Aria's laughter cut through the silence, a sound now stripped of its former charm and replaced by chilling madness.
"Going somewhere, Original?" she sneered, dropping the conspiratorial tone. Her right hand darted to her belt.
"Now, Kael!" the protagonist yelled, their mind still reeling but their survival instinct finally kicking in. The title "Original" felt like a searing burn, a betrayal of everything they had come to believe about themselves.
Kael didn't hesitate. A split-second flash of muzzle light erupted from their silenced weapon. Aria barely reacted, already pulling her own sidearm. The projectile grazed her shoulder, tearing fabric and drawing a thin line of red before sinking into the wall behind her.
Aria stumbled back a step, her eyes wide with shock, not pain. The prototype was supposed to be faster, tougher. The clone.
"You shot me?" Aria's voice was a low growl, laced with genuine surprise. "After everything—after I gave you the truth?"
"The truth is a cage!" the Original snarled, pushing past the shock and seizing the nearest heavy object—a reinforced medical tray—and hurling it towards Aria. It clanged off the edge of the steel table, momentarily distracting her as she raised her weapon.
Thunk. Thunk.
The sound of two heavy, reinforced doors sealing shut reverberated from the far end of the lab. A lockdown.
"Too slow," Aria gloated, her smile returning, sharp and predatory. She leveled her gun. "This lab is sealed. There's no escaping Project Elysium."
Kael immediately backed up, their eyes scanning the pristine, white room for an exit—a vent, a hidden panel, anything. "We need to breach a wall, or find the control panel for the lockdown!"
The Original's gaze snapped to the nearest window. It was thick, layered polymer, designed to withstand explosions, but it was their only viable direction. They saw movement through the glass—armed guards were already flooding the main corridor outside.
"Forget the panel, forget the doors," the Original gasped, diving behind a bank of sterile research equipment as Aria opened fire. Energy bolts crackled through the air, melting divots into the metal surfaces where the Original had just been. "We're going through the glass!"
"Are you insane? That's bulletproof!" Kael shouted, providing cover fire.
"Maybe for a clone," the Original muttered, feeling a strange surge of adrenaline that was part fear, part newfound primal power. I'm the template. The survivor. They grabbed a discarded oxygen canister—heavy and pressurized.
With a roar that surprised even Kael, the Original sprinted toward the window, dodging a near-miss shot. The canister became a battering ram, slamming repeatedly into the thick, layered polymer.
First hit: a spider web of cracks.
Second hit: the inner layer shatters.
Aria was already repositioning for a clean shot, but the Original was driven by sheer, desperate fury. They channeled the chaos, the disbelief, the absolute terror of being a lie, into raw strength.
Third hit: With a shriek of tearing metal and shattering synthetic glass, the window blew outward, sucking the air from the room. A chaotic burst of light and noise from the corridor outside replaced the sterile silence.
"Go!" the Original yelled, vaulting through the jagged opening without waiting, followed closely by Kael.
They landed hard on the floor of the hallway, sirens immediately beginning to blare. The organization knew they were loose. The chase had officially begun, and with every panicked, desperate step, the Original had to wrestle with one unbearable, silent thought: Was the clone I called Aria telling the truth? Am I really... me?