The next morning, the academy buzzed like a disturbed hive.
Rumors spread faster than fire. The archives breach had already gone viral across the network feeds—though no official statement had been made. Whispers of explosions, corrupted surveillance, and an instructor carried out on a stretcher filled the halls.
But one name stood out above all.
Malik Barn.
Again.
---
Inside the Strategy Chamber, silence reigned. Malik sat motionless, his back straight but his eyes distant. Around him: Margaret, hunched over flickering data streams; Xander pacing like a caged animal; Frank, half-shadowed by the wall; and Peter, manipulating a three-dimensional hologram of the archive schematics.
No one spoke—until Margaret finally broke the stillness.
"They called you a prototype."
Malik nodded slowly. "I don't remember being made. I don't remember anything before… before the mutation records."
Peter kept swiping through the hologram. "If what that intruder said was true, they shelved people like you. Put them into deep storage. But now, someone's bringing them back."
Xander stopped mid-step. "Which means you might not be the only one."
Malik looked up, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't care what I was. I care who I am now."
Margaret met his gaze, firm. "Then we'll protect that. But to keep it, we need to figure out who you are—and who's behind this."
Frank finally stepped into the light. "Too bad they just made the next move."
Everyone turned as he tossed a folded flyer onto the table. The academy crest gleamed at the top—but beneath it, bold lettering glared:
Public Trials – Mutation Evaluation Ceremony
Mandatory. All Sections. All Powers. All Truths.
Peter read it aloud, his voice tense. "Every student is to demonstrate their mutation before the Academy Board. Publicly. Under surveillance."
Margaret swore under her breath. "It's a trap. They're isolating Malik again. If he refuses, he's hiding something. If he obeys…"
"He shows the whole world what he is," Xander finished, jaw clenched.
Malik stood. "No. I won't run. Not again."
Margaret's expression tightened. "This isn't just about you anymore. If they see what you can do—stealing powers—they'll panic. They'll try to control you."
"Or erase you," Frank added darkly.
Xander turned toward the exit. "Then maybe… we make Phase Two ours."
---
Behind the Glass
Deep beneath the old science wing—in a forgotten lab reactivated after years of dormancy—Phase Two had already begun.
Six pods lined the walls. Each housed a subject. Breathing. Sleeping. Waiting.
The masked man who had once watched Malik from the rooftop now stood before them, flanked by two silent operatives in matte armor.
"Project Echo has returned viable data," he said. "Malik Barn's interaction confirms: the prototype awakens under duress."
No one responded. Only the low hum of the containment systems filled the silence.
He turned to Pod Six.
"Activate the mimic."
A pale glow flooded the room.
Inside, a girl opened her eyes.
She was Malik's age. Same bone structure. Same hair. Same lips. But something was wrong. Her gaze was too still. Too cold.
"Phase Two," the man said. "Integrate. Divide. Break the bond."
She smiled—thin and calculated.
---
Two Days Later: The Ceremony
The arena overflowed with students, instructors, board members, and foreign observers. The air held the hum of spectacle—but beneath it, the tension of war.
One by one, students stepped forward to display their abilities. Fire arced. Shadows twisted. Kinetic waves rippled through the floor. Cheers rang out—but always with one eye on the roster.
Waiting for a name.
Then it came.
"Malik Barn."
He stepped into the ring.
Cameras adjusted. The crowd leaned forward. His pulse thudded in his ears.
"State your ability," the proctor said.
Malik scanned the crowd. Margaret, eyes wide with worry. Xander, chin raised in silent support. Peter gripping the railing. Frank—nowhere in sight, but surely watching.
He steadied his breath. "Adaptive Extraction."
Gasps.
Then silence. A different kind now—fear, unease. Murmurs fluttered like paper in wind.
The proctor narrowed his eyes. "Demonstrate."
A volunteer stepped into the ring—a strength-based student from Class 1B. He offered a courteous nod.
"Begin."
Malik didn't move.
He closed his eyes. Let the world narrow to the beat of his heart.
The other boy charged—fists glowing with energy.
At the last moment, Malik reached out and brushed his shoulder.
Silence.
Nothing happened.
The other boy stood, still glowing. Malik stumbled backward and fell with a dull thud.
Murmurs.
"He doesn't have a power?"
"Did he lie?"
"What about the instructor…?"
The proctor slammed his clipboard onto the panel. "You were instructed to demonstrate your ability."
"I… I can't control it yet," Malik began. "I—"
He froze.
Across the ring, a girl convulsed—her body glowing, warping. Her face shimmered like water.
And then it stabilized.
His own face stared back.
Malik's breath caught. It was like staring into a mirror—but distorted. The expression too stiff. The eyes too wide, too hollow.
Gasps cascaded through the audience.
Malik didn't hear the proctor. Couldn't.
"She's… me?" The thought clawed at his brain. He'd seen shapeshifters before, but this wasn't mimicry.
This was precision.
He staggered backward. The girl—the mimic—stood slowly, still wearing his face.
Malik shook his head, voice low. "No. That's not me."
The girl tilted her head. A twisted smile crawled across his own face.
Security surged toward the ring. Board members spoke hurriedly behind the safety glass. Margaret shoved through the crowd, trying to reach him.
But it was too late.
The girl vanished—cleanly. No energy signature. No sound. Just… gone.
Malik stood frozen, eyes wide.
"I'm dreaming… No. An illusion? Or… am I going crazy?"
A hand grabbed his wrist.
He turned, blinking.
Someone—he couldn't tell who—was saying his name.
But all Malik could see was himself, smiling with someone else's soul.
---
Later That Night
The infirmary lights buzzed faintly above Malik's head, but he wasn't looking up. He was staring at his hands—half-expecting them to vanish.
"She had my face," he said again, quieter this time.
Margaret stood at the end of the bed, arms crossed, expression tight. "Malik, we reviewed the surveillance. Nothing shows up. No trace of anyone else in the ring."
"She was there," he insisted. "I saw her. She looked just like me."
Peter leaned against the wall, arms folded. "A transformation-type mutation, maybe. We've seen illusion casters, morphers, even full mimics. Someone could be trying to get in your head."
Xander scoffed. "Well, it's working."
Malik looked at him. "You think I'm making this up?"
"No," Xander replied after a beat. "But I think they want you to doubt what you saw. That's more dangerous than a punch."