The Mirror

March 4, 2026

Six Months Earlier…

A human man lying at the bottom of a dark dirt shaft, surrounded by broken mirror shards melting into liquid. A wooden sign labeled Reflection Loop with multiple arrows and a glowing button stands beside him. Far above, at the rectangular opening of the pit, a figure with a glowing pumpkin head peers down under a stormy sky.

Movement.

Further back, much behind the pumpkin head, a figure stood. It was observing my struggle with the heavy Canon and the creature from my dreams. The “old pain” was back, throbbing from my shoulders down to my spine. His posture was unmistakably similar to mine—the same mannerisms, the same weight I carried right now.

Then the voice. A screeching sound, not from the air, but from inside my own skull. “Six months,” they said, “and you still don’t see it.”

Below me, the ground grumbled. A slab of black granite pushed upward through the dirt. Slow and violent. Like a tooth rupturing through a gum. It wasn’t dirty or imperfect. It came up polished and flawless. Too perfect for this rot.

As I looked down, the grass didn't just part; it deleted. A rectangular vacuum opened beneath my boots, a hole that dug itself in a blink.

Tipsy from the realization... gravity finally won.

As I fell, I saw it—a mirror. No edges, no frame, lying at the base of the shaft. I saw an endless recursion of a figure that looked like me, tumbling into the dark. And behind me, in the reflection, was the pumpkin head. Coming for me.

Impact.

The bottom was hard and flat. The mirror, broken into hundreds of sharp shards. The pain in my ribs returned. I felt with my hands, expecting wounds. There were none. The glass melted into liquid, seeping into the ground.

I felt around in the dark where the mirror had been. An object, wood in texture. I traced the carving with my fingers as a flash of lightning hit. I saw it: “Reflection Loop.”

The shape wasn't the same. The sign flickered from flat to three-dimensional. The arrows changed with each shift—one, then seven, then too many to count. Every arrow tip had a small button, like a shutter. It reminded me of the button on my wrist from what felt like ages ago.

I reached out, my fingers trembling, and tried to press one. It phased. I watched it pulse, in and out of existence. Then it stopped.

Nervously, I pressed the button closest to me.

Click.

Everything vanished.

Where was I?