The beeping was annoyingly cheerful.
Zero blinked. Bright white lights burned overhead, the kind that hospitals loved. The bed beneath him was narrow and uncomfortable, like someone had designed it specifically to discourage rest.
He sat up slowly, half expecting another crash through memory-space, or a whisper from a mirror, or a tentacled librarian to crawl out of the vent.
But for now, just the beeping.
And the complete absence of context.
A nurse walked past the glass door of his room. He waved. She didn't react. Just kept moving like he wasn't there.
"Okay," he muttered. "Either I'm invisible or she's the most underpaid actress in the simulation."
He got up.
Everything felt...normal. Except it wasn't.
On the bedside table was a clipboard. He picked it up.
Patient: Kael, Zero.
Condition: Refractive Episode.
Room: 07-14.
Of course.
At the bottom, in red ink:
"Do NOT allow access to reflective surfaces unsupervised."
Zero looked up.
Too late.
A mirror hung on the opposite wall. Plain, rectangular, and perfectly polished. His reflection stared back.
Except it wasn't him.
It was still a version of him, but wearing a hospital gown two shades darker and grinning like he'd just solved a math problem and committed arson in celebration.
"You made it to Threshold," the reflection said, voice perfectly audible this time. "That's honestly farther than I bet."
"Threshold of what?"
"Sanity. Multiversal recursion. A long list of unpaid karmic debts?" The reflection shrugged. "Depends on the footnotes."
Zero rubbed his temple. "Okay, and who exactly are you?"
The reflection held up a finger. "Your joke-deprived subconscious. Your twin from the failed batch. Your soul's post-credits blooper reel."
Zero stared.
"...You're the comedy arc."
"Finally," the mirror version sighed, mock-clapping. "Took you long enough. Let's get existentially uncomfortable together."
A sharp click came from behind.
Zero turned. The girl—faceless now—stood in the doorway. She wore a lab coat this time and carried a metal case.
"Your reflection's...getting bolder," she said, without looking at it.
"He's hilarious."
"He's dangerous."
"Can't I have one unstable hallucination that doesn't want to kill me?"
"Doubtful."
She placed the case on the bed and opened it. Inside: a needle, a sealed glass ampoule, and a thin headset wired to something that looked like a camera lens glued to a locket.
"What is that?"
"A refractor," she said. "It'll allow you to see what's normally hidden at the threshold."
"Hidden like secrets, or hidden like eldritch horrors that melt your brain?"
She ignored him and handed him the needle.
"You'll need to inject this first. It stabilizes your cognitive layers. Otherwise, you'll end up looping and re-living this conversation six hundred times."
"...That's how I feel about family dinners."
The serum burned. Sharp and fast. Within seconds, the colors around him deepened. The whites weren't just white—they shimmered with subtle gray patterns. The ceiling tiles had symbols engraved that weren't visible before. And the walls—
They moved. Slowly, like they were breathing.
"What's in this stuff?"
"Reality enhancer."
"That's a branding nightmare."
She slipped the refractor headset over his eyes. The locket-lens clicked.
The room inverted.
The mirror didn't show his reflection anymore.
It showed a door.
Behind it: something large. Pulsing. Made of light and noise. It had no shape, just motion. And it was waiting.
"What...is that?"
"The Inversion Gate," she said. "It leads to the origin point—the Karnyx."
Zero's throat went dry. "That's what I'm supposed to find?"
"Not find. Survive."
The reflection leaned into the mirror again.
"Last chance to chicken out," it said, mock-serious. "Or do you want to go full protagonist?"
Zero grinned, the first real one in days.
"Let's see what I'm made of."
He stepped forward.
The mirror dissolved.