Chapter 29: The Ghost of Who I Was

Riven's breath came fast and shallow, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something far heavier than panic.

His body was there—on the table, still and waiting, like a patient in cryostasis. The monitors attached to his chest flickered with soft, pulsing lights, tracking something.

Was it a heartbeat?

Was it his?

Vera kept her gun trained on the body. Her hands were steady, but her eyes weren't. Riven could tell she was rattled, could see the slight tremor in her jaw as she processed what she was looking at.

"Riven," she said, low and deliberate, her voice the only thing tethering him to the moment. "Tell me what the hell we're looking at."

He couldn't.

Because he didn't know.

Vex was already moving, his fingers dancing across his holo-interface, scanning the scene in frantic bursts. "I—I don't understand," he muttered. "This isn't a projection. This isn't a trick. This—" He gestured wildly to the still form on the table. "This is real."

Riven swallowed hard. His throat felt like sandpaper. His hands were cold. His mind was screaming.

But nothing—not the room, not his team, not even his own body—felt real.

And then the Threshold spoke.

"You have been here before, Sentinel."

Its voice echoed like a chorus of dead things.

"And you will be here again."

---

"No."

Riven forced the word out, clenching his fists. The feeling of unreality clawed at him, like something just under his skin was waiting to come undone.

"This isn't me," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "This isn't my life."

But was that true?

The room smelled sterile, metallic. The faint scent of preservation.

And the more he stared at the body—his body—the more he felt something... wrong stir in his chest.

Vex let out a breathless, "Oh, shit." His screen flickered wildly as more information surfaced. He turned it toward them, eyes wide. "Guys. This isn't the first time this has happened."

Vera's fingers tensed on her weapon. "Explain."

Vex hesitated, then tapped the screen. A data stream scrolled endlessly, file after file of Sentinels—each marked with a termination date.

Each one was named Riven Steele.

Some had minor differences in their genetic structure. Some had variations in their height, in their age. But every single one of them was him.

Riven's vision blurred.

The walls felt like they were closing in.

---

"How many times have you been made, Sentinel?" The Threshold's voice was soft, almost amused. It stepped closer, its form shifting like smoke barely held together. "How many times have you been broken?"

The monitors beside the body beeped.

The pulse on the screen... matched his own.

A sharp, static-laced memory cracked across his mind.

A flash of cold metal.

A voice speaking over him.

This one will last.

He clutched his skull as pain lanced through him. "Stop—!"

But the memory pushed deeper.

He saw gloved hands working on flesh. Machines humming in the background. Data scrolling faster than human eyes could track.

A shadowed figure speaking to a screen.

"Run the sequence again. We'll start from the beginning."

Riven's knees nearly buckled.

His team was saying something—Vera had moved closer, her voice urgent—but he couldn't process it. His world was narrowing into the stark white walls, the sterile smell, the body on the table.

It wasn't just a corpse.

It was him.

A past version? A failed experiment?

Or just a placeholder, waiting for its turn?

---

Vera grabbed him by the arm. "Snap out of it."

He forced himself to breathe.

The Threshold watched, silent.

Then it spoke again.

"You have lived this moment before. And you will live it again."

Vex's hands hovered over his interface. He was still trying to make sense of the data, but the fear in his eyes was growing.

"There are records of your DNA sequence being rewritten," he said hoarsely. "Of your memories being... reformatted."

Vera's grip tightened. "Are you saying he's been reset before?"

Riven's stomach twisted violently.

How many times had he stood in this room?

How many times had he seen this body?

How many times had he died... only to be brought back again?

---

He took a shaking step toward the table.

He needed to see for himself.

His reflection stared back at him from the surface of the cold metal. But it wasn't quite right. His features were softer, the hair slightly different, the scar along his jaw missing.

But it was still him.

And as he looked closer—

The body's eyes snapped open.

---

A sharp, rattling breath escaped the other Riven. His chest heaved, his pupils dilating as if he'd been asleep for centuries.

Riven stumbled backward, every nerve in his body screaming. Vera cursed and raised her weapon.

The thing on the table blinked.

And then... it spoke.

"You have to stop it."

The voice was his.

Not an imitation.

Not distorted.

But his.

And when the body moved, lifting a shaking hand, Riven realized—

It wasn't just another clone.

It wasn't just another failed version.

It was him.

From the last time.

---

The monitors flickered. The room trembled.

The Threshold laughed.

"Ah. The cycle repeats."

The other Riven's eyes locked onto him. His lips parted, and with a desperate urgency, he whispered—

"Don't let them erase you again."

Then—

The room collapsed.

The last thing Riven saw before the world fractured into darkness was his own face, screaming, as the past and present tore apart.