[Fear System Log: 3:12 A.M.]
Current Arc: The Shadow
Assigned Role: Mary Caldwell — Protagonist
Task Completion: 78% | Psychological Threshold: Near Collapse
Next Clue: Interview the Landlord
Mary didn't know how long she ran.
Just that her lungs were raw, her legs jelly, and her fingers ached from gripping the stairwell rails as she flew down the fire escape barefoot.
Blood from her fight with the mimic smeared her arm, sticky and foreign. It wasn't hers.
She didn't look back at her apartment window. She knew it would be standing there, watching. Smiling.
Waiting.
The landlord lived in Unit 1B.
He was never around. An elderly man with a permanent scowl, always muttering about noise complaints and lost rent checks.
She had no idea if he'd even be awake.
But the Fear System gave her a prompt:
"Seek the source. Ask the one who remembers."
Mary reached the door and knocked.
No answer.
Knocked again—harder. "Mr. Delacroix! Please, I need to talk to you—now!"
A long pause. Then the shuffle of slippers.
The door creaked open two inches.
A single wary eye peered out. "It's nearly four in the damn morning."
Mary shoved her foot in the gap. "It's an emergency. Please. I think something terrible is happening in my unit."
The eye narrowed.
"I told the city council that apartment should've been condemned."
Delacroix let her in.
The place smelled of dust and coffee. Old jazz crackled from a record player in the corner. Dozens of cat figurines lined every shelf like quiet guardians.
He motioned to the sofa without a word, then shuffled into the kitchen.
Returned with two chipped mugs of instant coffee.
Mary wrapped her fingers around hers just for the heat.
Delacroix sat across from her. "You're in 6C, right?"
She nodded. "Yes. I—I've been seeing things. Things that look like me. Things that know everything about me. And… I found footage. It shows me being—replaced."
Delacroix didn't flinch.
He sipped his coffee and stared at her with those watery gray eyes. "So it's happening again."
Mary blinked. "Again?"
Delacroix sighed. "I hoped it was done. That the building had eaten enough."
He stood slowly, walked to a drawer, and pulled out a faded file folder. Inside: old police reports, handwritten notes, newspaper clippings yellow with age.
He dropped them on the table in front of her.
"Do you know who lived in your unit before you?"
Mary shook her head.
Delacroix flipped to a photo. It was grainy and low-res, but clearly a woman—same build as Mary. Dark hair. Eyes too wide.
"Her name was Serena Hayle. Moved in seven years ago. She complained about shadows at first. Doors unlocking. Seeing someone watching her sleep."
Mary's breath caught.
"She left me voicemails every night for a month. Said something was 'learning her.' Copying her habits. Her handwriting. Even her dreams."
He flipped to the next photo.
A crime scene. Blood smeared along the wall like a brushstroke.
"They found that in her bathroom. But never found her body."
Mary's stomach turned.
Delacroix leaned back in his chair.
"Three tenants before her? Same pattern. One moved out mid-lease and burned every photo of herself. Another broke every mirror in the building before she vanished."
He stared at Mary.
"But none of them lasted this long."
Mary's voice was hoarse. "Why didn't you warn me?"
He looked genuinely tired. "I did. I put it in the lease agreement. Clause 9C."
Mary thought back. She remembered breezing through the legal jargon, eager to move in.
Delacroix continued. "I've reported it. Called priests. Paranormal groups. No one stays longer than a night."
He opened a drawer and pulled out something else: a VHS tape labeled "6C — 1998."
"I don't have a VCR anymore, but when I watched that, years ago, I saw a woman climbing inside her own reflection."
He held it out to her.
Mary didn't take it.
"Then why don't you leave?" she asked.
Delacroix gave her a sad smile.
"My wife died in this building. I see her in my dreams, still cooking breakfast. This place… holds people. Especially the broken ones."
Mary blinked back tears.
"I don't want to be held," she whispered.
"No," Delacroix said. "But it wants to keep you anyway."
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
She answered, hands shaking.
No voice.
Only breathing.
She hung up.
Delacroix sighed. "It's close, then."
Mary looked up. "Do you know what it is?"
The old man poured more coffee. "I call it the echo. It mimics life. Mirrors it. It learns until it can replace. And once it replaces you… you become the shadow."
Mary whispered, "What happens to the original?"
Delacroix didn't answer.
He just stared into his coffee like it held every answer he never wanted.
Mary stood to leave.
"Wait," Delacroix said. "One more thing."
He limped to his bedroom and returned with a small black notebook. Inside were pages of tenant names, most crossed out. Some circled in red.
Next to her name: a single word.
"Delayed."
"I don't know what makes someone last longer," he said. "But maybe you're strong enough to finish it. Break the cycle."
Mary took the notebook.
"I'll try," she said.
She returned to her apartment just before sunrise.
Everything was quiet.
The air felt charged, like lightning had passed through.
The front door was open two inches.
Just like the landlord's.
She pushed it open and stepped inside.
Everything was exactly where she'd left it.
Except the laptop was gone.
And a fresh message had been scrawled across the mirror in black marker:
"You talked to him. That's cheating."
[Fear System Notification: External Influence Detected.]
[System Strain: Increasing. Countermeasures Pending.]
[New Objective Unlocked: The Trap.]
Mary closed the door.
She wasn't scared now.
She was angry.
If the Fear System wanted terror, it had gotten plenty. But she wasn't going to be devoured like the others.
She would lay her own trap.
And force the shadow into the light.