Just stood there, watching, waiting.
But nothing else happened.
Still, he didn't look into any reflective surface for the rest of the day.
The next summons came in the form of a polite envelope left in his locker.
"Guidance Office. 2nd Period. Required."
Inside the counselor's office, it smelled like lemon cleaner and false warmth. The windows were too clean. The smile on the counselor's face too wide.
"How have you been sleeping, Kai?"
"Fine."
"Any troubling thoughts?"
"None."
"Do you ever hear your name being called when no one is around?"
"…No."
She nodded. Typed something. Didn't blink once in five minutes.
On the table beside her clipboard sat a small metal object: a pendulum, unmoving.
But it hummed, slightly. Almost like it was waiting to be used.
"You're part of something exciting, Kai. Don't fight it. Let it help you."
He left before she could say more. She didn't stop him.
That afternoon, he checked the flash drive again—even though it had been switched.
Oddly, it now contained different files—as if someone was feeding him pieces.
Folders titled:
"Spiral Index"
"Containment Notes: Class A"
"Subject Kai (Pre-Sync)"
The last one stopped him cold.
Inside: observation notes.
"Subject shows early-stage resistance. Slight elevation in cortical activity. Susceptibility to visual triggers remains high."
"Dream-mapping initiated. Do not intervene until Phase Two."
He stared at the final entry:
"Initiate Isolation. Let Unraveling Begin."
The file was dated yesterday.
Kai rushed to find Ren, the only classmate left who hadn't acted strange.
He found him in the music room, silent, staring at an unplugged piano.
"They're not real," Ren muttered.
"What?"
"The teachers. Half of them. They don't go home. I stayed late last week. Watched them disappear through a door that's not on the blueprints."
Kai sat beside him.
"Why are they doing this to us?"
Ren gave him a cracked grin.
"It's not about us. We're just the data. The raw inputs. They're building something behind our eyes."
"What?"
"A map. Of the mind. Of fear. They test how far we bend before we snap. And then they use it."
"Use it how?"
Ren's smile died.
"I don't think we're supposed to ask that."
The door creaked open.
They both froze.
But no one entered.
Just the sound of distant, slow, tapping footsteps in the hallway.
That night, Kai couldn't tell if he was dreaming or awake.
He found himself back at school.
The hallways were longer.
The ceilings were too high.
Lockers breathed, in and out, in rhythm.
And someone—something—walked behind him, always just out of sight.
He woke up gasping. The clock read 2:03 a.m.
Then blinked.
Then read 13:13
Then....
And then it shut off completely.