Chapter 51:  08:02– A Countdown to Third Death [3:58pm]

Mir POV

I awoke standing up and fully clothed to the sight of a black mirror.

[WELCOME TO THE SIXTH FLOOR] the Ringmaster intoned from behind me. I didn’t even bother to turn to look at him. Somehow I had become immune to being shocked by his silent arrivals. His presence was already impressed into the backburns of my mind.  Instead I looked left, then right, drinking in the surroundings of this new floor. I would not be taken unaware again.

It was a small room, perhaps six feet either side of me. The only furnishing was the black mirror that stood tall and towering in front of me.

[THIS IS THE HALL OF MIRRORS, A GAME OF REVELATIONS] the Ringmaster said.

I couldn’t see Thunder or Seungho anywhere. 

“And what are we supposed to do here?” I asked, stalling for time. “Mirror mirror on the wall?”

The Ringmaster let out an amused sound. [UNFORTUNATELY NOT THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL, BUT NO, I’M NOT HERE TO INDULGE IN YOUR FAIRYTALES. WE AFTER ALL HAVE MORE IMPORTANT AFFAIRS]

“Such as?” I tried to sound as calm as possible.

[SUCH AS THE FACT THAT THERE ARE TWO FLOORS LESS AND JUST OVER EIGHT HOURS TO COMPLETE THEM WITHIN]

I narrowed my eyes at his image. “What do you care if we complete the levels within the remaining time or not? I thought your aim was see us all killed.”  

He lips quirked. A shadowy smirk. I wanted nothing more than the pleasure of wiping it off his face – with a few inches of skin attached.

[SINCE WHEN DID I EVER SAY I WISHED TO SEE YOU ALL DEAD?]

I paused. “I…thought that was the purpose of these games.” And apparently I thought wrong.  

[I DIDN’T INVITE YOU ALL TO THESE GAMES OUT OF SOME ERSE PLEASURE] the Ringmaster said, shifting his long cape and adjusting his hat. He looked slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps this was a topic he never thought he would have to broach. I leaned forwards, perhaps a little too eagerly. Time may be ticking, but if I could survive two more floors then there would be a game after these games and that game was called sweet revenge. [I BROUGHT YOU ALL HERE TO TEST YOU. SO FAR ONLY THREE HAVE PROVEN WORTHY. AND MAYBE MIR, JUST MAYBE, YOU MIGHT PROVE TO BE THE WORTHIEST OF THEM ALL]

I leaned away from his cold eyes as they judged me. Was this what he wanted of me? To be the best? To prove it by completing all seven levels? To be worthy of…?

“Worthy of what?” I couldn’t help but ask.

The Ringmaster’s mouth parted in a smile that was anything but pleasant. It sent crawling sensations over my skin as I tried to shy away from his gaze. [NOW THAT’S THE QUESTION ISN’T IT?]

I scowled. He wasn’t parting with any information there. It seemed that the only way I would find out the Ringmaster’s ultimate goal was to complete the seven levels. And to proceed, I would have to complete this level. 

I returned my gaze to the only object of immediate interest in the room: the black mirror. It oozed an inky blackness.

“If that’s all you have to say, then get out so I can complete this level,” I said, trying to sound confident.

The Ringmaster seemed pleased by my show of bravado. [VERY WELL THEN]. But he didn’t make any move to leave. He was still watching me, waiting, assessing my next moves. I swallowed my nervousness and tried to ignore his presence.

I took three steps until I was face up with the mirror. In its oily recesses I could see my shadowy reflection. Even then it was shaky, like someone had literally drawn my figure with oil on water and watched it ooze and spread into something barely discernable. As repulsive as the surface appeared, it exuded a strange pull, clammy fingers wrapping round my wrist and tugging me closer. Whispers to touch it.

I did. One finger. That was all I dared. I reached up with my index finger to gingerly tap the surface, and that was all it took. The minute I touched it I knew I had made a mistake.  A chill aded through the pad of my finger and extended out icy fingers. I in a shuddering breath as the cold took hold of me and the world toppled head over heel as the oily blackness swallowed me whole.  

< REFLECTION:BLACK >

The city was grey.

It had always been grey, but it looked greyer today than usual. Grey sky, grey city, grey humans. A boy stood watching the factories churn out smoke and produce and human remains. The more he stared the more he wondered what the difference between those processed humans and the ones still walking on the streets was. In his eyes, they were all the same.

“Cheolyang,” a voice hissed scoldingly. The boy turned just in time to receive a well-aimed flick to the forehead.

“Ouch! Noona!” he winced, hands coming up to cover the reddened area. “You know your flicks actually hurt. Like seriously, you could join the enforcers and keep peace with your fingers alone.”

“Shush you little brat,” the older girl said with a meaningful glint in her eyes. She grabbed him by the ear and gave it hearty tug. “Haven’t I told you a hundred times not to come up here? It’s restricted area!”  

“Ah-ouch-noona, not there!” Cheolyang whined and wriggled until she let go. He backed away, hissing, as he nursed his ear with one cupped hand. “Seriously noona. That hurt!”

“You’re such a little complainer,” Hyo Jin remarked, not an ouch of sympathy. “And you didn't answer me." 

Cheolyang let out a small disgruntled snort. “You know I like the view up here. You can see everything.”

“And yet you didn’t even see me coming,” Hyo Jin muttered dryly. She strode over and slung an arm over her little brother’s shoulders. When she spoke next it was softer, filled with familial care. “But you know it’s forbidden area. If you got caught by the enforcers I wouldn't know what to do.”

“I know,” Cheolyang said mutely. His sister was worried for all the right reasons but he couldn't help it. Cheolyang bit his lower lip even as his eyes casted over the entire city. It was as mechanical as it was organic, as repulsively run-down as it was alluringly alive. As much of a slum as the Ghettos were, it was home to Cheolyang and he would never give it up. Not for moderate standards of living of the Mid-levels, nor the near fictional luxury of the Peaks.

Cheolyang had been roaming the streets since he was six and his sister couldn’t afford to spend her days constantly babysitting him. The first glorious time was not as glorious in retrospect. There had been a sudden supply truck annoncement and it was an opportunity that could not be missed. His sister had cursed like a sailor and stomped her feet, but even she knew that supplies were key to their survival and had relented. She had made him pinky swear not to leave the house and then had locked the door behind her. 

And technically he hadn’t. He’d only cracked open the window and stuck his tiny nose out. The air had tasted toxic and he had choked on it until he had retreated back into the house where the air was filtered and less chemical. But it had been his first taste of the world outside and it was irresitable. 

And now? Now he didn’t choke on the air with every breath he took. Now he didn’t stumble and trip over the uneven gravel of the ground. Now he knew all the streets by heart, a map etched in memory. He knew the clockwork routines of the enforcers and when it was safe to walk the streets without fear of a gun jammed in between shoulder blades or a bullet through the cranium. He knew more about the Ghettos than his sister – three years older and infinitely wiser than him, as she always liked to say – would like to believe. And so he knew that standing here at this moment in time was safe. 

Here, where he could see the factories to the east, a large and grumbling hunched giant exhaling evidence of its severe chain smoking problems. And there, the rickracks and the crumbling walls, the shanty towns that spiraled outwards with their thin grey-faced citizens who tried to shut out reality because that was the only way to survive in a world like this.

Except Cheolyang didn’t want to live like that. He wanted a world where he could run as he liked, shout as hard as he could, cry as much as he liked. And how could he convey this to sister?

He loved Hyo Jin. He loved her so, so much. After all she was the only living blood and flesh that he had left in this world. But she was like the rest of them, chained to the ideal that they all had to put their heads down and ignore the pain and soldier on.

They were wrong.

Cheolyang turned his head, opened his mouth. He had to say something. But as he did he felt the weight of his sister’s arm vanish. In the corner of his eye he saw his sister’s visage melt away with the wind.

“Noona!” he yelled, one hand clawing out for her.

But she was gone. And the world swirled a thousand psychedelic patterns that made him dizzy. Cheolyang tottered backwards and swayed on the edge of the cliff, a backdrop of the grey city and smoke behind him.

And then the scene changed in the swish of a paintbrush, a bold, daring downward . Cheolyang stared. This was the scene that had started it all.

He was no longer standing on the hillside overlooking the city. He was on his knees in the gritty streets, half-dried tears glued to his cheeks. Mirrored opposite him was Hyo Jin, on her knees and cheeks equally tear-stained, her long black hair fisted in one man’s glove. She was mouthing something to him fiercely but his mind was white noise and her words could not penetrate the barrier.

“Trash,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that Cheolyang would never ever forget. “They should be disposed of properly.”

Bang. 

His sister slumped to one side. A candle blown out.

Run, she had said with lips now a lurid red. 

Cheolyang felt his heart twist and race. He couldn't control the fear that took over his body and blurred the lines of reality and this dream. The man loosened his grip and his sister tumbled to the floor, her hair hiding the incriminating bullet wound. The gun was raised, cocked. Pointed at him. 

Cheolyang tried to find air but he was choking. 

Run.

He found his courage and scrambled to his feet. The bullet grazed his cheek, stunningly painful for such a small wound. For a heartbeat of a moment the two men stared at each other. Then sense caught up to Cheolyang's over-worked brain. He turned. 

He ran.

< /REFLECTION:BLACK >

The world came to a shuddering, sickening halt. I stumbled, hands grappling for purchase and finding it on the slick-smooth white tiling. For a few horrifying seconds I couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. It was simply a dizzying blur.

But then my sight cleared and a smooth monolith of black focused.

[DID YOU HAVE A NICE JOUNEY?]

I lifted my heavy head to attempt a glare and failed.

“What was that?”

[WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT WAS?]

“Will you ever answer a question without giving another question?”

[WHAT DO YOU THINK?] he said with a smirk. It was definitely on purpose.

I returned my gaze to the black mirror. It showed no signs of difference. It still stood, stolid, unchanging. I reached out with one hand but stopped short of touching the glassy surface again. It was an innate sensation, akin to fear.

[WHY ARE YOU SCARED OF WHAT IS YOURS?] the Ringmaster asked slyly. He was a static shadow in the corner of my eye.

“What is mine?”

The Ringmaster let out a chuckle. [WHY, YOUR MEMORY. IS THAT NOT RIGHT? BANG CHEOLYANG.]

An electric shock ran down my spine. I recognized that name. Bang Cheolyang. Mine. My name. I mouthed it, tasted it with my lips and it burned like spice.

Then the memories rushed back, bitter as charcoal. The city a backdrop of grey, the scene painted with bold of red. My sister. That was right, I had a sister. Hyo Jin. Tears came to my eyes unbidden and I knew why. Had. Hyo Jin was dead and that was the start of it all.

[DO YOU REMEMBER NOW?]

I turned and this time succeeded in my glare. Oh I remembered all right. Hyo Jin falling to the ground like a crumpled doll, the blood a red mar on her white face. She was the catalyst, but what was the cause?

My memory was in shards, bit and pieces as sharp as glass coming back to me at random. To remember it all I would have to return to that mirror and it’s impassive depths.

Still on my knees I bared my teeth at the Ringmaster. Without breaking eye contact I reached out behind me blindly, slapping an open palm flat against the cold mirror. It was as glacier as before and its touch was numbing. 

“What do you think?” I snarled. The Ringmaster grinned back at me. He raised one hand as if to bid me farewell on my travels. I didn't drop my gaze as the blackness swirled and swallowed me whole. If this was a game, I was going to win it. 

And then without breaking eye contact I reached behind me with one open palm and pressed it against the cold embrace of the black mirror. It was as glacier as before and it numbed me, me in. And then the blackness swallowed me whole again.

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running code

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                function RunFile (REFLECTION:BLACK) {
                    R:B.xxx = new ActiveXObject “R:BScript.xxx
                    R:BScript.Run(c:/database/system3424/projectVault/fileMir.exe”, 1, false);
                                         }
< /script > 

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loading.

File(REFLECTION:BLACK) loaded.

Executing program. 

Are you ready to dive?