The Mimic Roblox Novels & Stories

“Not until it finishes the replacement sequence.” The mimic crouched on the wall like an animal ready to strike. Its voice came next. Perfect. Soft. And my voice. “Maya,” it whispered. My blood ran cold. Liam cursed loudly. “It copied her already” Xves shook his head. “Not fully. That’s only the first layer.” I didn’t understand. My voice shook. “How many layers are there” He finally looked at me. “Seven.” The mimic dropped from the wall without warning and landed on its feet like a shadow hitting water.

In an instant, I was floating above my own body. Just then, the dorm door was kicked open. The white-haired boy rushed inside. His face was a storm of fury and disbelief. Lily snatched the box and jumped out the window. Aaron ran straight to me, gathering my “corpse” in his arms. His expression was pure terror. “Ivy…” But my body remained cold. My soul had already left the simulated game body. Half an hour passed… Aaron never once let go of me. His hands were shaking. And only then did I realize something terrifyingly wrong.

I said as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I love mint choco." He said and I stopped. "Disgusting!" I hissed and he laughed. "Why is that disgusting? It's good." "I feel like brushing my teeth when I eat that flavour." I shook my head. "Do you have a pet?" He asked. "I have a black labrador at home. How about you?" "Really? I have a labrador too!" He said and I turned to him completely surprised. "Millie.. her name." "Blue.. his name." I turned to him and looked at him straight into his eyes.

And sneaking out of this place was not possible with Luther's men, who always patrolled the perimeter of the mansion. I didn't know how many people live in this place or people did really exist here. Because all I could see was Luther's human robots who were human but acted like a machine. They didn't laugh, smile, and talk. Only the thing they usually did was obey Luther's orders. If Luther wanted them to eat, they would eat. If Luther wanted them to sit, they would sit. I wondered If they urinated only after his order?

“Either two people sharing one line, or one person who’s very good at disguising themselves.” “Or,” Mom said slowly, “someone with a shifter ability we haven’t accounted for yet.” The room went quiet. I straightened. “What kind of shifter can change their voice completely?” “A mimic,” Malcolm said. The word landed heavy between us. “Rare. But they exist.” His eyes darkened. “Someone with that ability could sound like anyone man, woman, a stranger, someone you know.” He paused. “Someone could weaponize that very easily.” I thought about the male voice. The female voice. How different they were. How convincing.

The creature’s eyes gleam too brightly, too perfectly. I reach out, almost wanting to believe it. But then I remember—the mole on my mother’s left cheek, just below her eye. This woman’s cheek is smooth. “No,” I say firmly, stepping back. The figure snarls, twisting and changing. Its skin peels away to reveal a dark, slimy creature with teeth sharp as knives. A forest mimic. It’s a predator that takes the form of someone you trust, feeding on your fear and confusion. I scramble back and run as fast as I can.

“So if a mimic like Solidad became Draynor and had a child with Mikan… would it be a boy or a girl?” “A boy,” Avi answered without hesitation. Cain fell silent. His expression darkened slightly, as though that detail mattered more than he wanted to admit. Avi continued softly, “But there’s a cost to mimicking. Solidad was around three hundred. If she tried to copy a Malton now, she’d die within a year. Her body’s too old to survive the change.” “So once they reach a certain age, they’re locked to one form?” he asked. “Exactly. It takes a full year for the transformation to stabilize. The older they get, the less flexible they become. Some mimic skills like traveling under the Veil are easier

“If you isolate us completely, you trap everyone down here with whatever is doing this.” Right. The almost-people. Claire. Teo. Vale. Thousands of emerging selves. Curator-era survivors. Not all part of the mimicry. Closing the door could protect current reality— and abandon them. Again. The pattern. Always the pattern. Root said: “Selective quarantine.” Dawn asked: “Based on what?” Root stopped. Exactly. How do you separate mimics from new people when the mimics were built to look like people? Elias whispered: