S.O.S

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫

This is it. The seventh door. The moment of truth. The end of my journey. To test whether or not I am the bravest and most capable person in mankind.

I wipe off the traces of my sadness with my sleeve, those sparkling tears that eased a fracture of my pain for a brief period of time. I make a final decision to collect myself, push everything aside, concentrate on the task at hand. To keep on, to fight is to win. I would be blue later. Now I needed to be red.

My heart is betraying my fearful feelings by bumping violently against the expanse of my rib-cage... out of fear or out of nervousness, both have meshed together. My body responds to the pressure by electrifying my cells with adrenaline. The stakes have never been so high, and my nerves have never been so compressed. Like they don't have enough room in my skull.

Whatever lies in here, is going to need extra focus on my end. This is the place where a plethora of brave people has failed before me. They have made it to this point, survived the same hell as I have, but still lost. I don't want to join the club.

After being pursued by a wicked version of my mother, satanic reflections, hungry water monsters, all-mighty virus, rotten zombies, and my spider-baby, I am in a fit state to get the train towards nopeville. It's hard to imagine anything that would surprise me, let alone top any of those things I've already encountered.

I had braced myself for nearly everything but not for this.

Instead of nightmarish entities and hair-raising creatures, I see myself. My brain cooks a mixture of disappointment and triumph when I take in the view of my perfect and unmoving clone. Sagging dirty clothes, tired and anguished face, messy dark hair. And it's studying me in detail.

This feels like a bad joke. But I know better not to underestimate the simulation that has kicked my ass more than once.

Filled to the brim with hesitation, I took a step forward.

It does the same.

I tilt my head, confusion written all over my face.

It does the same.

I wave my hand, even more confused.

It does the same.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Who are you?" it asks.

I frown with creeping annoyance coloring my face, and my doppelgänger frowns too.

I've been laser-focused on reading the other me that I don't register my sighting in my consciousness at first. I find that my eyes are fixated on an open door that advertises itself a little way off over my copy's shoulder. The eighth door? That's unheard of.

If I was out of objectives for a moment, now I'm in no doubt of my next move. I can't help but feel some of the letdown in me upon discovering yet another obstacle between me and the secrets. What if there are a countless number of doors and not just seven? What if there is no end to this simulation? What if it isn't even possible to pass the simulation?

A kind voice in my head whispers and inspires me more than I thought would be possible: Don't give up, Dimash. We are counting on you.

The time gives no mercy for me and keeps slipping through my fingers like dry sand. I have only thirty-eight seconds to finish my test.

I approach my copy and it approaches me offering a whole lot of help. It's not any different from a reflection in the mirror except for the fact that reflections are never tangible... I notice in which direction my thoughts are going and act on impulse.

Without much consideration beforehand, I plunge forward and muster all of my strength to punch the shit out of my clone, perhaps solve the mystery through violence, but I am met with an identical payback on my mug.

Fucking idiot. I'm not sure whom the words are targeted to. Through a fog of tears and pain, I track something red dripping from my clone's nose. Automatically, I touch my own nose and smudge my fingertips with a thick, warm substance. Frustration galore, a litany of curse words exit my parted lips, and the other me echoes my vulgar language.

But suddenly, it all dawns on me. I let out a gasp of shock at the realization and it imitates me.

Now I understand why people failed here. It is impossible to get past someone who copies your every movement, every word, every expression.

I have come this far... And I was doomed to fail from the get-go. Why would this simulation even exist if there wasn't something worth finding? Something ground-breaking?

"What secrets lie behind that door?" I inquire partly hoping that presenting the right question would break the spell upon us.

I should have known it wouldn't work. I suppress a meek sigh welling from the back of my throat when the doppelgänger repeats the exact same words in the exact same tone.

Twenty-four seconds... I'm running out of time.

I try to shield myself against the growing panic and put my mental resources to use. The cogs in my head are overheating in an attempt to formulate another good question or maybe a plea. Hurry evident in my voice, I ask three different questions first nicely, then in a more demanding manner, lastly threateningly. As I stare in horror at the diminishing numbers, I wise up to the fact that its behavior is independent of my way of speaking or the content of my words.

Nothing has changed except the time that shows me thirteen seconds.

How on earth will I ever be able to ask the correct question out of a myriad of options? There are so many different aspects that I'm not aware of, so many ways to arrange vowels and consonants.

Part of me wants to give up, part of me wants to keep fighting. I resort to my last try to fix what was ruined. I draw closer to my copy until we are face-to-face, breathing in the same particles.

There's a water-like transparent wall vibrating between us. I hadn't seen it before but now its existence is beyond doubt.

I spread out my five-finger web and place it in front of me. Letting my palm touch my clone's, a pulsating sensation washes over me like the anticipation of a long-awaited gift, encouraging me to do the same with the other. The contact infuses me with exhilarating sparks, turning my emotional life into a pot of overflowing satisfaction.

I feel like my life is complete. The feeling doesn't last long, though. I have no idea what kind of connection has been established between us two nor if it's a good thing.

Then, slowly, my clone's lips twitch upwards into a creepy slice of smile that looks like it has been cut into its silken skin. My expression, however, stays unchanged and neutral when it decides to quit sticking to the script.

"I'm you but darker," it replies to my very first question but I'm not left with enough time to process the auditory information.

Over my field of vision, jumps out a red text that finally sends my composure tailspinning into nothingness and leaves me balancing on the tip of a knife.

Safety lock unactivated.