Benny didn't move.
The phone lay on the bed, screen glowing, the single option staring back at him.
YES
The reflection in the mirror still wasn't right.
It stood the way he stood, faced the way he faced—but there was a delay. A subtle
wrongness in how it held itself, like it was waiting for instructions.
Benny swallowed.
"I didn't agree to anything," he said, louder this time. "I didn't resume anything."
The room remained still.
No flickering lights.
No sudden darkness.
Just that pressure—the feeling of being listened to.
Then the voice spoke again.
"Still pretending you didn't hear us?"
It wasn't the same voice as before.
This one was lower. Clearer. Calm in a way that felt practiced.
Benny's chest tightened.
"There's more than one of you," he whispered.
A pause.
Then a quiet chuckle.
"Oh, you noticed," the voice said. "Good. That means you're not broken."
The reflection in the mirror tilted its head slightly.
Benny did not.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The phone vibrated once, gently.
The word YES pulsed, just enough to remind him it was there.
"We don't have names anymore," the voice replied. "Names require edges. We lost ours a long time ago."
Benny's hands curled into fists.
"Then what are you?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"We're echoes," the voice said. "Residue. Processes that never fully closed."
Benny's stomach turned.
"That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't have to," the voice answered calmly. "It just has to run."
The first voice—the one from that night—whispered faintly in the background.
Too distorted to understand.
Benny's heart skipped.
"There's more of you," he said again. "How many?"
The mirror reflection smiled.
The voice laughed softly.
"Enough," it said. "More than you think. Fewer than there were."
Benny shook his head. "You're lying."
"About what?"
"About everything."
The voice didn't answer immediately.
When it did, it sounded almost… amused.
"Lying requires intent," it said. "We're past that stage."
Benny's gaze flicked back to the phone.
The notification hadn't changed.
No countdown.
No threat.
Just the choice.
"What happens if I don't?" he asked.
The mirror reflection blinked.
Slowly.
The voice sighed.
"Then nothing," it said. "For now."
"For now?" Benny echoed.
"Yes," the voice replied. "Processes don't like to be paused indefinitely. They… degrade."
The word lingered.
"Degrade how?"
A second voice answered.
Different again.
Higher-pitched. Nervous. Fractured.
"We forget," it whispered. "And when we forget, we fill the gaps wrong."
Benny's breath hitched.
"That wasn't you," he said.
"No," the calm voice agreed. "That one doesn't speak often."
"Why are they here?" Benny demanded. "Why are you all here?"
The calm voice hesitated.
"That's a dangerous question."
"Answer it."
A quiet hum filled the room, barely audible.
"They're here because they were seen," the voice said finally. "And because SPECTRA doesn't close frames once they're opened."
The word hit harder than Benny expected.
"SPECTRA," he repeated. "So it is real."
A pause.
Then—
"Yes," the voice said. "It is."
Benny laughed weakly. "You said you weren't SPECTRA."
"We aren't," the voice replied. "We exist inside it. That's different."
"That doesn't make it better."
"No," the voice agreed. "It makes it accurate."
The mirror reflection's eyes shifted—just slightly—like it was watching something Benny couldn't see.
"Why me?" Benny asked.
Another long pause.
This time, when the voice spoke, it sounded… careful.
"You were curious," it said. "And you didn't look away fast enough."
Benny's jaw clenched.
"That's it?"
"That's always it."
The nervous voice whispered again.
"Don't let them finish," it said. "They always finish."
"Finish what?" Benny demanded.
The calm voice interrupted sharply.
"Enough."
The room seemed to tighten, like air being pulled inward.
"That one is unstable," it continued. "Listening to it will not help you."
"Then why is it here?" Benny asked.
Silence.
Then—
"Because SPECTRA doesn't discriminate,"
the voice said quietly. "It stores everything."
Benny's eyes drifted back to the phone.
To the glowing YES.
"You want me to resume," he said. "Why?"
The reflection leaned closer to the mirror.
"Because you're already inside the frame," the voice replied. "Resuming just means you stop pretending you aren't."
The phone vibrated.
Once.
Soft.
Encouraging.
Benny shook his head. "If I press it… what happens?"
The calm voice didn't answer.
The nervous one whispered.
"It sees better."
Benny's heart dropped.
"Sees what?"
"You," the voice replied. "When you're not watching."
The lamp flickered.
Just once.
Benny backed away from the bed slowly,
never taking his eyes off the phone.
"I didn't agree to this," he said.
"No," the calm voice admitted. "But you initiated it."
"I tried to delete it."
"Yes," the voice said. "You always do."
Benny froze.
"What do you mean always?"
Another pause.
This one stretched.
"That," the voice said carefully, "is not information you're ready for."
The reflection in the mirror finally matched his movement.
Perfectly.
That terrified him more than when it didn't.
The phone vibrated again.
The YES button brightened.
Benny's hand trembled as he raised it.
"Last chance," he said. "Tell me how to stop this."
The calm voice softened.
"There is no stop," it said. "Only states."
"And this one?"
"This one is unstable."
The nervous voice whispered urgently.
"Choose fast."
Benny stared at the screen.
At the word.
At the feeling that something was leaning closer from the other side.
His thumb hovered.
The phone vibrated.
And the word YES pulsed brighter than ever.