The mirror exploded like a gunshot in the cramped bathroom. Glass shards flew everywhere, each one reflecting a face that wasn’t mine: platinum blonde hair, big green eyes, soft features… a body that screamed “cute girl next door” if the girl next door had just stolen someone else’s life.
“YOU FUCKING BASTARD! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?!”
I slammed my fist into the remains of the mirror. Blood poured down long, delicate fingers that definitely weren’t mine. The pain was sharp and real — at least something still made sense.
I stared at my reflection. Tits. Actual tits. And down below…
I looked down.
“…Well, fuck me.”
Excalibur had survived the transfer. Half-hard, confused, but very much there under the baggy shorts.
A hysterical laugh escaped me — high-pitched and broken.
My knees gave out. I slid down the wall among the glass, pulling my new smooth legs tight against my chest.
“At least the equipment still works,” I muttered between ugly sobs. “Small mercies, I guess.”
The tears came anyway. Hot, ugly, unstoppable.
“What the hell happened to me…? That bastard… he fucking condemned me to this…”
Silence swallowed the room. Only the slow plop-plop of blood hitting the tiles kept time.
Then—
Ring… Ring…
A sleek black smartphone sat on the bed. It hadn’t been there before.
I dragged myself over, still bleeding, and touched the screen.
Reality ripped apart.
It felt like being sucked into a black hole made of light and static. One endless second of pure screaming consciousness.
Then—white.
I landed without landing. One second falling, the next I simply was — face-down on a surface that wasn’t hot or cold, didn’t push back, didn’t hold my weight. It just existed. And so did I.
White floor. White ceiling. White walls stretching forever — no corners, no edges, no end. An endless glowing void that burned to look at, like staring straight into the sun inside a nightmare.
I pushed myself up. The cuts on my hands had stopped bleeding. The wounds were still raw and red, but no more drips. Physics was optional here.
“What… what the fuck is this place…?”
My voice didn’t echo. It just faded into the white like it never existed.
Then I felt it — I wasn’t alone.
From the wall a figure began to form. Not like it appeared… more like it had always been there and my brain was only now catching up.
Tall guy. Dark old coat — seventeenth-century style — black with lace spilling out, silver buttons that swallowed the light. A thin white cigarette rested on lips he didn’t have. No smoke. Just the pose.
“H… hey, you—” My voice cracked, too high and small. “Do you know where the hell we are?!”
The figure turned. Slow. Graceful.
No face. Just smooth white porcelain where features should be. Blank. Perfect. Wrong.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
I scrambled backward, smaller hands flailing. The body didn’t move right. I stumbled and barely caught myself.
The porcelain head tilted.
“So aggressive, Dani.”
The voice slid through the white like silk over bone — soft, ancient, everywhere at once.
Two chairs and a low desk rose smoothly from the floor.
“Please. Sit.”
I kept my fists raised, circling. “Where the hell are we? And who the fuck are you?”
The faceless man sat with effortless courtly grace.
“Well, Dani… I’m Last. You may call me the administrator of this place.”
“Place?” I lowered my fists slightly. “You mean that bastard sent me to another fucking world… in this body?”
Last made a sound that might have been a laugh. Two cups of hot chocolate appeared, steam curling sweetly.
“Well…” He lifted his cup to the blank porcelain. “…you could say that. But don’t worry. He won’t interfere anymore.”
I sat. The warmth felt good against my cuts. I drank.
Dark chocolate, cinnamon, something smoky. “…It’s actually pretty damn good.”
Last nodded. The blank face somehow conveyed approval.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s over.”
“Listen, Dani.” He laced his fingers on the table. “I’ll have to assign you missions if you want to keep existing here.”
“Missions?” I slammed the cup down. “Now I have to take orders from you too?!”
“Yes.”
Calm as still water.
“It’s necessary to maintain that body.”
I froze.
“That body isn’t yours.”
“I know,” I whispered, shoulders collapsing. “But why the hell should I listen to you?”
“I’m only the administrator, not the owner. You’re an intruder. The missions justify your presence.”
“That’s fucking stupid.”
Last tilted his head.
“This body belonged to a girl who… let’s say she chose to leave the server.”
I snorted bitterly.
“Here, that might not be entirely true.” He set his cup down. “Your situation is unusual. A phone will deliver missions. Complete them or fail — either way, it affects this world. And your fate.
“What did that bastard mean about having a child?”
Last stayed silent a long moment, ghost-smoke curling from his imaginary cigarette.
“The only thing I can tell you is that you are now Truman.”
“Truman?”
“Resist or accept it. Makes no difference to me.” He leaned forward. “But remember… you have two years. Make them count.”
“Two years?!” My legs turned to water. “Two years for what? To live? To have a kid? To—?”
“Time’s up.”
“Wait—!”
I lunged. My fingers passed through empty air.
Reality crushed my throat. The white spun, blurred, dissolved.
The last thing I saw was Last’s blank silhouette tilting its head goodbye.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
I hit the floor hard.
Knees slamming into rough carpet, breath ragged.
Back in the hotel room. Same unmade bed. Same flickering neon. Same sour bleach-and-damp stench.
The black phone lay innocent on the bedspread.
Not a dream.
Then—
Ding dong.
Her head snapped toward the door.
Ding dong.
“Huh? Now what the fuck?”
Ding dong. Louder. More urgent.
She looked at her bloody hands, at her Ramones tee and baggy shorts. Nothing useful.
“I’m coming, damn it!”
She stumbled to the door.
Had to look up. And up.
The man filled the entire doorway. At least six-three, shoulders like boulders, arms thick as tree trunks. A face that could clear a room.
“Yeah?” Her voice came out small. “What do you want?”
His hard expression melted into tenderness.
“Sienna?” His voice was soft, almost shaking. “Look at you, my girl…”
He reached out — then saw the blood.
“SWEETHEART!”
That giant hand caught her wrist with impossible gentleness.
“We need to get you patched up right now!”
“D… dad?”
No more words. He guided her to the bed, sat her down like she might break. From his patched backpack he pulled an old first-aid kit.
“Look at you…” he muttered, fumbling tiny caps with huge hands. “…but don’t worry. Daddy’s here now. This time I’m staying.”
She watched those massive hands try to clean her cuts with clumsy tenderness.
“…Dad.”
He looked up, eyes shining.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Nothing.” A painful lump rose in her throat. “Just… haven’t said that in forever.”
He placed one warm hand on her forehead.
“No fever.” He smiled wide. “Sweetheart… how about we go home?”
“Home?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about your mom. I’ll talk to her. I’ll make it work.”
She looked into those kind eyes full of love she hadn’t earned.
“O… okay, Dad.”
He blinked, eyes filling.
“R… really?”
She nodded.
“My girl’s all grown up!” He cried openly, wiping his face. “I promise I won’t leave you alone again.”
“Don’t worry, Dad.” Her voice came out steady. “I’m okay.”
(If my real dad had ever been like this… maybe things would’ve been different…)
He smiled like she’d handed him the world.
“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s go.” He offered his hand. “But… you gonna change first?”
She looked down at her Ramones tee and torn shorts.
“Yeah… I guess.”
“Oh — almost forgot.” He pulled out a neat bundle. “Your friend Miss Adesa was really worried. Sent these.”
“Adesa?”
“Yeah. Go shower and get dressed. I’ll wait.”
She took the bundle and retreated to the bathroom. Closed the door. Pressed her forehead to the cool wood.
Then spread the clothes on the sink.
School uniform. White blouse, navy vest, red ribbon, pleated skirt.
A skirt.
“Fuck me…”
She looked up at the broken mirror. The platinum blonde girl stared back — exhausted, furious, and with something tiny flickering inside.
Not quite hope.
But close.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll play their game.”
She picked up the uniform.
“But on my own damn terms.”