The first time it showed up, Theodore still had blood on his hands.
The street outside his house was completely silent, the kind of silence that only comes after something violent.
It was only the soft hum of the wind rustling the leaves that filled the dead space with anything other than Theodore's breathing.
He had just killed the last man—thirteen in total—and was standing there, alone, surrounded by the aftermath of something that couldn't be undone.
Then it appeared.
No sound. No warning. Just a strange glowing screen floating in the air in front of him, blue light flickering faintly.
Then, letters started to form.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
[Welcome to the Mirror System.]
[Task Complete: Eliminate Threat.]
[New Task: Investigate. ]
Theodore blinked, tilting his head slightly.
"Mirror System?" he said quietly.
He waited, expecting it to respond somehow, but nothing happened.
Mirror System? Mirror? He hadn't looked into one in days.
Heck, they don't even have one up their home.
He had no idea what this thing was or where it came from, but from the moment it showed up, it didn't go away. Even when he closed his eyes, the words stayed there like they were burned into his vision.
With a flick of his hand, the faces of his clones that he used just minutes ago dissipated into smoke. When he read the screen again, a lot of texts popped up.
[Task: Investigate]
[Initializing Investigation Protocol…]
[Scanning Primary Data Pathways…]
[Optional: Access Auxiliary Interface — Mental Archive]
[The Mental Archive functions as a secondary browser for deep memory retrieval and subconscious data mapping.]
[Would you like to open Mental Archive?]
[☐ Yes] [☐ No]
[Awaiting Input…]
Cautiously, he muttered a 'yes' and the screen faded and was replaced with another.
The blue glow rippled slightly and new words appeared.
[Accessing Archive…]
[Compiling Data…]
[Source Detected: Internal + External Memory Streams]
Lines of light began branching out from the main display, forming neat rows like digital shelves in midair. Little symbols blinked in and out, shifting and reordering themselves, as if the system was scanning through massive amounts of data at high speed.
Then, at the center of the display, a new header solidified in clean, silver text:
[[MENTAL ARCHIVE]]
Theodore's breath caught.
Thirteen glowing rectangles blinked into existence beneath the heading, each one pulsing gently like a heartbeat. Names appeared above each panel—names he recognized immediately. The faces came next, forming like digital portraits from lines of light, followed by dates, locations, and brief notes.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
Each profile had its own collection of data: surveillance footage, bank statements, messages, news clippings, and in some cases, fragments of his own memory. Somehow, the system had pulled it all together and sorted it, like a mind-machine hybrid.
He didn't know how it was possible.
But the files were real. And so were the names.
Every single one of them belonged to a man he had killed.
He remembered sitting in the kitchen for hours afterward, blood still seeping beneath the floorboards, while the system's glowing panels hovered quietly in front of him. He hadn't touched them at first. He just stared, watching the profiles pulse gently, as if they were alive and waiting for him to open them.
Eventually, he did.
He scrolled through the names, one after another. Not to doubt what he had done, but to understand the weight of it.
The Mirror System had laid everything out with eerie precision, as if to say: You were right. This was necessary.
Each of those men had played a part in breaking his mother.
She hadn't always been the empty shell the world remembered.
Once, she'd been kind, soft-spoken, and even a bit of an adventurous spirit. Or at least, that's what Theodore envisioned based on the crumpled pictures hidden inside a small box.
After his father vanished before he was born, life hit her like a wave she couldn't outrun. Bills piled up. Smiles faded. And somewhere along the way, survival turned into surrender. Not by choice—but by force.
Those men took what little she had left. They used her and humiliated her. They left her barely human while they toasted wine in glittering halls.
No one helped her.
So Theodore did what no one else would. He avenged her even in death.
And the system helped. It pointed him toward connections no one had noticed. It gave him pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't have existed. And when the last profile dimmed, the system calmly displayed a new command:
[Task: Escape.]
But he didn't.
He had no reason to run.
When the officers found him, he didn't resist. He stood still, calm, unarmed. They pulled him out of the tunnel beneath Mirevale like he was some animal.
A teenage killer. A cold-blooded psychopath.
No one asked why. No one cared to listen, anyway.
They called it justice. They called it closure. And they locked him away in the Mirevale Psychiatric Institute.
But the system stayed.
Even now, it hovered quietly at the edge of his vision, its soft blue light pulsing with quiet, ghostly patience.
And each morning, Theodore read it the way someone else might check the weather.
But he hadn't obeyed the last command.
Not yet.
Life inside the facility wasn't as bad as he'd imagined.
The food was warm. The bed was soft. The nurses were polite in a distant kind of way. They fitted him with magicless cuffs the moment he arrived—thin metal bands on his wrists designed to suppress his power ans drain it. He barely noticed anymore.
What mattered more was that the screaming had stopped.
Especially hers.
-------------------------
Theodore sat in his usual spot, calm and composed. He sat straight, legs crossed, with his hands in his lap that you could almost forget he was in a psychiatric ward and not a fancy dinner place in Ashbourne. Only his eyes gave him away. They flicked constantly to the corners of the room, scanning like he was tracking things no one else could see.
Dr. Evelyn Marris sat across from him with a small smile.
"How are you today, Theodore?"
"Rested," he answered. "And you?"
"I'm doing well, thank you."
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Theodore leaned in a little, curious.
"Do you enjoy psychology?" he asked.
She nodded. "Very much. I've always been fascinated by how people think and feel."
He looked thoughtful.
"So… you like sorting through people's emotional chaos?"
She laughed. "Not sorting, really. But understanding? Yes. Every behavior has a reason, even if it's hard to see."
He gave a slight smile. "And you think people can really be understood?"
"Most of the time. If you're patient."
He studied her carefully, like he was trying to see something deeper.
"And what about people who don't understand themselves?"
Her smile faded a little. "They're the ones who need the most patience."
Theodore nodded slowly, like her answer made sense.
Then he leaned back and looked at the clock.
"Before our session ends," he said casually, "do you have any books on psychology? Something light I can read in the evenings? I'd like to use my time well."
Dr. Marris seemed a little surprised. It was the first time he'd asked for something that wasn't part of their usual talks.
"I can find something for you," she said, smiling again. "Yes."
"Thank you. I'd appreciate it."
As she stood up and gathered her notes, Theodore gave her a polite nod.
"Until tomorrow, Dr. Marris."
"Until tomorrow, Theodore."
The door clicked shut behind her.
And just like that, the soft blue glow returned to the edge of his vision, steady and unblinking.