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He clicked. There was no pop-up, no virus warning. Only a slow, agonizing crawl of data.
Then, on a text-only BBS hidden behind three layers of proxy servers, he saw it. A single, unadorned link: .
Slowly, a face began to form. It wasn't a digital rendering; it looked like a reflection. But it wasn't his reflection. The person on the screen was wearing the same headset, sitting in the same chair, in a room that looked exactly like his—except everything was reversed.
The "Mirror" in the screen reached out, its hand pressing against the inside of the glass.
The glass of the monitor didn't crack; it simply gave way like water. A cold, pale hand reached through the screen and gripped Elias’s wrist with the strength of a vice.
"Part one was the body," a voice whispered from his speakers, though they weren't plugged in. "Part two was the door."