The walls of Black Hollow were too clean.
White-tiled, sterile, silent—like a morgue dressed as a hospital. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting Hale's shadow against the corridor in duplicate. Each step echoed, sharp and hollow. The place reeked of bleach and secrets.
He'd seen war zones. Cartel bunkers. CIA black sites. But this? This was something colder. Manufactured.
Then came the door.
Steel. Reinforced. A single scanner pad and no visible handle.
He held up the stolen keycard—one of the guards from the upper levels hadn't needed it anymore. The scanner blinked green. The door hissed open.
And there he was.
Sitting in the center of a white room, calm as if waiting for a therapist: himself.
Same jawline. Same scars. Same eyes.
But the posture was different—too straight. The eyes too still.
Hale froze, gun low but ready. "What the hell are you?"
The clone smiled faintly. "That's the question, isn't it?"
His voice was the same, but something about the cadence—measured, almost rehearsed—set Hale on edge.
"You know me?" Hale asked.
The clone tilted his head. "I am you."
"No. You're a copy. A puppet."
"You sure?" The clone stood slowly, hands raised in mock surrender. "Tell me, Matt… what's your earliest memory?"
Hale opened his mouth—then stopped.
He tried to reach for something solid. A childhood scrape. A smell. A face.
But all he got were snapshots. Scenes. No depth. No roots.
The clone smiled wider. "They gave you just enough to feel real. Just enough to think you had a life. That's the trick, isn't it? Belief."
"You're lying," Hale growled.
"Am I?" The clone stepped forward. "You've had blackouts lately. Headaches. Gaps. Ever wonder why your muscle memory's perfect but you can't remember your sixth-grade teacher? Or if you even had one?"
Hale gritted his teeth. "You're part of their game. Another trick."
"No." The clone's voice dropped, serious now. "I was the trick. You're the escape."
A silence stretched between them.
"I broke protocol," the clone continued. "Walked off the leash. That's when they made you. A cleaner copy. A version they could still control."
Hale stared. "Then why am I here?"
"Because something went wrong," the clone said. "And now… we're both defective."
A light blinked red above the door. Loud footsteps echoed down the hall.
Security.
The clone backed up. "They'll wipe us both if we stay. I can get you out, but you have to choose."
"Choose what?"
"To stop digging. Or to burn it all."
The door snapped shut behind him, locking Hale inside with himself.
The clone leans close. "One of us is the original. Want to find out which one?"
.