The Protagonist's Curse: The Love Triangle Trap Book 2: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance Fantasy Adventure, page 4
It wasn't a dungeon corridor. It was a canal.
Floating in the water was a boat. Specifically, a swan boat. With velvet seats.
[Scenario: The Tunnel of Love] [Objective: Bond.]
"You have got to be kidding me," Ivy deadpanned.
"It seems appropriate," Sterling stepped into the boat. He didn't wobble. He sat down and patted the seat next to him. "Come along, Ivy. The current only flows one way."
Ivy stepped into the boat. She sat as far away from him as physics allowed.
The swan boat lurched forward, drifting down the stream of glowing blue water. Violins began to play from nowhere.
"So," Sterling reached into a picnic basket that had appeared at his feet. He pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and two crystal flutes. "Tell me about your childhood. I want to know the origin story of your efficiency."
"I want to know the exit strategy," Ivy said, scanning the walls for weak points.
"The exit strategy," Sterling poured the cider, "is falling in love. Or at least... simulating it well enough to satisfy the Quest logic."
He handed her a glass.
"To optimization," Sterling toasted.
Ivy looked at the cider. She looked at his perfect face.
She thought about Ryker drinking coffee out of a chipped mug, spilling it on his armor, and looking at her like she was the sun.
"To logistics," Ivy muttered, and drank the cider. It tasted like fake apples and despair.
Meanwhile.
THUD. SPLASH.
Ryker hit the water face-first.
He scrambled up, coughing, thrashing in the knee-deep liquid. It was dark here. Cold. The air smelled of mold and dead fish.
"Sound off!" Ryker barked, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
"I'm here," Piper groaned from the darkness. A light flickered on—her drone, slightly dented but functional. "Ew. What is this water? It’s sticky."
"I think I broke my butt," Kenji whimpered.
Ryker waded over to them. He grabbed Kenji by the vest and hauled him up.
"We're in the basement," Ryker said, looking around. "The pump room. Or what’s left of it."
The room was a maze of rusted pipes and shattered mirrors. The mirrors here weren't pristine like the ones upstairs. They were cracked, dirty, and hung at wrong angles.
"We need to get back up," Ryker said. "Ivy is alone with that... that mannequin."
"He's a Paladin," Piper corrected, wiping sludge off her skirt. "And he's kinda hot, Ryker. Don't be a hater."
"He's an algorithm with hair gel," Ryker snarled. "We move. Now."
He took a step.
CRUNCH.
He stepped on a mirror lying in the water.
He looked down.
The reflection in the broken glass stared back at him.
It wasn't the human Ryker. It wasn't the Wolf Ryker.
It was a creature made of shadows and teeth. Its eyes were burning red. It grinned, revealing rows of serrated fangs.
She left you, the reflection whispered. The lips didn't move, but the voice was inside Ryker’s head.
Ryker stumbled back. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Kenji asked, looking around nervously.
Ryker looked at the mirror again.
The shadow-creature pressed its hand against the glass from the inside.
She chose the Knight, the reflection hissed. Because you are a dog. You belong in the kennel.
"Shut up," Ryker growled.
He smashed his armored fist into the water, shattering the mirror shard.
"Ryker?" Piper aimed her drone light at him. "Your eyes... they're glowing."
Ryker stood up. He was shaking. The [Survivor’s Guilt] buff was pulsing, twisting into something darker. [Insecurity: Critical Levels].
"We find the stairs," Ryker said. His voice was rough. "We find Ivy."
He started walking.
Behind him, in the water, the shards of the broken mirror began to vibrate.
They didn't sink. They floated. They clicked together.
From the darkness of the pump room, a figure stepped out of a tall, cracked mirror frame.
It looked like Ryker. It wore his old flannel shirt. It had his face.
But it was clean. It stood straight. And it was holding a combat knife that glowed with a sickly, green light.
The reflection smiled.
"Find her," the reflection whispered to Ryker’s retreating back. "So I can replace you."
Chapter 5
The swan boat drifted lazily through the neon-blue water, bobbing with a rhythmic, sickening gentleness. The air smelled of synthetic roses and vanilla vape juice.
Ivy Chen sat rigidly on the velvet bench seat, her knees pressed together, her hands gripping the gunwales so hard the leather creaked. Opposite her, Sterling sat with one leg crossed over the other, sipping sparkling cider from a crystal flute that never seemed to empty.
"The ambiance is calibrated to 98% romantic efficiency," Sterling noted, gesturing to the ceiling with his glass. "Note the lighting. Soft focus. Flattering to the complexion."
"It’s pink," Ivy muttered. "Everything is pink. It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded."
She looked around. The "Tunnel of Love" was a narrow canal winding through a cavern of papier-mâché rocks. Every ten feet, an animatronic cupid hung from the ceiling, tracking them with dead, glassy eyes.
Twang.
A cupid fired a heart-shaped foam arrow. It bounced harmlessly off Ivy’s shoulder.
[System Event: CUPID’S STRIKE] [Effect: Mild annoyance. Suggestion to hold hands.]
"I’m going to shoot it," Ivy said, reaching for her holster.
"Violence violates the genre constraints," Sterling said smoothly. He didn't move to stop her; he just stated it as a fact of physics. "If you draw your weapon, the System will interpret it as a metaphor for 'Penetrating Love' and spawn rose petals. It’s a waste of ammo."
Ivy groaned and slumped back against the seat. "I hate this. I hate the A-Plot."
"You’re tense," Sterling observed. He set his glass down on a small, floating side table that hovered obediently near his elbow. "Your cortisol levels are spiking. You're worried about the others."
"Ryker fell down a hole," Ivy snapped. "Of course I'm worried. He’s... he’s clumsy. He breaks things."
"He breaks things," Sterling agreed. "And then you fix them. It’s a dynamic. But is it a partnership? Or is it a babysitting gig?"
Ivy glared at him. "He saved my life. Multiple times."
"And you saved his," Sterling countered. "But tell me, Ivy... when was the last time you clocked out?"
The question hung in the humid, perfumed air.
Ivy opened her mouth to argue, to defend her team, to recite the list of Ryker’s virtues. But the words stuck in her throat.
When had she clocked out? Since the moment the Meet-Cute happened in Chapter 1, she had been managing. Managing the inventory. Managing the panic. Managing Ryker’s insecurities. Managing the apocalypse.
"I..." Ivy faltered.
"Exactly," Sterling smiled. It wasn't a smug smile. It was a sympathetic one. "You are the Manager. But who manages you?"
He tapped the air. A holographic window appeared between them.
It wasn't a threat. It was a spreadsheet.
"I took the liberty of reorganizing your inventory while we were loading the scene," Sterling said softly. "I consolidated your ammo types. I flagged the crafting materials by rarity. And I set up an automated alert for your hydration levels."
Ivy stared at the blue grid floating above the swan’s head.
It was beautiful.
The rows were color-coded. The columns were sorted by weight-to-value ratio. The chaotic mess of loot she had shoved into her backpack was now a symphony of order.
"You... you pivot-tabled my loot?" Ivy whispered.
"I also drafted a schedule for the next three chapters," Sterling swiped the air. A calendar appeared. "Built-in rest periods. Delegated guard duty. You have a four-hour block on Tuesday just for 'Not Being Responsible'."
Ivy felt a strange sensation in her chest. It wasn't the flutter of romance. It was the loosening of a knot she hadn't realized was strangling her heart.
Relief.
It was seductive. More seductive than the vampire lord in the velvet suit. More seductive than the werewolf with the puppy eyes. This man was offering her the one thing she craved more than survival.
He was offering to carry the mental load.
"I don't have to do it all?" Ivy asked, her voice small.
"You don't have to do any of it," Sterling said. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Let me be the solution, Ivy. Put your head in the sand. Enjoy the boat ride. I have the wheel."
Ivy looked at the spreadsheet. She looked at Sterling’s calm, capable face.
The Script Fragment in her pocket—the warning about betrayal—felt very light suddenly. Maybe the prophecy was wrong. Maybe the betrayal wasn't malicious. Maybe it was just... letting go.
She leaned back into the velvet seat. She closed her eyes.
"Okay," Ivy whispered. "Just for a minute."
Sterling smiled. He poured her a glass of cider.
"Just for a minute," he agreed.
The swan boat drifted on, deeper into the light, leaving the darkness behind.
Meanwhile, in the B-Plot.
The darkness was wet.
Ryker waded through the sludge, the black liquid rising to the waist of his shiny silver armor. It smelled of copper and rot.
"Keep it tight," Ryker growled. His voice echoed strangely in the claustrophobic pipe tunnel. "Kenji, eyes on the ceiling. Piper, light."
"My light is flickering," Piper complained. Her voice shook. "The humidity is messing with the sensors. The Diva 2.0 isn't rated for sewers! I specifically asked for the IP68 waterproof package!"
"Stop complaining," Ryker snapped. He didn't mean to snap. But the noise in his head was getting louder.
Whisper... whisper... dog...
The mirrors lining the tunnel walls were shattered, jagged teeth of glass sticking out of the slime. Every time Ryker passed one, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
Not a reflection. A shadow.
"Ryker?" Kenji’s voice was small. "You're walking really fast."
"We need to find the exit," Ryker said, quickening his pace. "We need to get back to Ivy."
She doesn't want you back, the walls whispered.
Ryker swung his head around. "Who said that?"
"Said what?" Piper stopped, holding her drone close. "I didn't say anything."
Ryker stared at a broken shard of mirror stuck in a rusty valve. In the glass, a wolf with no eyes snarled at him.
She's with the Knight now. The clean one. The one who doesn't shed on the furniture.
"Get out of my head," Ryker muttered, swiping at the mirror. His gauntlet shattered the glass, sending shards splashing into the water.
"Ryker, you're freaking me out," Kenji said, backing away. "Your aggro is spiking."
"I'm fine!" Ryker roared. The sound was too loud in the small space.
RUMBLE.
The pipe above them groaned. A section of the ceiling, weakened by the sonic vibration of his shout, gave way.
Debris rained down.
"Look out!" Ryker shoved Piper and Kenji backward.
A slab of concrete crashed into the water between them, sealing the tunnel.
"Ryker!" Piper screamed from the other side.
"I'm okay!" Ryker coughed, waving dust away from his face. "I'm cut off. Go around! Find the service ladder!"
"We can't leave you!" Kenji yelled.
"Go!" Ryker commanded. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous! Move!"
He heard them hesitate, then the splashing of their retreat.
Ryker stood alone in the dark. The silence settled over him like a shroud.
"Okay," Ryker panted. "Okay. Just me. I can do this."
He turned to find another way.
He was standing in a dead-end chamber. The water was still here, black as ink. On the far wall, illuminated by a single, flickering bioluminescent fungus, was a mirror.
It wasn't broken. It was a massive, floor-to-ceiling pane of flawless glass.
Ryker froze.
He looked at his reflection.
The figure in the mirror wasn't wearing mud-stained armor. He wasn't hunched over. He wasn't panting.
He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit. He stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped behind his back. He was human. No wolf ears. No tail. Just a man. A handsome, confident man.
Ryker stared.
The reflection smiled.
"Hello, Ryker," the reflection said.
Ryker stumbled back, water splashing. "What are you?"
"I'm the upgrade," the reflection said. He stepped forward. The surface of the glass rippled like water.
The reflection stepped out.
He walked onto the surface of the sludge, his polished dress shoes not sinking, not getting wet. He walked toward Ryker with a calm, predatory grace.
[Enemy: MIRROR CLONE (Subject 01)] [Class: The Better You]
"Stay back," Ryker growled. He reached for his combat knife. His hand fumbled. He dropped it in the water.
"Clumsy," the Clone tutted. "Always so clumsy. That’s why she’s tired, you know."
"Shut up," Ryker bared his teeth.
"You exhaust her," the Clone continued, circling him. "You’re a project. A fixer-upper. She spends half her mana just managing your insecurities. Don't you think she deserves a break?"
"I protect her!" Ryker roared. He swung a massive, armored fist at the Clone’s face.
The Clone didn't block. He didn't dodge. He simply tilted his head to the left.
Ryker’s fist punched empty air. The momentum carried him forward, stumbling, splashing onto his knees in the filth.
The Clone looked down at him. He looked sad.
"Look at you," the Clone whispered. "Kneeling in the mud. Is this what a hero looks like?"
"I'm trying," Ryker choked out.
"Trying isn't enough anymore," the Clone said. He reached down.
Ryker flinched, expecting a strike.
The Clone didn't strike. He reached out and adjusted the strap of Ryker’s shoulder pauldron.
"This is loose," the Clone said gently. "It’s chafing you. Let me fix it."
He tightened the strap. He reached up and wiped a smudge of dirt from Ryker’s cheek with a silk handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.
"See?" the Clone smiled. "Better."
Ryker trembled. The gentleness was worse than a beating. It was a violation. It was a declaration of absolute superiority.
"Why?" Ryker whispered.
"Because the story needs a Lead," the Clone said. "And you are a Sidekick. You are the comic relief. The dog who messes up the carpet."
He grabbed Ryker by the collar of his breastplate. With strength that defied his slender frame, the Clone hauled Ryker to his feet.
"She’s upstairs right now," the Clone said, leaning in close. "In a boat. With Sterling. She’s smiling, Ryker. She’s relaxed. She isn't thinking about you."
"Liar," Ryker gasped.
"Check the link," the Clone challenged. "Is she reaching out? Or is she enjoying the silence?"
Ryker checked.
The link was dead. No static. Just... quiet.
His heart broke. It was a physical sensation, sharper than the rapier in Chapter 19.
"She gave up," Ryker whispered.
"She moved on," the Clone corrected. "And so should you."
The Clone spun Ryker around. He shoved him.
Ryker stumbled backward. He hit the surface of the mirror.
It didn't shatter. It yielded. It was cold, viscous like gel. Ryker fell into the glass.
"No!" Ryker screamed, thrashing. "Let me out!"
The Clone stood on the other side. He watched Ryker sink into the reflection. He waved, a small, polite gesture.
"Rest now, dog," the Clone said. "I'll take it from here."
The glass solidified.
Ryker slammed his fists against the surface. No sound came out. He was trapped in the grey, silent void of the mirror prison. He watched as the Clone—the man who wore his face but none of his scars—turned away.
The Clone rolled his neck. Crack.
He adjusted his cuffs. He checked his reflection in a shard of glass on the wall. He practiced a smile.
Too wide, the Clone thought. Dial it back. 10% more anxiety. She likes the anxiety.
He adjusted the smile. It became crooked. Shy. Perfect.
"Time to go to work," the Clone said. His voice was gravelly now, perfectly mimicking Ryker’s timbre.
He started walking toward the ladder, leaving the real Ryker screaming in the silence behind him.
Chapter 6
The swan boat hit the dock with a polite, anticlimactic thump.
The pink lighting of the "Tunnel of Love" flickered and died, replaced by the harsh, industrial grey of the maintenance bay. The animatronic cupids powered down, freezing in mid-air with their foam arrows pointed at nothing.
[System Event Complete: DATE NIGHT] [Rating: C-] [Feedback: "Lack of Chemistry." "Too much discussion about inventory management."]
"C-minus?" Sterling frowned, stepping out of the boat without getting a drop of water on his white boots. "That algorithm is flawed. Our conversation regarding supply chain logistics was incredibly intimate."
Ivy scrambled onto the concrete, ignoring his hand. She felt like she had been trapped in a scented candle for a week.
"Ryker," she said, tapping her earpiece. "Ryker, report."
Static.
"Kenji? Piper?"
"We're... kzzzt... at the output flow... kzzzt... wet."
"Stay put," Ivy commanded. She turned to Sterling. "The date is over. We're getting the team."
"Technically, the date ended three minutes ago," Sterling said, checking his wrist—not a watch, but a holographic projection of a sundial. "We are now in the Post-Date Debrief phase. I felt it went well, considering your resistance to vulnerability."
"Sterling," Ivy said, turning on him with the full weight of her exhaustion. "If you mention vulnerability one more time, I am going to organize your teeth alphabetically."
Floating in the water was a boat. Specifically, a swan boat. With velvet seats.
[Scenario: The Tunnel of Love] [Objective: Bond.]
"You have got to be kidding me," Ivy deadpanned.
"It seems appropriate," Sterling stepped into the boat. He didn't wobble. He sat down and patted the seat next to him. "Come along, Ivy. The current only flows one way."
Ivy stepped into the boat. She sat as far away from him as physics allowed.
The swan boat lurched forward, drifting down the stream of glowing blue water. Violins began to play from nowhere.
"So," Sterling reached into a picnic basket that had appeared at his feet. He pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider and two crystal flutes. "Tell me about your childhood. I want to know the origin story of your efficiency."
"I want to know the exit strategy," Ivy said, scanning the walls for weak points.
"The exit strategy," Sterling poured the cider, "is falling in love. Or at least... simulating it well enough to satisfy the Quest logic."
He handed her a glass.
"To optimization," Sterling toasted.
Ivy looked at the cider. She looked at his perfect face.
She thought about Ryker drinking coffee out of a chipped mug, spilling it on his armor, and looking at her like she was the sun.
"To logistics," Ivy muttered, and drank the cider. It tasted like fake apples and despair.
Meanwhile.
THUD. SPLASH.
Ryker hit the water face-first.
He scrambled up, coughing, thrashing in the knee-deep liquid. It was dark here. Cold. The air smelled of mold and dead fish.
"Sound off!" Ryker barked, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
"I'm here," Piper groaned from the darkness. A light flickered on—her drone, slightly dented but functional. "Ew. What is this water? It’s sticky."
"I think I broke my butt," Kenji whimpered.
Ryker waded over to them. He grabbed Kenji by the vest and hauled him up.
"We're in the basement," Ryker said, looking around. "The pump room. Or what’s left of it."
The room was a maze of rusted pipes and shattered mirrors. The mirrors here weren't pristine like the ones upstairs. They were cracked, dirty, and hung at wrong angles.
"We need to get back up," Ryker said. "Ivy is alone with that... that mannequin."
"He's a Paladin," Piper corrected, wiping sludge off her skirt. "And he's kinda hot, Ryker. Don't be a hater."
"He's an algorithm with hair gel," Ryker snarled. "We move. Now."
He took a step.
CRUNCH.
He stepped on a mirror lying in the water.
He looked down.
The reflection in the broken glass stared back at him.
It wasn't the human Ryker. It wasn't the Wolf Ryker.
It was a creature made of shadows and teeth. Its eyes were burning red. It grinned, revealing rows of serrated fangs.
She left you, the reflection whispered. The lips didn't move, but the voice was inside Ryker’s head.
Ryker stumbled back. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Kenji asked, looking around nervously.
Ryker looked at the mirror again.
The shadow-creature pressed its hand against the glass from the inside.
She chose the Knight, the reflection hissed. Because you are a dog. You belong in the kennel.
"Shut up," Ryker growled.
He smashed his armored fist into the water, shattering the mirror shard.
"Ryker?" Piper aimed her drone light at him. "Your eyes... they're glowing."
Ryker stood up. He was shaking. The [Survivor’s Guilt] buff was pulsing, twisting into something darker. [Insecurity: Critical Levels].
"We find the stairs," Ryker said. His voice was rough. "We find Ivy."
He started walking.
Behind him, in the water, the shards of the broken mirror began to vibrate.
They didn't sink. They floated. They clicked together.
From the darkness of the pump room, a figure stepped out of a tall, cracked mirror frame.
It looked like Ryker. It wore his old flannel shirt. It had his face.
But it was clean. It stood straight. And it was holding a combat knife that glowed with a sickly, green light.
The reflection smiled.
"Find her," the reflection whispered to Ryker’s retreating back. "So I can replace you."
Chapter 5
The swan boat drifted lazily through the neon-blue water, bobbing with a rhythmic, sickening gentleness. The air smelled of synthetic roses and vanilla vape juice.
Ivy Chen sat rigidly on the velvet bench seat, her knees pressed together, her hands gripping the gunwales so hard the leather creaked. Opposite her, Sterling sat with one leg crossed over the other, sipping sparkling cider from a crystal flute that never seemed to empty.
"The ambiance is calibrated to 98% romantic efficiency," Sterling noted, gesturing to the ceiling with his glass. "Note the lighting. Soft focus. Flattering to the complexion."
"It’s pink," Ivy muttered. "Everything is pink. It looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded."
She looked around. The "Tunnel of Love" was a narrow canal winding through a cavern of papier-mâché rocks. Every ten feet, an animatronic cupid hung from the ceiling, tracking them with dead, glassy eyes.
Twang.
A cupid fired a heart-shaped foam arrow. It bounced harmlessly off Ivy’s shoulder.
[System Event: CUPID’S STRIKE] [Effect: Mild annoyance. Suggestion to hold hands.]
"I’m going to shoot it," Ivy said, reaching for her holster.
"Violence violates the genre constraints," Sterling said smoothly. He didn't move to stop her; he just stated it as a fact of physics. "If you draw your weapon, the System will interpret it as a metaphor for 'Penetrating Love' and spawn rose petals. It’s a waste of ammo."
Ivy groaned and slumped back against the seat. "I hate this. I hate the A-Plot."
"You’re tense," Sterling observed. He set his glass down on a small, floating side table that hovered obediently near his elbow. "Your cortisol levels are spiking. You're worried about the others."
"Ryker fell down a hole," Ivy snapped. "Of course I'm worried. He’s... he’s clumsy. He breaks things."
"He breaks things," Sterling agreed. "And then you fix them. It’s a dynamic. But is it a partnership? Or is it a babysitting gig?"
Ivy glared at him. "He saved my life. Multiple times."
"And you saved his," Sterling countered. "But tell me, Ivy... when was the last time you clocked out?"
The question hung in the humid, perfumed air.
Ivy opened her mouth to argue, to defend her team, to recite the list of Ryker’s virtues. But the words stuck in her throat.
When had she clocked out? Since the moment the Meet-Cute happened in Chapter 1, she had been managing. Managing the inventory. Managing the panic. Managing Ryker’s insecurities. Managing the apocalypse.
"I..." Ivy faltered.
"Exactly," Sterling smiled. It wasn't a smug smile. It was a sympathetic one. "You are the Manager. But who manages you?"
He tapped the air. A holographic window appeared between them.
It wasn't a threat. It was a spreadsheet.
"I took the liberty of reorganizing your inventory while we were loading the scene," Sterling said softly. "I consolidated your ammo types. I flagged the crafting materials by rarity. And I set up an automated alert for your hydration levels."
Ivy stared at the blue grid floating above the swan’s head.
It was beautiful.
The rows were color-coded. The columns were sorted by weight-to-value ratio. The chaotic mess of loot she had shoved into her backpack was now a symphony of order.
"You... you pivot-tabled my loot?" Ivy whispered.
"I also drafted a schedule for the next three chapters," Sterling swiped the air. A calendar appeared. "Built-in rest periods. Delegated guard duty. You have a four-hour block on Tuesday just for 'Not Being Responsible'."
Ivy felt a strange sensation in her chest. It wasn't the flutter of romance. It was the loosening of a knot she hadn't realized was strangling her heart.
Relief.
It was seductive. More seductive than the vampire lord in the velvet suit. More seductive than the werewolf with the puppy eyes. This man was offering her the one thing she craved more than survival.
He was offering to carry the mental load.
"I don't have to do it all?" Ivy asked, her voice small.
"You don't have to do any of it," Sterling said. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Let me be the solution, Ivy. Put your head in the sand. Enjoy the boat ride. I have the wheel."
Ivy looked at the spreadsheet. She looked at Sterling’s calm, capable face.
The Script Fragment in her pocket—the warning about betrayal—felt very light suddenly. Maybe the prophecy was wrong. Maybe the betrayal wasn't malicious. Maybe it was just... letting go.
She leaned back into the velvet seat. She closed her eyes.
"Okay," Ivy whispered. "Just for a minute."
Sterling smiled. He poured her a glass of cider.
"Just for a minute," he agreed.
The swan boat drifted on, deeper into the light, leaving the darkness behind.
Meanwhile, in the B-Plot.
The darkness was wet.
Ryker waded through the sludge, the black liquid rising to the waist of his shiny silver armor. It smelled of copper and rot.
"Keep it tight," Ryker growled. His voice echoed strangely in the claustrophobic pipe tunnel. "Kenji, eyes on the ceiling. Piper, light."
"My light is flickering," Piper complained. Her voice shook. "The humidity is messing with the sensors. The Diva 2.0 isn't rated for sewers! I specifically asked for the IP68 waterproof package!"
"Stop complaining," Ryker snapped. He didn't mean to snap. But the noise in his head was getting louder.
Whisper... whisper... dog...
The mirrors lining the tunnel walls were shattered, jagged teeth of glass sticking out of the slime. Every time Ryker passed one, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
Not a reflection. A shadow.
"Ryker?" Kenji’s voice was small. "You're walking really fast."
"We need to find the exit," Ryker said, quickening his pace. "We need to get back to Ivy."
She doesn't want you back, the walls whispered.
Ryker swung his head around. "Who said that?"
"Said what?" Piper stopped, holding her drone close. "I didn't say anything."
Ryker stared at a broken shard of mirror stuck in a rusty valve. In the glass, a wolf with no eyes snarled at him.
She's with the Knight now. The clean one. The one who doesn't shed on the furniture.
"Get out of my head," Ryker muttered, swiping at the mirror. His gauntlet shattered the glass, sending shards splashing into the water.
"Ryker, you're freaking me out," Kenji said, backing away. "Your aggro is spiking."
"I'm fine!" Ryker roared. The sound was too loud in the small space.
RUMBLE.
The pipe above them groaned. A section of the ceiling, weakened by the sonic vibration of his shout, gave way.
Debris rained down.
"Look out!" Ryker shoved Piper and Kenji backward.
A slab of concrete crashed into the water between them, sealing the tunnel.
"Ryker!" Piper screamed from the other side.
"I'm okay!" Ryker coughed, waving dust away from his face. "I'm cut off. Go around! Find the service ladder!"
"We can't leave you!" Kenji yelled.
"Go!" Ryker commanded. "I'll meet you at the rendezvous! Move!"
He heard them hesitate, then the splashing of their retreat.
Ryker stood alone in the dark. The silence settled over him like a shroud.
"Okay," Ryker panted. "Okay. Just me. I can do this."
He turned to find another way.
He was standing in a dead-end chamber. The water was still here, black as ink. On the far wall, illuminated by a single, flickering bioluminescent fungus, was a mirror.
It wasn't broken. It was a massive, floor-to-ceiling pane of flawless glass.
Ryker froze.
He looked at his reflection.
The figure in the mirror wasn't wearing mud-stained armor. He wasn't hunched over. He wasn't panting.
He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit. He stood perfectly straight, his hands clasped behind his back. He was human. No wolf ears. No tail. Just a man. A handsome, confident man.
Ryker stared.
The reflection smiled.
"Hello, Ryker," the reflection said.
Ryker stumbled back, water splashing. "What are you?"
"I'm the upgrade," the reflection said. He stepped forward. The surface of the glass rippled like water.
The reflection stepped out.
He walked onto the surface of the sludge, his polished dress shoes not sinking, not getting wet. He walked toward Ryker with a calm, predatory grace.
[Enemy: MIRROR CLONE (Subject 01)] [Class: The Better You]
"Stay back," Ryker growled. He reached for his combat knife. His hand fumbled. He dropped it in the water.
"Clumsy," the Clone tutted. "Always so clumsy. That’s why she’s tired, you know."
"Shut up," Ryker bared his teeth.
"You exhaust her," the Clone continued, circling him. "You’re a project. A fixer-upper. She spends half her mana just managing your insecurities. Don't you think she deserves a break?"
"I protect her!" Ryker roared. He swung a massive, armored fist at the Clone’s face.
The Clone didn't block. He didn't dodge. He simply tilted his head to the left.
Ryker’s fist punched empty air. The momentum carried him forward, stumbling, splashing onto his knees in the filth.
The Clone looked down at him. He looked sad.
"Look at you," the Clone whispered. "Kneeling in the mud. Is this what a hero looks like?"
"I'm trying," Ryker choked out.
"Trying isn't enough anymore," the Clone said. He reached down.
Ryker flinched, expecting a strike.
The Clone didn't strike. He reached out and adjusted the strap of Ryker’s shoulder pauldron.
"This is loose," the Clone said gently. "It’s chafing you. Let me fix it."
He tightened the strap. He reached up and wiped a smudge of dirt from Ryker’s cheek with a silk handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.
"See?" the Clone smiled. "Better."
Ryker trembled. The gentleness was worse than a beating. It was a violation. It was a declaration of absolute superiority.
"Why?" Ryker whispered.
"Because the story needs a Lead," the Clone said. "And you are a Sidekick. You are the comic relief. The dog who messes up the carpet."
He grabbed Ryker by the collar of his breastplate. With strength that defied his slender frame, the Clone hauled Ryker to his feet.
"She’s upstairs right now," the Clone said, leaning in close. "In a boat. With Sterling. She’s smiling, Ryker. She’s relaxed. She isn't thinking about you."
"Liar," Ryker gasped.
"Check the link," the Clone challenged. "Is she reaching out? Or is she enjoying the silence?"
Ryker checked.
The link was dead. No static. Just... quiet.
His heart broke. It was a physical sensation, sharper than the rapier in Chapter 19.
"She gave up," Ryker whispered.
"She moved on," the Clone corrected. "And so should you."
The Clone spun Ryker around. He shoved him.
Ryker stumbled backward. He hit the surface of the mirror.
It didn't shatter. It yielded. It was cold, viscous like gel. Ryker fell into the glass.
"No!" Ryker screamed, thrashing. "Let me out!"
The Clone stood on the other side. He watched Ryker sink into the reflection. He waved, a small, polite gesture.
"Rest now, dog," the Clone said. "I'll take it from here."
The glass solidified.
Ryker slammed his fists against the surface. No sound came out. He was trapped in the grey, silent void of the mirror prison. He watched as the Clone—the man who wore his face but none of his scars—turned away.
The Clone rolled his neck. Crack.
He adjusted his cuffs. He checked his reflection in a shard of glass on the wall. He practiced a smile.
Too wide, the Clone thought. Dial it back. 10% more anxiety. She likes the anxiety.
He adjusted the smile. It became crooked. Shy. Perfect.
"Time to go to work," the Clone said. His voice was gravelly now, perfectly mimicking Ryker’s timbre.
He started walking toward the ladder, leaving the real Ryker screaming in the silence behind him.
Chapter 6
The swan boat hit the dock with a polite, anticlimactic thump.
The pink lighting of the "Tunnel of Love" flickered and died, replaced by the harsh, industrial grey of the maintenance bay. The animatronic cupids powered down, freezing in mid-air with their foam arrows pointed at nothing.
[System Event Complete: DATE NIGHT] [Rating: C-] [Feedback: "Lack of Chemistry." "Too much discussion about inventory management."]
"C-minus?" Sterling frowned, stepping out of the boat without getting a drop of water on his white boots. "That algorithm is flawed. Our conversation regarding supply chain logistics was incredibly intimate."
Ivy scrambled onto the concrete, ignoring his hand. She felt like she had been trapped in a scented candle for a week.
"Ryker," she said, tapping her earpiece. "Ryker, report."
Static.
"Kenji? Piper?"
"We're... kzzzt... at the output flow... kzzzt... wet."
"Stay put," Ivy commanded. She turned to Sterling. "The date is over. We're getting the team."
"Technically, the date ended three minutes ago," Sterling said, checking his wrist—not a watch, but a holographic projection of a sundial. "We are now in the Post-Date Debrief phase. I felt it went well, considering your resistance to vulnerability."
"Sterling," Ivy said, turning on him with the full weight of her exhaustion. "If you mention vulnerability one more time, I am going to organize your teeth alphabetically."
