Simulacra Novels & Stories

Do I still have the right to speak and move? I flinched as Jake raised his hand to slap me, blocking his fist with both of my arms. "Why, this b*tch!" he exclaimed. When I look in the mirror, I notice bruises all over my body. Your face and body are your most valuable assets as a model; a scar is a source of anxiety. However, cosmetics can help, just as a smile can conceal your pain.

He had to win this fight for his son. Mark and 2Pac were now facing each other like two boxers in the ring. 2Pac and Mark were standing inside a room called a Virtual Materialization Simulator. The Virtual Materialization Simulator, or VMS, was a computer-operated room. The room could produce a realistic simulated environment using tiny 3D printer lasers built into the room’s ceiling and its four massive white walls.

“Search for 5 kilometers round. Now.” A small magic circle glowed golden on top of the mirror. The surface then wrinkled and turned a milky color. When the color settled, the mirror showed an image of a big nose. “Someone is in possession of it.” said Dorin. “Can you blow it up?” asked Seb, his voice dead serious. “What if someone just innocently picked it up?” Dorin asked surprised at his friend’s request. “It might be a kid, or a janitor, or something...”

Ezra, choosing silence over words, listened intently, realizing she had no answers to the myriad of questions Scarlet presented. A sudden pause hung in the air, and Scarlet's gaze shifted from the plate to Ezra. "I am getting old," she confessed, her eyes distant. "I want you to come back and live with us. I don't want to hurt you, but you can't leave us like that." Scarlet's plea hung in the air, the vulnerability in her eyes revealing a loneliness that had settled in over the years.

I remain silent during this process, still not sure what to think about this situation. “Oh, this isn’t good.” Axel exclaims, checking his phone. “I have an alert, the police are looking for a fugitive with telekinetic abilities who may be able to identify a high-risk Abnormal known as a ‘Mimic’.” He looks confused and turns to Myah, “Do you know what a Mimic is?” He asks. She doesn’t show any reaction but simply states; “I can’t think of anything relating to that, CC?” Myah looks towards her sister for a further response,

Lana points to a page on the journal, “Le destructeur de tous et de ses proches, la mort, la guerre et la Pestilence, récolteront la destruction de tous. Le sacrifice de l'humanité sera son champion. Si l'amour et la bonté prévalent, le monde sera sauvé. Si la mort et l'avidité réussissent, la fin sera un nouveau commencement rempli de mort, d'assujettissement et de destruction.” I interpret it out loud, “The destroyer of all and her kin, death, war, and Pestilence, shall reap the destruction of all. Humanity's sacrifice shall be its champion. Should love and goodness prevail, the world will be saved. Should death and greed succeed, the end shall be a new beginning filled with death, subjuga

The real one, pressed against the mirrored wall, confusion chasing pain in his eyes. The imposter, closer. Not mirrored. Planed and sharpened. He held something between us: a silver vial, blood. Of me. “I know you,” he said, lips curling in a predator’s smile. “But do you?” Real Julian lunged. I screamed, and he vanished. I was alone with the imitation. “Why?” The word tore out of me. He smiled wider. “You find your strength in fighting your reflection.” The mirrored wall behind him rippled again. A still image, Aria and Julian, laughing. Their perfect slice of life reflected in frozen glass.

**"Did you miss me?" Ravel fires her crossbow. The bolt phases through him. **"I'm not here. Not anymore. But *she* is."** A tank hisses open, spilling green fluid. Inside floats a girl, no older than twelve, her skin etched with glowing circuits. **Lira's** face. "Another mimic?" I say, static prickling my palms. The girl's eyes snap open-gold, pupil-less. **"No. A *successor*."**

A mimic stone—I'd read about them in the forbidden texts, artifacts so dangerous that most packs had banned them entirely. They didn't just record memories; they twisted them, warped them, created false recollections that felt more real than reality itself. And this one had been specifically crafted to sound like me. As if in response to my recognition, the stone pulsed in my hand, and suddenly the chamber was full of voices.

Substitution simulation commencing. The crowd gasped as my mother froze mid-breath, her body turning stiff and lifeless. All eyes turned to the giant screen, now displaying a simulation. The audience grew increasingly curious, all wondering what kind of life my mom would have had if she were me. In the simulation, a baby girl was born—a replica of me in appearance and physique. The system identified her as "Subject One." She would relive my exact life circumstances, but her goals and decisions would be driven by my mother's consciousness, stripped down to focus on academics and filial duty.