Wait… then who just opened the door?
The question doesn't finish forming in my mind before the world answers it physically.
The door behind Karan shuts by itself.
Not slowly.
Not dramatically.
Just—click.
Like it was always meant to be closed again.
Karan freezes mid-breath.
Meera steps back instinctively.
And I—
I can't move.
Because the version of me inside the final door steps forward.
And now there are two of me standing in the same reality.
Not reflection.
Not echo.
Presence.
"Don't look at it," I whisper automatically.
But Meera already is.
Her eyes shift between us like she's trying to decide which one is real and failing.
Karan tightens his grip again, voice low.
"Okay… I've seen enough horror movies to know when two of the same guy shows up, one of them is lying."
The other me smiles.
So do I.
Which is the problem.
Because I didn't choose to.
The air feels thinner.
Not the system.
Not a message.
Just pressure.
Like the building is holding its breath waiting for someone to make the wrong choice.
The duplicate Arjun tilts his head.
"You opened it," he says to Karan.
Karan shakes his head. "No. I just touched it."
"That was enough."
Meera suddenly grabs my arm—my version of me.
Her grip is tight.
Too tight.
Like she's anchoring herself to something she doesn't trust.
"You're shaking," she whispers.
"I know," I say.
But I don't know why I'm shaking.
That's the worst part.
The second Arjun steps closer.
Each step makes my stomach tighten.
Not fear exactly.
Recognition.
That feeling you get when something remembers you before you do.
"You're incomplete," he says softly.
I swallow.
"So are you."
He nods.
"Correct."
Karan raises his rod halfway.
"Can someone explain why both of you are talking like you've already lost the argument?"
Meera snaps, "Stop talking like it's a debate!"
But Karan doesn't lower his weapon.
Because he's noticed something.
We all have.
The corridor behind us is gone.
No doors.
No exit.
Just wall.
Like the building erased the idea of leaving.
The duplicate Arjun takes one more step.
Then stops.
Not because he's afraid.
Because something inside him pauses.
Like a thought didn't finish loading.
He blinks once.
Twice.
And then whispers—
"…you feel that?"
I don't answer.
Because I do.
A pulse.
Not system.
Not external.
Internal.
Like something inside my memory just turned over.
Meera feels it too.
Her hand loosens slightly.
"Arjun…" she says carefully. "Why do I feel like I've said your name more than once today?"
Karan frowns. "Same. That's weird."
I freeze.
Because I feel it too.
But I don't know what's missing.
Only that something is looping.
The other Arjun suddenly grips his own head.
Not pain.
Confusion.
Sharp.
Immediate.
"What did you forget?" he mutters.
I step forward slightly.
"I don't know," I answer honestly.
He looks at me.
And for the first time—
he doesn't look confident.
The building groans again.
Not monster.
Not system.
Structure.
Something large shifting above us.
Dust falls from the ceiling in thin lines.
Meera looks up. "Is something above us?"
Karan answers instantly. "I don't want to know."
The other Arjun stumbles half a step.
Then laughs once.
Short.
Broken.
"Oh," he says.
That's all.
Just that.
"Oh."
"What?" Meera asks.
He looks at her.
Then at me.
Then at Karan.
And his expression changes.
Not fear.
Realization.
"You didn't open the door," he says slowly.
My chest tightens.
"I didn't?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"You only completed it."
Karan swears. "That doesn't sound good."
Meera steps closer to me again. "Arjun, what does he mean?"
I open my mouth—
but nothing comes out.
Because I don't know.
And that gap—
that missing understanding—
is starting to feel familiar.
Too familiar.
The other Arjun suddenly takes a step back.
Like he's seeing something behind me.
His voice drops.
"…you're already split again."
I turn slightly.
Nothing there.
But I still feel it.
That pressure behind me.
Like another version of me is forming mid-thought.
Meera tightens her grip again.
"Don't move," she says softly.
"I'm not moving," I reply.
But my body feels delayed.
Like I already moved somewhere else and haven't caught up yet.
Karan shifts. "Okay, I'm officially uncomfortable. Can we go back to normal apocalypse monsters? I miss those."
No one answers.
Because normal is gone.
The other Arjun kneels slightly.
Not in pain.
In focus.
Like he's trying to stabilize himself.
"You used Echo Step too many times," he says.
I nod slowly.
"I noticed."
"No," he corrects. "You didn't notice enough."
Meera whispers, "Arjun… your hand."
I look down.
My fingers twitching.
But not together.
Slightly offset.
Like my motion is echoing a fraction late.
"Is that bad?" I ask.
No one answers immediately.
That's answer enough.
Karan suddenly steps forward.
"Okay. I'm doing the brave thing now."
Meera snaps, "Don't—"
He ignores her again.
Walks toward the other Arjun.
Stops right in front of him.
"You," Karan says, pointing the rod, "tell me which one of you is going to try and kill us."
The other Arjun smiles faintly.
"Both," he says.
Silence hits like a dropped object.
Meera goes rigid.
I feel my stomach drop.
Because I don't disagree.
Not fully.
"I didn't choose this," I say quickly.
The other Arjun looks at me.
"You did," he replies.
My voice rises. "When?"
He tilts his head.
"Every time you refused to stay in one version."
The ceiling cracks louder.
A thin line splits across it.
Something above shifts again.
Closer.
Meera steps between us now.
"No more talking," she says firmly. "Both of you—stop."
But both of us are still talking.
Just not to her.
To each other.
"I don't feel like a copy," I say.
He nods.
"You wouldn't."
Karan mutters, "That's the worst answer possible."
Something inside my chest tightens again.
Not system.
Memory.
A missing weight.
I swallow.
"What did I lose?" I ask quietly.
The other Arjun looks at me for a long moment.
Then answers.
"Your first death."
Meera stiffens.
Karan goes silent.
I feel my breath stop.
"My what?"
He steps closer.
"You didn't survive the first activation," he repeats. "You restarted without remembering the reset."
I shake my head.
"No. I remember the hallway. The creature. The doors."
He nods.
"That's iteration memory. Not origin."
The ceiling above us cracks wider.
Dust rains heavier.
The building feels like it's leaning inward.
Meera whispers, "Arjun… please tell me this is wrong."
I try to answer.
But something inside me hesitates.
Because part of me—
a very small, buried part—
already knows.
Karan suddenly laughs once.
Unstable.
"This is insane," he says. "I hate this world."
Then he looks at me.
"And I really hate that I believe him."
The other Arjun steps back again.
Now he looks… tired.
Not strong.
Not stable.
Like holding himself together is effort.
"You're collapsing again," he says to me.
I frown. "What does that mean?"
He answers simply.
"You're about to overwrite me."
Meera shakes her head fast. "No. No, that's not happening."
But she doesn't sound sure.
Not anymore.
The air shifts.
Pressure increases.
Something huge is directly above us now.
Karan looks up.
"…please tell me that's just the building."
No one answers.
Because it's not.
The other Arjun suddenly grabs my wrist.
Hard.
Immediate.
"Listen," he says urgently. "If I collapse, you become unstable again. And if you become unstable—"
He stops.
Like the sentence is too dangerous to finish.
Meera grabs my other arm.
"I don't care what you are," she says to both of us. "We survive first. Questions later."
Karan nods once. "Finally, something I agree with."
The ceiling splits open fully.
A long, slow tear.
Light from above pours in—but it's not sunlight.
It's something colder.
More artificial.
Like a system watching from above the world instead of inside it.
All versions of me freeze.
Even the other Arjun.
Even me.
Because in that light—
I see movement.
Something is looking down.
Not into the building.
Into me.
The other Arjun whispers, almost inaudible.
"…it found the correct layer."
Meera hears him.
"What layer?"
He doesn't answer.
Karan tightens his grip.
"Arjun… why do I feel like we just became visible to something we shouldn't exist in front of?"
I try to speak.
But my voice doesn't come out right.
Because for a split second—
I feel myself split again.
Not choice.
Not system.
Just consequence.
And as the light expands—
my vision fractures into two versions of the same moment.
Both me.
Both real.
Both looking up.
And in both versions—
something begins reaching down.