Chapter 20: Was I Trying to Save Her… or Silence Her? I stepped into the corridor. The glass walls showed me as a younger man. I wore scrubs. A mask covered half my face. My hands held a scalpel. The child on the table had a blue ribbon in her hair. I didn’t remember her name. I didn’t remember the surgery. But I remembered the certainty in my own eyes. Not fear. Not doubt. Something worse. Something final. I whispered the words before I could stop myself. “Was I trying to save her… or silence her?” The glass didn’t just crack. It shattered inward like it had been waiting for that question. Not with noise. Not with force. Just sudden absence. One moment the reflection was there. The next, it was gone. And behind it, embedded in the wall where the mirror had been, was a panel. Black. Smooth. No buttons. No lights. Just a single line of text etched in thin white letters. Override: Subject Zero. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I pressed it. The effect was instant. The floating Lenas vanished. Not one by one. Not with fading or dissolving. They were just gone. Like someone had erased them from the air. The blinking stopped. The pulse beneath the tables stopped. The counter on my chest froze. 150. No warning. No sound. No shift in the air. Just silence. And stillness. And the number 150, unmoving, burned into my skin like a brand. I looked around. The corridor hadn’t changed. The surgical theater reflection was still there, frozen mid-moment. Me with the scalpel. The child with the ribbon. The lights too bright. The machines too quiet. But the rest of the room—the chamber with the tables, the Lenas, the intercom—was gone. Or hidden. Or waiting. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe harder. I didn’t feel relief. I felt watched. Then the voice came. Not Lena’s. Not the intercom’s old crackle. Not my own voice twisted back at me. This was different. Mechanical. Cold. No inflection. No pause. No breath behind it. Just words, flat and final, like a machine reading from a script it didn’t understand. “Procedure resumed. Scalpel required for Phase Three.” I looked down. The scalpel was still in my hand. I hadn’t dropped it. I hadn’t let go. I hadn’t even noticed I was still holding it. The blade was clean. No blood. No rust. No fingerprints. Just steel. Cold. Sharp. Waiting. I didn’t know what Phase Three was. I didn’t know what the scalpel was for. I didn’t know if I was supposed to cut myself again. Or cut the reflection. Or cut the air. Or wait until the voice told me more. I just stood there. Scalpel in hand. Frozen counter on my chest. Surgical theater on my left. Empty corridor ahead. Voice gone. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I waited.