I slipped through the tunnel’s rusted grate, the air turning cold and metallic.
The stone floor was slick with condensation, and the faint hum of fluorescent tubes flickered overhead.
Rows of metal cabinets lined the walls, each door ajar, exposing syringes, vials, and a rusted scalpel that glinted like a promise of pain.
A stainless‑steel table sat in the center, stained with dark rings that looked like old blood.
On a nearby shelf rested a leather‑bound ledger, its pages yellowed and brittle.
I opened it, my fingers trembling.
Names were listed in neat columns: “Subject A – 03‑CHL – Code Eclipse,” “Subject B – 04‑MIA – Code Nimbus,” and then, “Subject C – 10‑CHL – Code Phoenix.”
The last entry was dated just two weeks ago, with a note scribbled in a hurried hand: “Stabilize; monitor for behavioral regression.”
A sudden crackle filled the room; an old speaker sputtered to life.
Vincent’s voice, thin and distorted, echoed off the concrete: “You’re not supposed to be here. Leave now, or you’ll become another variable.”
I swallowed, the taste of iron rising in my throat, and turned to the tunnel’s exit, the ledger clutched to my chest.
The twin in the cage
I raced back through the dim tunnel, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind me with a deafening clang.
The garden gate at the yard stood ajar, but as I reached it, a sudden gust slammed it shut, the latch snapping into place on its own.
My heart hammered as I lunged toward the blue tarp that had once concealed the dog cage.
The tarp jerked, folding back like a snake shedding skin, and the cage door swung open on its own.
Inside, a smaller, rust‑stained cage sat in the shadow, its bars cold to the touch.
There, curled in the corner, was a child identical to Chloe—same brown hair, same wide eyes, only pale, motionless, as if frozen in time.
I knelt, my breath catching, and whispered, “Who are you?”
The girl’s lips twitched faintly, then stayed still; a thin scar traced her forehead, matching a mark I’d seen on Chloe’s wrist bracelet.
All the pieces clicked: Rachel and Vincent’s secret experiment, the code‑name “Phoenix,” the twin hidden away, the cloned “subject” I’d rescued.
Behind me, the garden’s rusted gate remained locked, the night pressing in, and the twin’s empty stare promised a nightmare that would not end.
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