Kahn leaned against the wall, chest heaving, his skull still buzzing from the psychic snap. The whispers had dulled to a faint murmur, but their rhythm clung to him like smoke, impossible to shake. He wanted to believe he was free—yet every breath, every twitch of thought, carried the echo of symmetry.
When he pushed himself upright, the change became undeniable.
The corridor no longer simply looked wrong—it behaved wrong. Doors he had just passed stood opposite their doubles. Footsteps behind him clicked in perfect sync with his own, though when he spun around, no one was there. His shadow bent itself into neater proportions than his body could manage, stretching its arms until both sides matched.
Kahn's pulse spiked. The monster was behind the office door, but its obsession had bled outward, and worse—into him. He could feel it under his skin, in the slight tremor of his veins, in the way his gaze lingered too long on uneven edges. The corruption wasn't just in the air. It was in him.
He staggered forward, forcing himself to move, but the building seemed to anticipate him. The farther he walked, the more the corridors looped, each new stretch tidying itself into mirrored pairs. His chest burned with the weight of Twisted Energy, heavy and liquid, as though the walls themselves were breathing against him.
The whispers began again. Faint, but sharper this time, threading not only through the hall but inside his skull: align… correct… balance…
Kahn gritted his teeth. He could not afford to slip. If he gave in—even for a heartbeat—he would become part of the reflection.
Minutes blurred. Or maybe it was seconds. Time folded in on itself, resetting like a stutter in reality. His skin prickled, and when he looked down, his stomach dropped.
The veins on his arms had mirrored.
Perfect, branching symmetry ran across both forearms, pulsing in rhythm with the whispers. For a moment, he thought they were moving—shifting beneath his skin to align more evenly. His breath hitched.
"No," he hissed, shaking his head violently. "Not me. Not me."
He forced himself past another door. The antiseptic stench hit him first. Inside, a room of desks stretched in neat rows, every chair perfectly mirrored, every pen aligned with its twin. Even the dust motes seemed to fall in pairs. He slammed the door shut before the sight split his mind in two.
The monster's influence was spreading too fast. Too deep.
And the whispers were no longer meaningless—they carried threads of thought: align… correct… balance… become…
Kahn staggered onward, clutching his head. The Federation's warnings resurfaced, cruel in their clarity:
Twisted Energy corrupts consciousness first, then flesh. Thought loops, compulsions, hallucinations—these are the early signs. Stay too long, and you'll be nothing but a reflection of the monster that birthed the obsession.
The hall stretched endlessly ahead, but no matter how far he moved, the space folded back onto itself. Lights duplicated. Doors doubled. His stomach twisted with the realization: the building was no longer a place. It was a puzzle—living, breathing, and correcting itself into the obsession's rules.
He turned sharply into a stairwell, desperate for change.
For a heartbeat, relief—metal steps, a spiraling descent. But then he saw it.
Each stair was identical. Mirrored. No matter how far he descended, the pattern repeated: an infinite loop of geometry.
The hum in his skull sharpened. His legs faltered. His shadow detached slightly, moving with unnatural balance, correcting his trembling posture into steadiness he no longer had.
Panic drove him back into the hallway. The whispers pressed closer: align… align… align… His thoughts were folding into them, syncing against his will.
"No!" He slammed his head against the wall. Pain bloomed across his temple, breaking the cadence for a single, vital heartbeat. Enough to stumble forward again.
A flicker ahead. A glass panel.
Kahn froze. His reflection stared back, but wrong—its features were too precise, too flawless. The eyes perfectly level. The jawline identical on both sides. Even the scars on his knuckles had been mirrored into exact copies.
Then it moved. Not with him—but against him. Correcting him. Straightening his posture, evening his stance, adjusting his expression into perfect balance.
His stomach dropped.
The obsession had taken root inside him. The reflection wasn't his anymore—it belonged to the monster's will.
He tore his gaze away before the whispers locked him into the image, but the echo lingered. A parasite pulsing in his skull.
Every second mattered now. His thoughts quivered at the edges of alignment. His arms shook in mirrored rhythm. If he delayed, he'd lose the last of himself.
So he ran.
Through doors that led to duplicates. Past corridors that bent back onto themselves. Ignoring the panels that showed him corrected, symmetrical versions of who he was. The whispers screamed now, urging him to give in, to become. His skin burned as though splitting into halves.
And then—salvation.
A faint green glow. EXIT.
Kahn's chest nearly collapsed with relief. He sprinted toward it, ignoring the mirrored doors, the twisting walls, the reflections calling to him. The whispers clawed at his skull, but he flung himself through the final door.
Cold night air hit his face. Real. He staggered forward, lungs dragging in sharp breaths, the pressure loosening with every inhale.
Behind him, the building loomed in perfect symmetry. Windows glinted like mirrored eyes. The structure pulsed faintly, a monument to the obsession still growing within.
And then he saw him.
A tall figure at the edge of the parking lot, long coat stirring in the wind. Federation insignia on the shoulder. His expression steady, grim, like someone who had seen this scene too many times before.
The device in his hand hummed, scanning green light across Kahn's body.
"You're alive," the official said flatly. His eyes narrowed, measuring him. "Barely."
Kahn swayed, throat raw, vision swimming. For one heartbeat, he saw his reflection again—not in glass, but in the man's mirrored sunglasses. Perfect. Symmetrical. Inhuman.
Then the vision blinked away.
But deep inside, where the whispers pulsed faintly still, Kahn knew the truth.
He had escaped the building.
But the building had not escaped him.