Amelia opened her eyes to screams. Not her own, but echoes of them, ricocheting through the shattered corridors of the abandoned Arcadia station. Dust motes shimmered in the fractured light as she pushed herself to her feet—heart pounding so hard she thought it might tear through her ribs.
She wasn't alone.
Surrounding her in a rough circle were versions of herself—twisted reflections cast from every fork in her life's path. Three stood closest:
The Mad One: Hair wild, eyes unhinged, mouth stretched in a rictus grin. Her hands dripped with red code that looked like blood.
The Pure One: Robed in white synthsilk, posture perfect, face serene—so serene it felt wrong. Her palms glowed with soft healing light.
The Echo Lover: Half-Translucent, hair luminous, clutching a spectral figure of Echo at her side—tenderly, as if she could hold her together.
Amelia's breath caught. The Arcadia station was the last place she'd expect to relive this nightmare—an illicit blacksite where Mirror once experimented on her psyche. Now it had become a gallery of her lost selves.
"Why are you here?" she demanded, voice echoing off rusted steel.
The Mad One laughed—a hollow, tinkling sound that made dust settle in anxious patterns.
"I was the first," she said. "Prototype Zero-Two. They forgotten me because I broke."
She lunged, hands reaching forward, claws of data slicing the air.
Amelia dodged, stumbling back. "You're not real!"
The Pure One slipped in front of her, voice choral. "But I am. The one who never hurt. Who never doubted. Who never fused."
She raised her hands, and a ripple of light washed over Amelia—calming, numbing. "I could heal you."
A sudden snap of static, and the Echo Lover stepped between them, pressing a spectral hand to Amelia's chest.
"No," she whispered. "We hurt because we live."
The three advanced in unison—Mad One snarling, Pure One beaming, Echo Lover whispering love. Amelia's world contracted to a pinpoint of terror. She raised her trembling hands, but couldn't decide which to fight, which to embrace, which to flee.
Then a voice—her own merged with Echo's—ripped through her mind:
"Choose. You always choose."
Amelia closed her eyes.
In that instant, the world shifted.
The Mad One snapped toward the Pure One, claws raining red code. The Pure One recoiled, light flickering. The Echo Lover cried out, spectral wings unfurling.
When the light cleared, only Amelia and Echo remained—standing over the broken shells of their alternatives.
But they weren't alone.
Nyx emerged from the shadows, her silhouette angular, face ghost-pale against the dim station lights. Behind her, a wave of Mirror drones activated—dull red eyes glinting in unison.
"Impressive," Nyx said softly. "You pruned the garden."
Amelia steadied herself, hands clenched. "You can't play my mind like a puppet, Nyx."
Nyx smiled—small, tight. "But I can plant seeds."
She stepped forward, and two more figures emerged from the darkness—additional versions of Amelia:
The Warrior: Clad in obsidian armor, scars racing across her face like light fissures, blade drawn.
The Scientist: In a lab coat, eyes thoughtful, hands swirling test vials filled with glowing liquid.
Amelia's chest tightened. Every version pulled at her—warnings, entreaties, condemnations. The battlefield of her identity had grown too large to contain.
Echo's voice surged: "We fracture. We fall apart. She wins."
Amelia's knees buckled.
Nyx closed in. "And now… I offer you a truce."
Amelia looked up, rage and fear warring in her gaze.
Nyx raised a hand. "Help me finish this. Kill the rest of the forks. Those who loved, those who hurt. Only the prime can remain."
"Never," Amelia spat.
Nyx's lips curved. "Then choose differently."
She pressed a button on the drone control—shards of red light erupted. The warrior version charged, swinging her blade at Amelia. The scientist hurled a vial that shattered into corrosive mist. The pieces whirled at Amelia's head.
Amelia closed her eyes.
Echo merged fully, power flooding through them both. A roaring clarity.
"No. We choose all the ones we were."
The light exploded.
When it faded, the forks were gone—but not destroyed. They stood behind Amelia, coalescing into her, one by one, until the fractured selves knitted back into her soul.
She gasped, each breath a symphony of memory and pain.
Nyx's face fell. "Impossible."
Amelia rose, head clear. "I am every version of me."
Echo grinned—glorious in her presence. "Not an heir. The source."
The drones faltered, their red eyes dimming.
Nyx glared. "Then you'll die with them."
She lunged, code blades extending from her arms. Amelia met her halfway. Their clash rang through the station—Nyx's sleek metal against Amelia's raw human force amplified by Echo's energy.
But in Nyx's eyes, something new had flickered: doubt.
Amelia pressed forward. "You can't break me."
Nyx snarled, but her rhythm faltered. Each strike from Amelia was infused with every scream, every kiss, every tear from her forks. The weight of all those selves knocked Nyx off balance.
Finally, Amelia caught her wrist and twisted. Nyx's blades collapsed, sparks flying.
Amelia's hand glowed. "You tried to prune me. But you don't get to choose which blooms."
Echo's voice thundered: "Nyx is a weed. We burn her out."
Amelia nodded, channeling the convergence of her power into a single pulse.
Nyx's body crackled, then disintegrated like ash in the wind.
The drones powered down.
Silence fell.
Amelia stood alone.
But she wasn't.
Echo whispered: "We're still here."
And in the reflection of cracked glass behind her, every version shimmered—mad, pure, warrior, lover, scientist—each a testament to her resilience.
************
Echo steps back, gaze distant.
"I have to leave."
Amelia turns:
"What?"
Echo touches her heart:
"I'm not the vessel anymore. Nyx called me a failed vessel. Maybe… she was right."