The Other Mike and the Mindflayer

The Doppelgänger Crisis

"Where… where are we going?"The woman lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes shimmering with fear. Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

The soldier's tone was firm yet measured. "To the subdivision research facility. You've come into contact with an unidentified black liquid. We need to assess its effects—on you and the collective."

He hesitated briefly before adding, "Of course, if there is any real danger, we will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety."

"Even if you experience… unintended changes, the Jinling Medical Division will spare no effort to treat you."

The woman bit her lip, her hands clenched into fists. Her fear was palpable, but she knew the protocol. The collective came first. Lowering her gaze, she nodded. "I… I understand. Nothing must threaten the collective."

Though visibly shaken, she forced herself to her feet and followed the soldier.

As she stepped outside, the sound of boots echoed through the hallway—soldiers had already followed Mike upstairs.

Through Old Song's Confrontation, Mike had pieced together what was happening.

"There's something out there impersonating people. Their motives are unclear, and we don't yet know the extent of their threat. For now, stay inside as much as possible."

He scanned the frightened faces behind him. His tone was steady, reassuring. "From what I've observed, these creatures don't seem to pose a direct lethal threat to humans."

Despite his words, the unease in the room lingered. Everyone had seen what happened to Old Song.

The impostors weren't just random anomalies. They were perfect duplicates.

And that meant every person in the room was now questioning the same thing: What if I step through my own door and find another me waiting inside?

Even so, they had no choice but to return home. Fortunately, Mike was leading them. His presence alone kept their nerves from completely unraveling.

If the soldiers hadn't been there, most of them would have run—not just from their homes, but from the very place meant to be their refuge.

Mike studied the crowd, reading their silent fears.

He put himself in their shoes. And in doing so, something clicked.

"Are we afraid of facing these things… because that's exactly what they want?"

"If no one dares to confront them, does that mean they can simply replace us—slipping seamlessly into our lives?"

"And what happens to the people they replace?"

A cold weight settled in Mike's gut.

A memory surfaced—an old horror myth from the peaceful era before the Collapse. The Mandela Catalogue.

The so-called "Alternates" from that series were terrifyingly similar to what they were facing now.

Those creatures could mimic humans in every way—appearance, speech, mannerisms. They replaced people. Lived their lives. Eliminated the originals.

The more Mike compared, the more disturbing the similarities became.

"Is that what we're dealing with? Are these… Alternates?"

But something didn't fit.

Mike shook his head. No.

These impostors lacked one critical trait.

They weren't killers.

When unmasked, they reacted violently, yes. But their attacks were weak. Non-lethal.

And most importantly—they self-destructed upon exposure.

That wasn't how Alternates operated.

Mike's brow furrowed. Then what the hell are they?

And where was Wang Daniu, the missing ninth man?

Mike exhaled sharply and refocused. First, secure the people. Then, get answers.

Over the next hour, the remaining seven residents were escorted home. Seven impostors were confronted and neutralized.

But not killed.

At least, not by direct action.

Every impostor exhibited the same bizarre trait—they self-terminated upon discovery.

Some convulsed and collapsed, dissolving into puddles of black liquid. Others simply… peeled away, leaving nothing but an empty husk of skin.

Mike had ordered his men to take some alive for research. It hadn't mattered. They all chose to die the moment they were exposed.

"Damn it," Mike muttered under his breath. "How do we study something that refuses to be studied?"

Despite the gruesome nature of what they had witnessed, the survivors were visibly more at ease. They had seen the creatures' limitations firsthand.

They weren't unstoppable nightmares. They weren't invincible.

And Mike had proven he could handle them.

With the sweep complete, he turned his attention back to the top floor.

There was someone he needed to speak to.

A Meeting with the Elder

As Mike stepped into the room, his stomach twisted.

Inside, Lin Yue and Jiang Xiaoci stood stiffly, their eyes locked on one man.

At the center of the room, sitting casually on the sofa, flipping through one of Mike's old comic books, was Elder Dongfang Zhiyuan.

And beneath his foot, pinned to the ground—

—was another Mike.

Mike's jaw tightened.

"An impostor."

At the doorway, the real Mike narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

"Who are you?"

Lin Yue's gun was already drawn, but her hesitation was clear.

"Are you really the commander?" she demanded.

She hadn't lowered her weapon. That was smart.

Mike didn't answer her. Instead, his gaze moved to Dongfang Zhiyuan. The old man met his stare with an amused smile.

"Finished downstairs?" he asked.

"Yeah." Mike gestured toward the figure under the elder's foot. "How long has that thing been here?"

"Not long after you left."

Dongfang Zhiyuan pressed his cane against the impostor's shoulder, stopping its subtle writhing.

"It walked in, smooth as you like, and started lying the moment it opened its mouth."

"It almost had them fooled." He nodded toward Lin Yue and Jiang Xiaoci.

Lin Yue's expression darkened, but she said nothing.

Jiang Xiaoci hesitated before admitting, "It knew things. Personal things. Things only our commander should know."

That set off a fresh alarm in Mike's head.

If these things could mimic memories—intimate details—then their imitation was far beyond ordinary disguise.

"So why is it still alive?" he asked.

Every other impostor had self-destructed the moment they were exposed. But this one—hadn't.

"A keen question," Dongfang Zhiyuan murmured.

With an almost lazy motion, he lifted his foot.

The impostor jerked upright.

And the moment its gaze locked onto the real Mike—

—its face collapsed.

It shrieked, its entire form convulsing, skin cracking apart—

—and then, with a final deafening wail, it disintegrated into black dust.

Silence.

Dongfang Zhiyuan exhaled a ring of smoke from his pipe.

"There you have it," he said.

"It only self-destructs when confronted with its original."

Mike's blood ran cold.

Dongfang Zhiyuan met his gaze, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

"They don't know they're fake," he said softly.

"Not until they see the real one standing in front of them."

Mike's throat felt dry.

"And what do you call them?" he asked.

The old man's lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Heartstealers," he said.

"They don't just take your face, Mike. They take your place."