Бесплатный фрагмент - The Loop. SERA.PHIM

Chapter 1. 3:17

Rain pounded the tiled roofs like drumbeats in an empty church. The night was thick, humid, carrying the scent of asphalt and wet leaves. Alex Reed sat on the edge of his old bed, hunched over as if trying to hold the entire world on his shoulders. His head throbbed with fatigue, and his eyes burned from sleeplessness — for years, nights had become a trial for him, not a rest.

The apartment he rented on the city’s outskirts felt like a reflection of his own life — dusty, abandoned, and full of broken promises.. Old case files, scribbled notebooks, and unanswered letters lay scattered across the desk. All of it — testimonies of his failures, mistakes, and the lives he hadn’t saved. He picked up a notebook, tracing the lines where his handwriting trembled from exhaustion.

The city outside the window slept — or at least tried to. Smoke from chimneys mixed with the streetlights’ murky orange glow. The empty streets shimmered on the wet asphalt like a single, endless mirror. Alex often caught himself staring into those reflections for hours, as if a hidden truth waited somewhere within.

He closed his eyes and thought of his daughter. Sam. Her laughter, the joyful cry on the playground, a voice he now heard only in memory. Ten years had passed since she was gone. Ten years, and every day he wondered what he could have done differently.

A call.

The phone on the desk vibrated — a soft, almost inaudible sound, like a bell tolling in an empty church. Alex grabbed the receiver.The same call he had tried to forget appeared again, like a nightmare lodged in reality.

«You couldn’t save me…» the voice said.

He froze. The voice was painfully familiar — his own. The words repeated, but they sounded like a whisper from a distant future.

«Who…?» he tried to ask, but the line was silent.

The city below lived its slow, drowsy life — cars left trails of light, occasional pedestrians hurried under umbrellas. His heart pounded wildly, a hollow emptiness tightening around his chest. He walked around the room, checking doors and windows. No one. Just the rain outside and his own breathing. Alex stood by the window, listening to the patter of the rain.

Barely noticeable — but his heart clenched, as if struck by an electric shock.And then, the light in his apartment flickered. For a second.

Only now the words sounded different: He turned. In the corner, on the desk, the voice recorder had turned on by itself. The red indicator blinked, a relay clicked, and a rustle came from the speaker. Then — the voice. The same one from the receiver.

«Don’t look back.»

He felt a breath behind him — someone else’s.Alex froze. The world seemed to freeze with him. The rain ceased. Even the ticking of the clock vanished.

It moved independently, as if it had a life of its own. He slowly, very slowly, turned his head. The room was empty. But on the wall above the desk — a shadow. Not his.

When the light returned, the shadow was gone.Alex stepped closer — and the shadow recoiled. A second — and the lamp flickered again.

03:17.He exhaled heavily and turned off the recorder. Only then did he notice: the recording was still running. The display showed the time.

He sat back on the bed. Suddenly he realized — this was not the first call. He had heard it before, always exactly at 3:17. Alex glanced at the clock: 3:17. That moment repeated again and again, like a rhyme that could not be broken.

Memory brought back an old case — a girl he hadn’t managed to save three years ago. And the phrase echoed again: «You couldn’t save me.» Not a call. Not a warning. An accusation carved deep into the essence of his life.

He approached the mirror, the old crack in the corner, and saw a shadow behind him. Its movements no longer matched his. He turned — but the empty apartment met him with a deafening silence.

Memories of other cases, other mistakes, surfaced: the man who died in the alley; the colleague’s wife who never received help; the night he missed his chance. All of it twisted together into one tight knot — a loop with no escape.

The voice repeated the same words, but now it sounded closer, as if it were standing right behind him: The phone rang again. 3:17.

«You couldn’t save me.»

The beat of his heart matched the raindrops hammering against the glass. Alex felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. The world around him became unstable, like reflections in puddles, where the city was no longer a city but a labyrinth of shadows.

He sank to the floor, clutching his head, and for the first time realized — the call wasn’t just a signal. It was the beginning of something unstoppable. Something living in a loop between past, present, and future… and now it had come for him.

Outside, the rain thickened, and the streetlights flickered like failing memories. In the mirror behind him, something moved — and Alex froze. Whoever — or whatever — was there did not mimic his movements. It looked straight at him and smiled.

«You couldn’t save me.«The phone vibrated once more. 3:17. The voice:

It poured with relentless persistence, as if the city itself were being washed off the face of the earth. Water streamed down the windows, breaking into droplets that turned the streets into mirrors — and Alex Reed felt those mirrors were watching him with grim curiosity.And in that moment, Alex understood — the night had only just begun. The rain hadn’t stopped for three days.

Sometimes that hum felt like the breath of someone large and weary, asleep beneath the city, about to awaken. He lived on the sixth floor of an old building, in a corner that had once housed a bookstore. Now a twenty-four-hour laundromat occupied the ground floor, its machines filling the nights with a low, lulling roar.

The wallpaper peeled, while stacks of folders and yellowed newspaper clippings littered the floor. Each one was someone’s story he never managed to finish.Alex sat on the edge of the bed, a cup of cold coffee in his hand. The second cup of the night, though it did no good — his eyes still wanted to close.

He wasn’t a detective anymore — at least not officially. After the Hale case, he’d left the department — or rather, they’d let him slip away quietly, like removing a broken part from a machine.

He had asked for it himself, though sometimes he wondered if he should have.

And in all that time, he had never slept peacefully.Two years had passed.

A month after that photo, his wife left. Three months later, Sam was gone. He rubbed his temples, feeling his pulse thrum beneath his skin. An old photograph lay on the desk — himself, his wife, and their daughter, Sam. The photo was taken in summer, by a lake. All three of them smiling. The photographer — his partner, Marlow.

Sometimes Alex felt that everything in his life had stopped that day — like a clock frozen at a single moment.

3:16.He glanced at the wall clock.

Alex rose and approached the window. Under the streetlight stood a cat — wet, black, motionless. It seemed to be staring straight at him.The room dimmed as the lamp on the nightstand flickered once and died. The rain intensified. Somewhere in the distance a train howled, then the sound cut off, as if someone had turned it off.

He sighed, rubbed his face, and was about to lie down when the phone rang.

Exactly at 3:17.

Alex slowly lifted the receiver.The sound sliced through his nerves like a blade scraping glass.

«…You couldn’t save me,» the voice said.

Hoarse, weary, with a slight tremor at the end of the phrase. He froze. The voice was his own.

«Who is this?» he asked, his mouth dry.

No answer — only a faint crackle on the line, as if someone were quietly breathing through the silence. Then a click — and silence.

It had happened the first time two weeks ago. Then again, three days later. And always at the same time, always the same phrase. He set the phone down and paced the room. His fingers trembled.

«You couldn’t save me.»

He heard himself. His own breathing, intonations, pauses. He checked the phone — the number was unregistered. The signal source was impossible to trace. He figured it might be a prank — maybe one of his old colleagues. But when he recorded the call and played it back…

It was him.

No, not his Sam, but in the report, the names kept getting mixed up, in writing and speech alike. As if memory itself was playing a cruel joke on him. He grabbed the folder from the desk — the Wilshire Street fire case. Three dead. Among them, a girl of about ten. Sam.

The mirror. He flipped through the photos — burnt house, melted windows, a charred mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

But when Alex zoomed in on the image on the laptop screen, he saw the photographer holding the camera… with the other hand. And his eyes glowed a ghostly white.In one photo — he saw the reflection of the photographer.

He tried to convince himself it was just an artifact. But the inner voice — the one that always knew when a person was lying — whispered: no. He blinked, leaned back in his chair. «Glitch. Light. Reflection.»

A crack. A soft tapping sounded in the apartment. As if someone ran a fingernail along a mirrored surface. Alex turned. On the wall, where an old mirror hung in a darkened frame, a barely visible line stretched across the glass.

But the reflection didn’t move in sync immediately. One-second delay. Two. He stepped closer. The light from the window lamp fell directly on the reflection. He saw himself — hair disheveled, eyes tired.

He raised his hand — and the reflection raised it later.

And then it smiled.

He grabbed his pistol, checked the safety, scanned the room — no one.Alex jerked back. The tapping at the window, thunder, the cat’s scream from below — all merged into a single, deafening sound.

And then he realized — the phone was ringing again.

3:17.

«The loop has begun.«He approached slowly, lifting the receiver. «Who is this?» Silence. And then a faint whisper — barely audible but unmistakable:

The line went dead.

His own breathing. Not from his chest — from the mirror.Alex stood frozen, until he heard… himself.

3:18.He turned slowly. In the reflection, he was holding the receiver, but the mirror showed a different time.

And the last words: «The loop has begun.«He didn’t sleep at all until morning. When dawn came, the city looked just as weary as he felt. People hurried, faces hidden beneath umbrellas. Alex sat by the window, drinking cold coffee, writing down everything he remembered. Three calls. The same voice.

He didn’t know what it meant. But deep down, he felt:

something had already happened, and time had not yet caught up with him.

Chapter 2. The Old Case

Gray dawn filtered into the room through the blinds, slicing the desk with streaks of cold light. Alex sat in the chair, still fully dressed. His jacket still smelled of rain and cigarette ash.

The clock read 6:42. He hadn’t slept for two days straight.

The phone vibrated on the desk with a short, almost guilty buzz. A message:

«He’s dead. Morgue on Jefferson Street. Come.»

No signature. But he knew who it was from.

His fingers trembled.

The name surfaced immediately — Eli Monroy. Young, daring, with eyes that held more confidence than the entire department combined.

Three years ago he had disappeared while they were investigating the church case in the industrial zone — «Seraphim Loop.»

Alex had made a mistake back then.

A mistake that had cost a man his life, his career — meaning itself.

He stood up, lit the stove, poured water into the kettle — but didn’t turn on the gas.

Everything felt unnecessary, redundant. Even the light. Even breathing.

The number on the phone screen blinked—3:17.

At that exact time, according to the doctor, Eli had died.

At that same hour three years ago, Alex had stood in the church basement, staring at the symbol — a loop of rope woven into a golden ring.

And now, for some reason, he was certain: it was no coincidence.

The wind slammed against the window, as if someone outside was trying to get in.

Alex stepped closer and looked out. On the street, right across the building, sat a gray car — an old Chevy Impala. Empty. But he could clearly see the glass trembling, as if someone inside was breathing too rapidly.

He glanced at the message again.

«He’s dead. Morgue on Jefferson Street. Come.»

And for some reason, he said aloud:

— Yes. I’m coming.

He threw on his coat, tucked an old police badge into his pocket — long unnecessary, but still heavy, like guilt that couldn’t be shaken off.

Outside the building, the air was thick and damp. The world seemed frozen in anticipation.

Alex’s footsteps echoed sharply against the concrete, as if someone were walking beside him.

The morgue on Jefferson Street greeted him with the smell of formaldehyde and the hollow echo of footsteps on the tile.

Behind the glass door, a steady, dim light burned — like a dawn trapped between worlds.

Behind the desk in the reception area sat Michael Grant — his former partner.

A weary face, gray streaking through the temples.

Once, they had pulled people from the dirt together; now, they pulled each other from memories.

— You’re fast, — Michael didn’t look up. — Didn’t think you’d come at all.

— You wrote briefly. I thought it was worth it.

— It’s worth it, — he replied dryly, handing Alex a disposable gown. — Come on, see for yourself.

The door to the refrigerated storage creaked open with a metallic groan.

Cold hit him in the face.

Alex felt a shiver run beneath his coat.

On the second table, under a gray sheet, he lay.

Eli Monroy.

The same as ever — only pale, as if not blood had been drained from him, but time itself.

Michael slowly lifted the edge of the sheet.

— Found him this morning near the cliff. Documents were on him.

— Three years, — Alex said quietly. — Three years he’s been gone.

— And all that time… nobody saw him. No traces, no body.

Michael paused, then added: — Death occurred at night. At 3:17.

Alex tensed.

— Are you sure?

— Yes. The doctor noted the exact time by body temperature. The strange part is something else.

He carefully rolled up the corpse’s sleeve.

On Eli’s wrist was a thin scar in the shape of a loop woven into a circle.

The skin around it — burned from the inside.

Alex was silent.

His throat felt dry.

— What is this? — he asked.

— You should tell me, — Michael replied. — You were there. Back then. In the church.

— Back then, I thought it was just a cult, — Alex whispered. — Rituals, symbols… But now?

He leaned closer.

For a moment, it seemed to him that Eli’s fingers twitched.

But when he blinked — they were still.

— Do you see it? — Michael asked.

— No. — Alex stepped back. — It was just my imagination.

Michael sighed, rubbed his forehead.

— There’s one more thing. At the place where he was found, on a tree — same symbol.

As if someone is continuing that ritual.

Alex nodded slowly.

He remembered that three years ago, on the church wall, the same symbol had been drawn — and beneath it, barely visible under soot:

«The cycle closes.»

Now he stood again before a dead body, and the words rang in his head like a spell.

— The loop closes, — he repeated under his breath.

— What did you say?

— Nothing, — Alex turned away. — I need to see where he was found.

Michael nodded, though fear flickered in his eyes.

— Fine. But be careful. That place… it’s not good.

When they stepped outside, the morning was already bright but offered no warmth.

The sun looked like a dead disk, and in Alex’s head one thought kept pounding:

3:17. The loop closes. And someone is starting the game again.

After the morgue, Alex did not go home.

Home — was where the walls smelled of cold coffee, and the clocks never moved past 3:17.

He turned onto Madison Avenue, toward the old police building. Once, this corridor had known his steps. Now — only echoes.

The archive was in the basement.

It always smelled of dust, dampness, and something else — strange, like wet ash.

The duty officer nodded without asking questions. Old men returning to their dead were a frequent sight here.

The archive smelled of dust, old paper, and rusty staples. Alex sifted through photographs — dim, yellowed, like memories trying to be forgotten. One showed a stairwell bathed in flash light. Another — a body covered with a tarp. And in the window reflection — himself, photographed from behind.

He didn’t remember this photo existing.

«Don’t dig deeper. Time will close itself.»

His heart thumped painfully, sharply. He flipped the photo. On the back — someone else’s handwriting. Thin, even, like in official reports. The inscription read:

Someone switched on the old projector.

He turned — archive empty. But from the dark corridor came a soft click.

— You knew how this would end.

On the wall, frames came alive: blurred figures, a flashlight flash, the staircase… and again — him, young, standing before a child’s body. A voice whispered from the frame:

— «3:17.»

Alex stepped closer — and the image wavered. The face on the screen turned to him. The same gaze, the same eyes. And the lips on the screen whispered:

Alex remained in darkness, a lump in his throat, with the feeling that the archive had just looked back at him.

The light flickered. The projector went out.

He switched on the desk lamp. Light fell in a narrow stripe across the shelves.

The shadows shifted, as if alive.

Case No. 314/22. Disappearance of Eli Monroy.

The original report:

«Blood traces found at the church ruins. No signs of struggle. Cult symbolism. Suspects not found. Case suspended.»

Alex ran his finger along the margins of the report.

He had signed it himself.

He clenched his fist, feeling dust under his nails, like ash.

— Three years, — he muttered. — And I didn’t even try to come back.

Memory returned that night.

The forest. An abandoned chapel. Screams.

And a strange, flickering light inside, like the Northern Lights — but black.

Then it all stopped. His partner was wounded. One of the suspects vanished.

And then — the report, the signature, the dull «case suspended.»

He closed his eyes.

And suddenly… the phone rang.

A low, rattling sound from an old model that shouldn’t even be here.

The device on the wall in the corner — a relic from the nineties, long since unplugged.

But it rang.

Alex approached slowly.

His heart pounded too loudly, as if a spring were rattling inside him.

He lifted the receiver.

— Hello?

Silence.

Only a rustle, like wind running through the wires.

And then — a voice.

The same one that called him at night. Only now it sounded closer.

— You’re late again.

Click.

The line went dead.

Alex stood, staring at the phone as if it were a weapon.

The air in the archive thickened, sticky like resin.

He turned — and saw something on the wall behind the shelves.

A black streak, drawn with something like charcoal.

A loop.

The same symbol. Only fresh.

He turned toward the entrance — nobody there.

The bulb flickered.

The shadows moved again.

Alex swore, grabbed the folder, and stepped outside.

The corridor smelled of burning — though nothing was on fire.

He reached the street.

The city moved on — cars, footsteps, shouts from the streets.

But everything seemed muffled, as if behind glass.

He walked without feeling cold, without feeling time.

Only one thing itched in his mind:

3:17. Eli. The call. The symbol.

And the feeling that someone — or something — was watching him — not from around a corner, but from within time itself.

He returned home late.

The rain still drizzled, tracing fine, trembling ripples across the windows.

The key turned in the lock with a dry click — strange, as if no one was waiting inside, not even the air itself.

The apartment greeted him with silence.

No creak, no sound from the street. Only his own footsteps.

On the table — a cold cup of coffee from the morning.

Next to it — a voice recorder, a stack of old, and an old alarm clock, its hands frozen at 3:17.

He exhaled.

It was beginning to feel like a cruel prank.

But there are no pranks when the dead call from the archive.

Alex sank into his chair and opened his laptop.

He opened the folder labeled «Eli Monroy.»

A photo — young guy, shaggy-haired, with a tattoo on his neck.

The tattoo… a loop.

Back then, he hadn’t thought much of it. Just an infinity symbol, youthful folly.

Now, it looked different.

He opened the autopsy report.

Date of death: October 14. Time—3:17.

Tonight.

He flipped through further.

The doctor noted: the body had been found in an abandoned apartment on the outskirts.

Cause of death — heart failure, no signs of violence.

On the wall — the same charcoal loop.

Alex closed his eyes for a moment.

In his mind’s eye, it flashed: darkness, the phone call, the words — «You couldn’t save me.»

Now — «You’re late again.»

So, someone knows. Or something.

He grabbed his phone, played the recording from the night call.

Noise. Words. Pause.

But at the end — an almost imperceptible sound he hadn’t noticed before.

A click. As if… his own voice inhaled.

He rewound.

Yes.

The voice. With a faint echo, like from an empty room.

His breathing, his rasp.

Alex straightened abruptly.

His heart thundered.

He grabbed the recorder, turned on the microphone, and whispered:

— Who are you?

Silence.

And suddenly — a quiet crack.

The alarm clock on the table trembled.

The hands, frozen at 3:17, twitched and… began to move.

The second hand made one circle, then another, speeding up until it became a blurred line.

Alex recoiled.

The clock stopped.

Now the hands showed 3:18.

The first minute in three years.

He stayed seated, motionless.

His own reflection stared back at him from the window — tired, grey-haired, with darkened eyes.

But the reflection… blinked.

Before he did.

Chapter 3. The Mirror Suicide

The phone rang at dawn.

The number — a work line, though he hadn’t been listed in the department for years.

— Reed, we need you, the voice of Captain Hale sounded weary. — Suicide. Girl. But… you have to see this.

Alex pulled on his coat, grabbed his keys, and stepped outside.

The morning was gray and sticky, as if the city hadn’t yet awoken from a nightmare.

The air carried the scent of damp and iron — the same that had haunted him since the archive.

The apartment was on the sixth floor of a standard high-rise.

The door was ajar. Police tape stretched across the corridor, medics moving quietly, murmured conversations.

— Seventeen years old, Hale said. — Name — Lora Dane. Mother and younger brother found. Recording on a laptop. You need to watch it.

Alex nodded.

The girl’s room looked like a museum of teenage dreams — purple walls, band posters, a full-length mirror opposite the bed.

On the floor — a phone, a torn photograph, and a drop of dried blood.

But the most terrifying thing was the silence.

The kind that lingers after a scream.

On the desk sat a laptop.

Hale pressed play.

The screen came to life.

The girl sat in front of the mirror. Her face pale, eyes swollen from crying.

She whispered something indistinct — a prayer or an apology.

Then — she lifted her gaze.

Behind her — her reflection.

And in that moment, Alex felt goosebumps crawl across his arms.

The reflection moved.

Not immediately, not sharply — just… slightly out of sync.

When Lora raised her hand, the reflection lagged. When she turned her head — the reflection lingered a moment longer.

On the recording, her whisper was audible:

— Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you angry.

— Who? Alex muttered.

In the background came a soft tapping.

The girl turned — but the mirror was empty.

Then — a thud.

The recording cut off.

Silence.

Hale exhaled:

— We checked the file. No editing. And… look at the creation time.

Alex looked.

03:17.

He didn’t answer.

He simply stepped aside and approached the mirror in the room.

The surface was murky, smudged.

He saw his own reflection — tired, gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes.

And then… the reflection moved slightly.

Not him — it.

So faintly that the mind might dismiss it as fatigue. But Alex knew it wasn’t.

Not now. Not after the calls.

He blinked — and it blinked a fraction later.

A second, but enough to make something inside tremble.

— Hey, Reed, you okay? Hale asked.

Alex didn’t reply.

He stared at his reflection until it… smiled.

Alex took the laptop home.

The apartment greeted him again with the smell of old coffee and dampness, but now it felt alien — as if the house lived its own life, not his.

He set the laptop on the desk, replayed the recording.

He slowed the footage carefully. Frame by frame.

The girl sat in front of the mirror.

He watched every movement, noting the slightest tremor of her hands, the tiniest pause in her breathing.

And then he saw it.

Behind Lora… he stood.

Not the Alex looking at the screen now. Not the weary detective with wrinkles and gray temples.

This was his reflection at seventeen — the very age when he first faced the Loop Case in the church.

A young face, eyes full of fear and distrust, trembling hands.

Every movement Lora made delayed his reflection.

Every breath — it echoed a second later.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them — and it was gone.

On the screen — only the girl remained.

But the sense of presence didn’t leave.

Neither the chair he sat in, nor the lamp on the desk, nor the rain outside — none of it felt real.

He felt that someone from inside was watching him through the recording.

He rewound.

And again — there he was, but a second older, a tiny wrinkle near his eye.

A second delay — and he blinked in his apartment, but the reflection in the video blinked afterward.

Alex clenched his fists.

— What the… hell?

Then he noticed it on the wall behind Lora — a faint line of charcoal.

The same loop that had been on Elai’s body, on the archive wall, on the clock at his apartment.

All the coincidences formed a chain.

He slowed the footage even more.

And for a moment, it seemed that Lora’s reflection turned toward him and smiled.

As if it knew he was watching.

As if it understood that he was now part of a game no one could leave alive.

Alex leaned back.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He understood that the loop, the calls, the reflections — were all connected.

And that every death was no accident.

That someone — or something — was guiding him, nudging him, shaping time itself.

The phone on the desk rang.

He glanced at the screen.

3:17.

Alex didn’t pick up.

He knew the call would come again.

And that whoever — or whatever — was calling, was already inside.

He stood, approached the mirror.

For a moment, it seemed someone else was standing behind him.

Not a reflection. A real silhouette.

But when he blinked — there was no one.

And yet, deep in the gaze, in the very surface of the glass, he felt it: the loop was beginning to close.

Alex didn’t sleep.

The laptop on the desk, empty mugs, dusty folders, the old alarm clock whose hands had frozen again at 3:17.

He replayed the footage again and again, pausing frames, zooming in on Lora’s face, her reflection, the tiniest finger movements, trembling lips, strands of hair.

And then he noticed something new.

For a second — very brief — Lora’s reflection turned its head out of sync, as if responding to him.

Not to the girl’s movements, but to his gaze.

He snapped open the second camera — Lora’s smartphone.

The files in the directory were scrambled: ordinary videos, random, voice recordings.

But one video he didn’t remember:

titled «Do not open.»

His heart pounded.

He opened it.

The screen came alive.

A dark room, dim light. Lora sat before the mirror. And again — her reflection behind her.

But this time, behind her, it wasn’t just a reflection.

What stood there moved independently.

Every movement of the girl — the reflection repeated a fraction of a second later.

But sometimes — in reverse: the reflection did things the girl didn’t.

A slight hand movement, a tilt of the head, a nod.

And a voice — soft, whispering, familiar, yet older:

«You see… not the whole path.»

Alex froze.

The voice was his own.

Not the old, weary detective—

but the young one.

The one who had stood in that church three years ago.

He closed his eyes.

A shiver ran down his spine.

When he opened them again — Lora blinked on the screen,

and the reflection smiled instantly.

— What… — Alex whispered. — What do you want from me?

For a moment, the screen froze.

Then the frame shifted abruptly:

Lora was gone.

Only the mirror remained.

And in it — himself, sitting opposite,

but with Lora’s eyes.

Alex jerked back.

But the laptop kept running.

On the desk — the alarm clock.

The hands pointed again to 3:17.

He clenched his fists.

— The Loop… — he breathed. — It’s starting again.

The old ringing of a phone — but not a phone.

Somewhere nearby.

Not a call, but an echo from the recording.

The same voice:

«You’re late again.»

Alex stood in the darkness of the apartment.

His own reflection on the wall looked alive — almost breathing.

He saw how the shadow repeated every movement, but with a delay.

And he understood:

mirrors no longer merely reflect.

They watch.

They learn.

They wait.

Chapter 4. The First Coincidence

Alex sat in the half-dark apartment.

The laptop flickered on the desk, casting his tired face in pale light.

On the screen — Lora’s recording.

But now, something new had appeared: a fragment of code, uncovered by a cybersecurity expert.

“Sera.phim_01.»

At first, Alex thought it was a coincidence.

But how could a code fragment appear inside the original video file, not as an external layer?

And why did the name match the inscription on the abandoned church — Seraphim?

He called the expert, John Carter.

«Alex, you won’t believe this…» — John’s voice trembled, though he tried to sound composed.

«It’s not just code. I traced the network. There’s a darknet game. Same name. Sera.phim. And that’s only the beginning.»

Alex frowned.

«A game?»

«Not a normal one. A series of tasks. An online quest. Looks like some sort of challenge. Each task is tied to specific video files we’ve been tracking. There are already entries — Lora, the archive…» John fell silent.

«Alex, I’m scared.»

Alex felt something tighten inside him.

«Why?»

«Because the game doesn’t lead kids, Alex. It leads them to whoever controls the loop.»

He leaned back in his chair.

Everything collided in his mind — the calls at 3:17, Lora’s reflection, Elai Monroy, the archive…

And now this code, like an invisible thread pulling through reality.

He opened the darknet browser.

The site looked empty, almost minimalist.

But then the screen flickered, and a message appeared:

«Welcome, Alex Reed. Your game begins.»

Alex froze.

«Damn…» he whispered. «This can’t be just coincidence.»

The screen blinked again.

A list of «tasks» appeared.

The first one was titled «The First Angel.»

Below it — a video.

And in that video, he saw his own reflection.

Not in a mirror, but in the frame itself.

Not him now — but him from before: from the archive, the morgue.

And it was looking directly at him.

Alex’s fingers went numb.

Each «task» wasn’t a game.

Each one was an attempt — to pull consciousness through the loop, to drag the living into a cycle of death and reflection.

He shut the laptop, took a deep breath — and then heard it:

The ringing. 3:17.

Alex flinched.

This time, the sound wasn’t coming from his phone.

It was coming… from the network.

And he understood: the loop, the reflections, Lora, Elai — and now this game — were all connected.

And the start of this game was only the first step.

He reopened the browser.

A blank page blinked — then words appeared:

«Follow the reflection if you want to save yourself.»

He stared at the keyboard, then at the screen.

The feeling of being watched grew stronger with each keystroke.

Outside, the rain tapped against the window — but for a moment, the drops seemed to beat in rhythm with his heart.

He clicked the first task: «The First Angel.»

The video loaded slowly.

Once again — Lora’s reflection blinked in the mirror.

But now, behind her for a split second, stood Elai — the same Elai who had died three years ago.

He was staring straight into the camera.

Alex couldn’t look away.

«What the hell…» he muttered.

Then text appeared across the screen:

«You were late. But you can still make it right.»

The task seemed simple: find the «key» in the real world and upload it back into the network.

But the video showed a place — the police archive.

The same one where Alex had first heard Elai’s voice: «You couldn’t save me.»

He leaned back.

«They’re… they’re watching me through this video.»

The screen flickered again.

A new window opened — a list of other participants.

No one else appeared online.

Only him.

But under each username was a date and time, matching recent deaths in the city.

Alex realized: this wasn’t a game.

It was a digital trap, pulling events from reality.

Someone — or something — was harvesting consciousness through mirrors and video files.

And every death was part of the loop, replayed in the network.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

And then he heard a familiar sound — the crackle of the alarm clock.

On the desk, the hands pointed to 3:17.

«No…» he whispered. «It’s starting again.»

But on the screen, another message flashed:

«You are not alone. The game already awaits you in the mirror.»

Alex sprang to his feet.

He approached the mirror in the room, but the reflection seemed normal.

Only for a moment did he think someone stood behind him.

And for a split second — a silhouette flickered.

Now he knew for certain: the loop was spreading.

The digital world was no longer just a game — it was a continuation of everything that began with the morgue, the calls, and the reflections.

He sat back at the laptop.

Every mouse movement, every click, felt like stepping on thin ice.

He began to understand the rules: one wrong move, one misstep — and death.

Yet the loop offered a chance to correct mistakes.

Then, on the screen, a second task appeared:

«Second Angel. Find yourself in the mirror. Do not look directly.»

A chill ran down his spine.

He knew one thing: the loop was closing.

And now, the real game was beginning.

Alex could no longer sit still.

He grabbed his coat and laptop, stuffing the latter into his backpack.

The rain outside intensified, droplets striking the glass, reflecting like hundreds of tiny mirrors.

Each drop — a small window into another world.

He stepped onto the street.

The city greeted him with gray streets, wet asphalt, and empty streetlights.

Each step echoed in his chest, as if the city itself was watching him.

A notification popped up on his darknet client:

«First task: archive. Time — 3:17. Don’t be late.»

Alex gritted his teeth.

«3:17…» he exhaled. «Always 3:17.»

He made his way to the archive.

The old doors creaked, as if greeting him, knowing he would arrive.

Inside, the air smelled of paper, dust, and something rotten, indescribable.

The flashlight’s beam played with the shadows, creating the illusion of movement behind every shelf.

He placed the laptop on the table.

The screen flickered: video, Lora, Elai.

And again — the code fragment Sera.phim_01, like an invisible thread linking past and present.

Alex noticed a strange movement among the shelves.

A shadow, almost imperceptible, slid between the rows.

He stepped forward — and the shadow mirrored the movement, not in sync, but with a delay.

«Damn…» he exhaled. «This can’t be…»

But the screen flickered again, a new message appearing:

«You are on the right path. Look into the mirror, but do not look at yourself. Find the key.»

Alex turned his head.

On the wall opposite — a large, old mirror.

He stepped closer.

And he saw… Lora.

Not real, but in the reflection.

She sat in the same archive, with the same expression of fear on her face.

Behind her — Elai, and another figure, unfamiliar, yet with the same gaze as his own.

«The loop…» Alex whispered. «They live inside.»

The laptop screen flickered again.

New coordinates.

A hint: «Behind the wall, behind the shelves, where the light fades.»

Alex moved toward the row of shelves.

In a dark corner, he noticed a small metal box, dusted over as if forgotten for decades.

He lifted the lid — inside lay an old flash drive.

On it, written in charcoal: “Sera.phim_02.»

He took the drive in his hand.

A chill ran through his fingers, as though what rested inside wasn’t a piece of hardware, but something alive.

The laptop screen flickered again.

And then a voice appeared:

— Alex. You’re late again.

Alex recoiled.

On the table, the hands of the clock pointed to 3:17.

And at that moment he understood: the loop wasn’t just repeating — it was learning, adapting, watching his every move.

He closed his eyes.

And in the silence, he heard a faint whisper:

«The next step is mirrors. The next step is you.»

Chapter 5. Doctor Mason

Alex walked down the clinic’s corridor, where his psychologist, Dr. Katherine Mason, awaited him.

Her office was austere and cold — white walls, neatly arranged books, and soft lighting that barely eased the oppressive stillness.

— Alex Reed? — Mason asked without lifting her head from the file. — I’ve heard about your case.

He nodded.

— I heard you know about the calls.

— Not just me, — she said, finally looking up. — Several of my patients have received calls… from the future. They complained of nightmares, of feeling watched.

— Reflections in the mirror? — Alex felt a cold ripple down his spine.

— Yes. — She nodded. — All of them saw their own reflection moving out of sync. Sometimes it acted on its own. Sometimes… it spoke.

Alex sat across from her.

— What do you think it is?

Mason sighed.

— I’m a psychologist. But this… isn’t psychology.

— Then what is it?

— A phenomenon. A repeating one. The calls come at the same time, every time — 3:17.

— The calls… — Alex repeated, the chill returning. — Is that just coincidence?

Dr. Mason shook her head.

— No. Every patient felt the same pressure, the same fear, as if something were urging them to act. And it’s not just a psychological anomaly. It’s… something else.

She reached for her tablet.

On the screen — a list of patients and the timestamps of their calls.

All matched the recent anomalies: Lora, Elai, and several others who had disappeared.

— I tried to help them, — she said quietly. — But they all died. And each time… the call repeated.

Alex felt the chill pierce his chest.

— So it’s not just a game. Or random glitches. Someone — or something — is controlling them.

Mason nodded slowly.

— Not just them. It’s larger than that. The loop you’ve heard of… it doesn’t trap one person. It expands, feeds. The greater the fear, the stronger its influence.

Alex clenched his fists.

— Then Lora, Elai… and the calls — they’re all connected?

— Yes. And you as well. — Mason met his gaze. — Because you’ve started noticing the things others can’t. You’ve become part of the loop.

Alex fell silent.

Inside, a wave of dread mingled with determination.

For the first time, he realized he couldn’t just wait for the events to unfold.

— What should I do? — he asked.

Dr. Mason drew a slow breath.

— Go deeper. Into the mirrors. Into the digital net. Into the recordings. Find the patterns. But remember — the loop sees everyone who seeks the truth.

Alex stood up.

He knew now — he wasn’t just investigating murders anymore.

He had become part of something far more dangerous.

Something that lived outside of time, feeding on consciousness and reflections, waiting for the next move.

The clock flickered again — 3:17.

A ring echoed through his head.

And within that sound — a promise.

The loop was beginning to close again.

After speaking with Dr. Mason, Alex found himself alone in the clinic hallway.

The dim light from the lamps shimmered on the mirrored wall, and for a second he thought someone was walking behind him.

But when he turned — there was no one.

He remembered Mason’s words: «The loop sees everyone who seeks the truth.»

And suddenly it made sense — the calls, the reflections, the digital game… all parts of one system.

A system that watched. A system that adapted.

Alex opened Mason’s tablet again.

The list of patients was long.

Names, dates, times of calls — all repeating, a pattern woven into the fabric of time.

Then he noticed something strange: several patients had received their calls at the exact moment of disaster — one falling down the stairs, another cutting a hand, another fainting in terror.

The loop was pushing them — toward mistakes, toward danger, toward death.

Alex was taking when a detail caught his attention.

Everyone who had seen their «mirror doubles» shared one thing in common — weak ties to digital devices: cameras, phones, video feeds.

As if the loop was using technology as a channel to amplify its power.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Mason entered again, holding an old photo album.

— I wanted to show you this, — she said. — These are the patients before the calls. Look closely.

Alex flipped through the pages.

Each person looked… normal. Yet something in their eyes was off.

As if someone else was living inside them.

And in some photos, faint shadows in the background mirrored the person’s pose — like silent echoes.

— See? — said Mason. — It’s not random. The loop leaves a mark. On photos. On memory.

A cold shiver crawled down Alex’s spine.

— So the loop isn’t just calls and reflections. It leaves traces in the physical world?

— Yes, — Mason nodded. — And the longer someone is exposed, the stronger the link becomes. Eventually, the mind starts to divide — the real person and the «double» become two entities.

Alex turned toward the window.

Through the rain and the city’s reflection, he saw his own image — but it wasn’t moving in sync.

A slight tilt of the head. One he hadn’t made.

— It’s starting with all of us, — he whispered.

— And with you, Alex, — Mason said softly. — The sooner you understand the rules, the better your chance to survive.

Pressure throbbed at his temples — as if his brain itself was replaying the sound of the call, and his body was echoing its rhythm.

He knew one thing: stopping was impossible.

The loop was expanding — collecting consciousness, distorting reality, pushing minds to the edge.

— Fine, — he exhaled. — I’ll analyze every call, every reflection, every trace. The loop won’t take another life.

The phone on the desk rang suddenly.

3:17.

And again, the whisper came:

«You’re too late, Alex. But it’s not over yet.»

He lifted his gaze.

Mason stood nearby, silently watching as he took his first step into the labyrinth of the loop — a place where calls, mirrors, and digital nightmares merged into one deadly circle.

After his meeting with Mason, Alex returned to his apartment-office.

The laptop glowed faintly, its light reflecting in the windowpane.

On the screen — the fragment of code Sera.phim_01.

And in his mind — Mason’s warning: «The longer you’re exposed, the stronger the bond with your double.»

He closed his eyes, and the faces of Mason’s patients appeared behind them.

Each repeating the same movements — the tilt of the head, the blink, the empty stare.

And every time, beside them in the mirror, another self flickered — a reflection living its own life.

Alex sat down at the desk.

He began mapping everything: the calls, the reflections, the video recordings, the digital traces.

Each event — a point on a line connecting the real world to the loop.

And every point brought him closer to one realization: the loop didn’t just watch — it controlled.

Suddenly, the screen flickered.

A chat window appeared with a message:

«You see too much. Time to check yourself.»

Alex jumped to his feet.

— Who are you? — he exhaled.

On the screen, images of Lora and Elai flickered again.

But now, new faces appeared — Mason’s patients — all staring straight at him, like living mirrors.

He understood: the loop used the consciousness of these people as channels of power, and the digital code as its instrument.

Every video, every recording, every call — part of a massive mechanism capable of drawing out the mind of anyone who touched the loop.

A chill ran down his spine.

— So every call… every recording is a test. Fail it, and your consciousness will be consumed.

In that moment, the phone on the desk rang again.

3:17.

He picked it up.

— You see the reflections… — whispered a voice. — But can you see yourself?

Alex realized this was no mere warning.

It was an invitation.

An invitation to enter the loop and confront it.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

— Alright, — he said aloud. — I’ll enter.

— But remember, — the whisper added, as if right behind him, — sometimes the reflection is stronger than the original.

Alex clenched his fists.

He understood: only active measures, courage, and careful analysis could help him survive.

The loop waited for no one. It observed, adapted, and grew with every step.

He looked back at the screen.

The code fragment Sera.phim_01 blinked, reminding him that the next phase had already begun.

Alex knew that to break the loop, he had to enter it himself — but cautiously, or he would disappear forever.

A sense of doom and determination rose within him simultaneously.

He gathered all his, maps, and the flash drive containing Sera.phim_01.

— Time to go deeper, — he told himself. — Time to understand that the loop isn’t just calls and mirrors… it’s a game of consciousness.

As soon as he took that step, the laptop screen flickered again, displaying a new message:

«Next task: you. In the mirror. Now.»

Alex froze.

The clock again — 3:17.

And he knew one thing: the loop was waiting for him to step into the unknown.

He stood before the mirror in the clinic.

The lamp’s light reflected off the glass, and for a moment it seemed the reflection moved before him.

His fingers trembled, his heart raced.

He remembered Mason’s words: «Sometimes the reflection is stronger than the original.»

Slowly, he raised his hand.

The reflection copied the movement with a slight delay, then tilted its head in the opposite direction.

Alex stepped back.

— This… is impossible… — he muttered.

Dr. Mason watched silently.

— Don’t look directly at it, — she said softly. — Look indirectly. Observe the details. The loop fears observation.

Alex took a deep breath and stepped back.

He could see the reflection imitated not only movements but emotions, as if it lived a separate life.

And that realization filled him with terror: the loop could mimic consciousness, create doubles of people already dead, and use them to amplify its power.

He turned back to the laptop.

The code Sera.phim_01 blinked again, and beside it appeared a new file: «Instructions.»

He opened it, revealing a sequence of numbers, coordinates, small images — mirrors, streets, phones.

It seemed to be a map of the loop — a map linking the digital world to the real one.

— «Alright…» he whispered. «Now I understand. It’s not just a game. It’s a system — one that connects minds and reflections through the digital web.»

Mason stepped closer.

— «Every move must be precise. One mistake — and your consciousness could be lost, or worse, become part of the Loop forever.»

Alex nodded, a chill of fear tightening his chest, followed by a surge of determination.

He decided to act immediately: check the coordinates, open the flash drive, and cross-match the data with the recordings.

Just then, the phone rang again.

3:17.

On the screen — another message:

«You see too much. The next step is reality. The next step… is you.»

Alex took the flash drive and set it beside the laptop.

He knew hesitation would only make things worse. The Loop was waiting, watching, adjusting its traps.

He took a deep breath, recalling the faces of Mason’s patients, Laura, Eli.

And he realized — if he wanted to save them, he would have to enter the Loop himself.

He lifted his gaze toward the mirror.

The reflection smiled faintly again.

But this time, it didn’t fully match his expression.

— «So it’s learning,» he breathed. «Learning to see me.»

He turned to Mason.

— «Give me the tools. I’m starting the analysis. I need to understand the system.»

— «Alright,» she said quietly. «But remember — the Loop sees everything you do. Even what you don’t.»

Alex sat at the desk and began dissecting the flash drive.

Each file, each frame, each line of code felt alive.

And the deeper he dove, the clearer it became — the Loop wasn’t just repeating. It was evolving, consuming more and more minds.

Then came the whisper again — from the mirror:

«The next step… is through the digital mirror. Are you ready?»

Alex drew a long breath and understood — there was no turning back.

He had already entered the Loop.

He was now part of the system — one that wove together calls, reflections, the digital realm, and death itself into a single, endless circuit.

The clock read 3:17.

And the Loop was waiting — for him to take his next step.

Chapter 6. The Second Call

3:17.

The phone rang so sharply that Alex jumped.

He gripped the receiver, and suddenly a voice froze the blood in his veins:

— You couldn’t save me.

But it wasn’t a stranger’s voice.

It was his own voice, distorted, as if heard from afar, from the future, or from someone else’s mind.

Alex recoiled.

— No… this is impossible… — he whispered.

The room seemed to shrink, the lamp’s light flickering.

Strange shadows appeared on the walls, moving independently of the objects around them.

And in the mirror across from him, a figure flickered — his doppelgänger, not mirroring his movements, but making its own.

— Who are you? — he shouted, unable to hold back.

The reflection raised its hand, pointing at the laptop.

The code Sera.phim_01 blinked on the screen, and next to it appeared a new message:

«Second mission: understand yourself. Or die in the loop.»

Alex felt panic clawing at his mind.

He remembered Mason’s words: «The loop sees everyone who seeks the truth. Every step matters.»

He sat at the table, taking the laptop and the flash drive.

Inside the drive, he noticed new files — videos, photos, texts — all linked to his past investigation and the calls.

Each video showed a moment where he could have acted, but didn’t.

He opened one of the videos.

On the screen — the police archives, old folders, and… himself, but with a look of terror he had never experienced.

The voice behind the footage repeated his own words, slightly distorted, like an echo:

— You couldn’t save me.

Alex slammed the video shut.

— This… — he exhaled. — This is me… but not me…

The call repeated.

3:17.

The voice sounded again from the receiver, but now it didn’t just repeat words — it predicted Alex’s movements, forcing him to pace the room as if the loop already controlled his body.

Alex realized one thing:

If he didn’t figure out this loop, his own consciousness would become part of it.

He looked into the mirror.

The doppelgänger was closer now, almost beside him, reflecting not his movements but his fear and hesitation.

For a fleeting moment, Alex understood that the reflection knew more about him than he did himself.

The laptop screen blinked with a message:

«Next mission: enter the digital network. Only then can you save yourself.»

Alex took a deep breath, clenching his fists.

He knew the loop was watching, adapting, waiting.

And now there was only one path: to step into the system where mirrors, calls, and digital reality intersected.

He pressed the Enter key.

The screen flickered.

And suddenly, the room filled with whispers — his own voice, the voices of Lora, Elai, Mason’s patients — all merging into one chaotic chorus:

— You couldn’t save us…

Alex understood: the loop was not merely repeating — it was growing.

And if he didn’t act immediately, the next call would reach his body, not his consciousness.

He took the first step toward the laptop.

And the world around him seemed to melt away, dissolving into a digital web, leading straight into the Sera.phim Network.

Alex sat down at the laptop, his heart pounding so violently it felt as if it would burst from his chest.

The screen flickered, and the code Sera.phim_01 began to shimmer with green symbols, as if it were a living organism.

— Well… — he whispered. — Time to go in.

He inserted the flash drive, and the screen melted away.

The program window expanded until it filled his entire field of vision.

And suddenly, the room around him vanished.

He felt his body losing weight, as if the air had become thick and viscous, and his thoughts were flowing across the walls.

Before his eyes, a city street appeared.

But it was not reality. The asphalt shimmered with strange patterns, the street lamps glowed with an unnatural green light, and the windows of the buildings reflected not people, but their doppelgängers.

Alex realized: this was the digital world, but infused with the loop’s metaphysical energy.

Every object, every shadow, every sound was part of the Sera.phim game, yet simultaneously a reflection of the real world.

On the street, he noticed the first object: a large screen, flickering with video recordings.

Each video showed people who were already dead or missing.

And every time Alex approached, the reflection on the screen copied his movements with a slight delay, as if watching him in real-time.

— Damn… — he muttered. — Are they alive here… or is it just a reflection…

Suddenly, the screen flashed, and a message appeared:

«First task: the mirror test. Complete it, or remain here forever.»

Alex looked around.

In the distance, mirrors were scattered across the streets of the digital city.

Each reflection moved not in sync with itself, but as if it had its own life.

He approached the nearest mirror.

The reflection smiled, but it did not echo his emotions — it looked cold and observant, like someone who knew everything about him.

— I need to understand the rules… — Alex whispered. — One mistake, and I’ll be lost here.

He raised his hand.

The reflection repeated the motion, then tilted and stepped to the side — a movement Alex had not made.

At that moment, the laptop screen flickered beside him:

«Look beyond the mirror. There lies the key.»

Alex understood: to pass the test, he needed not just to look at the reflection, but to see the world behind it — both digital and real at once.

He stepped toward the flickering lamplight and found himself in a narrow alley.

On the wall was a mark — a fragment of code, Sera.phim_02, pointing the way to the next step.

And then the voice came again:

— You couldn’t save me…

But now the voice was no longer only his own; it merged with the whispers of many minds: Lora, Elai, Mason’s patients.

Each consciousness tried to guide him, but together they created chaos.

Alex took a deep breath.

He realized the crucial truth: the loop lives not only in calls and mirrors. It feeds on fear and attention, and the Sera.phim game is not just an online quest — it is a portal into consciousness, where every step could become a trap.

He clenched his fists and moved forward.

With every step, the digital reality and the mirrors intertwined more tightly, and the loop watched every movement.

He knew that one mistake could cost not only his life but the lives of those he was meant to save.

At that moment, a message flickered on the horizon:

«Next task: enter the room of reflections. Only there will you find the key to the loop.»

Alex understood: this was the first real challenge — physical contact with digital reflections, and the beginning of their direct interaction with reality.

He entered the narrow alley of the digital city, as indicated on the screen.

At the end stood a door with no handle, only a large mirror in place of the wall.

The screen flashed a message:

«Entrance to the Room of Reflections. Complete the trial.»

He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

At that same moment, the mirror behind him glowed with a soft green light.

The room seemed infinite: reflections multiplied, intertwined, creating a labyrinth.

And each reflection moved with a will of its own.

— Excellent… — Alex muttered. — This is where the real challenge begins…

He stepped inside.

Faces flickered in the mirrors around him: Lora, Elai, Mason’s patients. But all of them looked distorted, their eyes empty, as if staring straight into his consciousness.

And then, one reflection detached itself from the wall.

It was him — an exact copy, but with an icy smile and eyes filled with malice.

Alex froze. His heart pounded.

— Who are you? — he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

The reflection raised its hand and pointed at him.

— I am you. But I am the one who stayed in the loop. I live here, in the reflections. And if you make a mistake… I will come out in your place.

Alex stepped back.

— What do you want? — he asked.

— Your fear. Your consciousness. And your life. — The voice echoed from every mirror. — The game has begun, Alex. And you are its player.

For a moment, the room darkened, and he heard a whisper of countless voices, merging into a single chorus:

— You could not save us…

Alex spun sharply toward the nearest mirror.

He remembered Mason’s words: «Look beyond the reflection.»

He closed his eyes and focused on sensations, on the space between the mirrors, on the tiniest details of light and shadow.

When he opened his eyes, the reflection with the icy smile froze.

— What… did you do? — it asked, a note of malice in its voice.

— I… see you… — Alex said. — But I am no longer afraid.

At that moment, the mirror cracked, and the room was flooded with bright light.

The reflection vanished, and in the spot where it had stood, a small fragment of code appeared: Sera.phim_03.

Alex picked up the flash drive and smiled through the fear:

— The first step is done. But the loop has only begun…

A mixture of relief and unease rose within him.

He knew that the digital and mirrored worlds were now directly connected, and that any mistake in the Sera.phim network could allow a reflection to enter reality.

The phone flickered again.

3:17.

And at that moment, he heard a whisper — his own voice, warning:

— The next step will be harder… and more painful.

Alex clenched his fists and stepped toward the next fragment of the loop map.

He knew one thing: the battle was only beginning.

Chapter 7. The Shadow on the Tape

Alex sat in the police archive, surrounded by rows of dusty folders and old video cameras.

He opened a recording from a crime scene he had investigated three years ago.

The old monitor flickered, the image froze, and the room filled with a faint, crackling static.

On the video was a scene he remembered down to the smallest detail: an empty corridor, scattered folders, a lone flashlight.

He had walked through there himself, alone, back then.

And suddenly…

In the reflection on the glass door leading to the next office, a figure stood.

But in reality, there was no one there.

— What… — Alex whispered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

The figure was almost transparent, but its facial features were distinct.

Alex tensed. He knew that silhouette… it was him, but not the Alex who was in the archive now.

As if a reflection from the future, or a doppelgänger from the loop, was watching him.

He rewound the footage, then fast-forwarded.

The figure remained in place, moving independently of Alex’s actions on the video.

And at one point, it raised its hand, exactly as he had done yesterday evening in front of the mirror.

— This is impossible… — he muttered. — How did he get there?

The screen flickered with a message:

«You see me… but soon, you will see me in reality.»

A chill ran down Alex’s spine.

He remembered the phone calls, the reflections in mirrors, the descent into the Sera.phim Network.

Now it became clear: the Loop had begun to infiltrate recordings, cameras, and digital objects — creating a bridge between the past, the present, and the possible future.

He stopped the video and looked around.

The room was empty. Only the lamp’s light reflected off the glass — and suddenly Alex noticed it.

The shadow on the wall behind him was moving in sync with the figure on the screen.

— This isn’t a recording… — he whispered. — It’s a signal… a warning… or a trap.

His heartbeat quickened.

He realized he could no longer trust a single camera, not a single frame — the Loop was using them as portals, as channels through which it could interfere with reality.

The flash drive blinked. A new file appeared: “Sera.phim_04 — Observer.»

Alex opened it carefully.

Footage flashed before his eyes — his apartment, his office, Dr. Mason’s lab.

And in every clip, there he was — himself — but with a foreign expression: cold, emotionless, treacherous.

— The Loop… it’s watching me… through everything… — he muttered.

Then he felt a faint chill on the back of his neck — as if someone were breathing right behind him.

Alex turned sharply.

The room was empty.

But on the glass in front of him, a shadow flickered — his reflection, staring at him with living awareness and intent.

He exhaled and clenched his fists.

— So the next step… — he said quietly. — The next step won’t be in code or in the network. It’ll be here — among us — in real life.

And this time, he understood completely: the Loop had already begun to invade the physical world.

Alex was alone in the archive.

The monitor flickered again, and on the screen appeared a figure — his double, standing right behind him.

But in the room itself, there was no one.

He stepped closer to the monitor, feeling his heart hammering, as if it wanted to break free from his chest.

— Is this some kind of joke? — he said aloud.

But the echo of his voice bounced off the glass, multiplying into layers — as if the room were filled with other voices, whispering back.

The figure on the screen raised its hand and stepped sideways.

Alex felt strange pressure — as though something inside the video was trying to pull him in.

He stumbled back, but the screen flickered again, and suddenly he saw a new frame — one that hadn’t been there before:

his own body, frozen in the double’s place, eyes empty, lifeless.

— Damn it… — he breathed. — It’s not just a reflection… it’s a warning.

He rewound the footage again, scanning for the exact moment the shadow appeared.

And then he noticed something strange: the figure manifested only when his attention was focused — on the folders, the lamp, the flashlight.

The Loop was using his concentration as a trigger.

Alex moved toward the glass door.

The reflection on it trembled slightly, though the room was perfectly still.

He raised his hand — the shadow repeated the gesture with a slight delay, its movement warped, independent.

— So it’s learning… — he exhaled.

He remembered Dr. Mason’s words: «Look beyond the reflection.»

And suddenly, it hit him — the Loop wasn’t just imitating him.

It was reshaping the world around him, creating new channels of influence.

The screen flickered once more:

«Next task: meet yourself. Or lose control.»

A shiver ran down Alex’s spine.

He understood what that meant — the Loop was preparing him for direct contact with his double, not through screens or calls, but here, in reality.

The phone rang again.

3:17.

He picked it up — and heard his own voice on the other end:

— You see me… but soon, you’ll see me in life.

Alex dropped the phone.

— So it’s not over yet… — he murmured. — The game is just beginning.

He turned back to the footage, changing tactics.

Now he marked every movement of the shadow, every flicker of light — searching for a pattern.

And then it dawned on him:

if he could decipher how the Loop created its manifestations,

he might be able to predict — and control — its next move.

And when he looked back at the glass door, the shadow froze this time, staring straight at him, as if warning:

— The next step is yours. And the Loop is waiting.

Alex clenched his fists.

He knew one thing: the Loop had already penetrated the real world, and now it didn’t just observe — it wanted to act through him.

Alex sat at the old monitor and reopened the footage.

He knew the Loop responded to attention and expectation.

If he could anticipate the double’s movements, he might gain a chance to control it.

He grabbed a notebook and began recording every step of the shadow: when it appeared, where it looked, which movements it repeated.

Every detail seemed vital.

His heart pounded like a drum, cold sweat trickling down his temples.

— Alright, let’s see… — he muttered. — Let’s play by your rules.

Alex positioned a camera facing the mirror in the archive.

On the recording screen, he left a fragment playing — where his double appeared and moved.

— Now you’ll see yourself… — he said aloud.

He turned off the lights in the room.

The mirror in front of him remained the only source of reflection.

The old lamp on the archive shelf flickered and went out.

The room became almost pitch black, with only the monitor casting its cold light on the glass.

After a few seconds, the shadow appeared in the mirror.

It repeated the movements from the recording, but Alex deliberately paused, changing his rhythm.

And then a miracle happened: the double froze, as if unsure what to do.

— Excellent… — Alex muttered. — Now you’re under my control.

He quickly shuffled a few frames of the recording, altering the shadow’s movement sequence like a chess player.

Every change instantly reflected on the double in the mirror, which now followed his intentions rather than its own instincts.

— It works… — he said, clenching his fists. — The Loop responds to attention control.

For a moment, the mirror became clear, without distortions.

But then the phone vibrated.

3:17.

The voice spoke again:

— You still don’t understand… I am watching.

Alex exhaled.

He realized this was the first success, but the Loop was already adapting to his actions.

Every trap, every movement would now become a new test, and a mistake could cost not only his consciousness but his life.

He stood, approached the mirror, and looked at his reflection.

The double was no longer chaotic — it had frozen, almost submitting.

But its eyes were cold, aware, as if it understood: this was only the beginning of the game.

Alex took a deep breath and whispered to himself:

— The Loop has begun, but now I play by my rules.

He sat back at the monitor, preparing a plan for the next steps: study all old recordings, analyze the calls, cross-reference them with the digital network, and prepare the next trap for the Loop.

He knew: only this way could he defeat the reflection and save everyone who had already become part of the Sera.phim Network.

The room fell into silence.

But Alex felt it: somewhere, in the mirrors, in the calls, in the code — the Loop was watching and waiting for the next move.

Alex sat at the monitor, his heart pounding so hard it felt as if the entire archive trembled with him.

He played the old footage again.

On the screen — the corridor, empty the first time he had walked through it.

But now the shadow stood closer to the camera, as if staring straight at him.

He froze.

— This… is not just a recording, — he breathed. — It’s a portal.

Alex stepped up to the mirror in the room.

And suddenly he noticed that the reflection didn’t just mimic his movements — it slightly anticipated them, as if it already knew his intentions.

— Damn… — he muttered. — It’s living its own life…

He decided to run a new experiment.

He grabbed a flashlight and directed the beam at the reflection.