The reports started as murmurs—background noise that surveillance teams dismissed as static.
But then came the images.
Subway cameras from Line 9 flickering at 03:33 AM. Eyeless mannequins spotted walking through dead stations. A conductor who claimed he saw his wife—who’d been dead for five years—staring back at him from a platform mirror.
And above all else… the message that played at the end of every recording: “You can’t hide from what you used to be.But if you close your eyes… maybe it won’t remember."
Sanctuary HQ – Layer Observation Room
Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Line 9 was sealed three years ago.”
Elise, recovering but alert on comms, replied calmly: “Then something has reopened it from the inside.”
“This isn’t residual,” Riku added, scanning waveform data. “These broadcasts are deliberate. Each transmission is layered with visual suggestions and false memory triggers.”
Maya tapped the table once. “We need someone fast. Silent. Ghost-level stealth.”
They all looked up at the same time—
Kaze was already standing behind them.
His presence almost undetectable.
He didn’t say a word.
Just nodded.
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True name: Unknown
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Rank: S
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Specialty: Shadow phasing, auditory void-step, illusion field reversal
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Motto: “The moment you hear me… it’s already too late.”
Part II – Descent Into Line 9
The entrance to Line 9 was sealed behind six reinforced doors, three suppression sigils, and a psychic silence ward.
Kaze bypassed them all without touching a single lock.
By the time the doors began to register his presence—he was already inside.
The air beneath the subway was wrong.
Not stale.
Not toxic.
Just… off.
Like sound refused to echo here.
Like something was watching without blinking.
Like time was slightly behind itself.
Kaze didn’t flinch.
He stepped forward slowly, each movement too quiet, even for his own footsteps.
His cloak swirled at the edge of his boots, completely clean despite the dust—and his mask, marked with a single vertical line, never tilted unnecessarily.
He saw everything.
And revealed nothing.
“No light flares,” he whispered, barely audible.
A shimmer passed through the tunnel. His illusion field dropped—briefly revealing a second version of himself 20 feet away, watching from another angle.
Both faded instantly.
The glyph was found at Station 9-C.
A chalk symbol scrawled on the back of a shattered map board.
It was shaped like an eye—cracked down the middle.
And underneath it: six words.
“You are it now. Close them.”
Kaze tilted his head.
The curse responded.
The station lights flickered.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Metal screeched in the tunnels.
And then… he heard it.
A child’s voice.
“Ready or not…here I come.”
Part III – The Echo Behind Your Eyes
The lights went out.
Not slowly.
All at once.
Total black.
The kind of black that didn’t blink. That didn’t breathe. That felt like it had teeth.
Kaze didn’t stop moving.
He didn’t need light.
Somewhere ahead, the child’s voice continued to echo—soft, melodic, looping like a skipping record:
“Blind man, blind man, cover your eyes…
If you see too much, something inside you dies…”
Then silence.
Then something else.
A copy of his voice.
“You’re too slow, Kaze.”
He turned. Instantly.
But there was no one there.
Not even a sound trail to follow.
Just flickers of movement in the dark, footsteps that matched his—just a second too late.
He stepped into the main tunnel, and that’s when it hit him:
There were five shadows.
But only one Kaze.
They stepped when he stepped.
Moved when he breathed.
Each one with a broken mask and subtle differences—tiny flaws he wouldn’t make.
One dragged their foot.
One twitched before attacking.
One breathed too loudly.
Kaze stood perfectly still.
Then, he smiled behind the mask.
"Tag"
He vanished.
The first echo dissolved before it could turn.
Kaze’s form reappeared behind the second—silent, fluid, precise.
He didn’t draw a blade.
He just placed two fingers on its back.
Skill: Silent Pulse – Pressure Echo
The cursed shadow imploded without a sound.
Two more charged at him.
They didn’t stand a chance.
He weaved between them like smoke given purpose.
One tried to scream—Too late.
He was already behind it.
The last shadow just watched.
Its voice rasped. “Why do you run from your face?”
Kaze paused.
And in a rare moment—he answered.
“Because mine was taken. Yours is borrowed.”
He moved faster than light could blink.
The echo shattered in place.
But the game hadn’t ended.
Ahead, a mirror waited in the center of the tracks.
Tall. Ancient. Wrong.
And in it—wasn’t Kaze.
It was a boy.
One eye bleeding. One eye closed.
Whispering: “You remember, don’t you?”
Part IV – The Mirror That Remembers
The mirror stood like a coffin made of truth.
It didn’t reflect light.
It reflected questions.
The boy inside it tilted his head—not in malice, but in familiarity.
“Why do you wear that mask?”
“You were faster than all of them.”
“But you weren’t fast enough, were you?”
Kaze said nothing.
He took one step closer.
The child’s image did not mimic him.
Around the mirror, the tunnel began to bend—Rails split and curved into circles.
Signal lights flickered like candles in a funeral procession.
And behind every shattered display…
Another Kaze stared back.
Bleeding.
Panicked.
Falling.
Different timelines?
Alternate echoes?
Or just the curse showing him what he feared most?
“If you take off the mask,” the mirror whispered,
“You’ll know who you let die.”
Kaze placed one hand on the glass.
Then another.
His breath was steady.
His fingers curled.
And in that instant, the glass turned into a mouth.
It screamed—and dozens of shadow hands burst from it, clawing for his mask.
But they grabbed air.
Kaze had already moved.
He scattered like wind, reappearing above the mirror in midair.
He raised a kunai etched with five silent sigils.
“This memory is not mine.”
He threw it into the center of the reflection.
The mirror fractured inward.
And inside it—he saw one last image before it vanished:
A hand reaching out.
Smaller than his. Familiar.
Clutching his mask.
The whole tunnel pulsed—then reset.
Back to silence.
Back to solitude.
He stood there, alone again.
And finally whispered, “…I remember less each time.”
But above him, deep in the rafters of the collapsed rail line—
Something else watched.
A shape with no face, hunched and twitching.
Its mouth moved in silence.
But if you listened close…It was counting.
“One. Two. Three…Who’s next to not see me?"
Part V – The Return and the Watching Silence
The tunnel didn’t say goodbye.
It simply stopped humming.
The cursed mirror crumbled into silver dust, and the rail lines straightened—like a puppet show that had ended before its final act.
Kaze stepped through the collapsing boundary seal, his shadow stretching unnaturally behind him.
He didn't glance back.
But his stride slowed.
Just once.
At the station gate, the red emergency beacon blinked for a moment too long. A low chime echoed behind him, though no wind passed through.
Kaze turned his head—only slightly.
From deep within the black, where the final shadow had vanished, a faint shiver stirred the air.
He could feel it.
Something was still there.
Not a curse.
Not a ghost.
Just presence.
Watching.
Learning.
He didn’t draw a weapon.
He didn’t ignite a seal.
He simply stepped through the final barrier and re-entered Sanctuary’s access tunnel.
Inside the debrief chamber, Maya glanced up as he entered.
He said nothing.
But this time, he didn’t vanish.
He sat on the bench beside the report desk.
Still.
Unmoving.
For ten minutes.
Then, just before he stood, he whispered to himself—“It didn’t want me dead.”
And then he was gone.
? Game: Blind Man’s Bluff
? Entity: The Seer of Forgotten Faces (Echo-Class Mimic Curse)
? Anchor: Shattered Surveillance Mirror (linked to Line 9 Control Node)
? Operative Dispatched: Kaze (Solo)
? Status: Game Dissolved
? Survivors: None encountered (no new victims confirmed)
? Curse Fragments: 6 residual personality echoes neutralized
? Notes:
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Entity mimicked alternate versions of the operative and projected regret loops.
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Mirror allowed curse to reflect corrupted memory threads across timelines.
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Final phase appears incomplete—possibly awaiting host reactivation.
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Operative retained full mental integrity. No known psychological disruptions detected.
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Secondary anomaly: Unknown observer detected watching operative from above. Audio log captured whisper patterns consistent with counting behavior.
Maya’s Note: “He said nothing when he came back. But he sat still for ten minutes. That’s longer than usual.”
Tenchi’s Note: “It wasn’t a trap. It was a trial run. Something out there is learning how we think.”