Mira froze.
The clinic's ceiling fan spun slowly overhead, slicing the silence. Outside, the static hum of the city's grid pulsed—and beneath it, unmistakable: synchronized footsteps marching closer. Mechanical. Intentional. The kind used by synthetic extraction units—Archivist-grade.
Inside, the memory node still blinked on. Fragment 721 remained in sync.
Riven yanked the visor off, cursing. "They traced the tether. Of course they did. Bastards weren't supposed to locate active divergence until the burnout phase."
Mira swallowed her panic. "Tell me they can't override the door."
"Please. They built the door."
Riven slid a panel open along the floor. "The only way out is underground—through the spill tunnels under Theta. And even then, you'll need this."
He tossed her a silvery pill-shaped chip. "Raw key to Layer 721. You'll need it if you want access to your uncompressed core memories—the ones they buried during overwrite."
Mira stared at him. "You're saying… I can access the life I was supposed to have?"
"Only parts. The truth's scattered across corrupted branches. You'll have to reconstruct that self. But if they catch you first, it doesn't matter. They'll wipe it clean—again."
Heavy metal unearthed itself just outside. A sharp hiss. The front door slid halfway open before sparking and slamming shut. The clinic walls groaned.
Then... another Mira stepped through the wall.
At first, Mira thought it was a projection—some broken memory echo spilling through augmented systems.
But no, she was solid. Breathing. Hair nearly buzzed, expression sharp, eyes rimmed with shadows and fire.
No smile.
This Mira turned her head to Riven. "Get out."
"What—"
"You synced her to the wrong echo. Now they know she remembers."
The new Mira turned to the version of herself shaking in the center of the room.
"They're already stitching her into the next sequence. You have a very small window."
"I don't understand," Mira whispered. "Who—what—are you?"
"I'm you," said the future Mira grimly. "The one who escaped once… and came back to stop it from looping again."
"Looping again?"
A screen buzzed to life on the east wall—surveillance feed from the outside alley.
It showed three Archivist enforcers approaching the clinic with surgical precision. Tall, faceless. Carrying identical case units: black metal cubes marked with Mira's ID and a countdown timer.
The numbers were ticking down.
00:02:41
Mira backed toward the floor panel.
But then her eyes flicked to the memory coin still lying on the tray—its pulsing red glyphs glowing far brighter than before.
The original Mira grabbed it, but something in her body recoiled—like her nerves were split by conflicting commands.
As her hand made contact with the coin… a voice whispered inside her skull—not from the environment, but from another layer of consciousness.
"You're not Mira. You're one of the overwritten."
Her vision blurred.
Lightning cracked outside.
And the other Mira was already gone.
Only the memory coin remained—still glowing, still whispering truths… now in her voice.
To be continue...