A.L.T.E.R.N.A.T.E

The next morning arrived slowly, dragging with it an oppressive weight that seemed to press down on Lucias' chest. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the images from the day before. The unconscious bodies of Jackson and Troy in the bathroom, the cracks in the mirror, the bruises on his knuckles—it all replayed in his mind like a relentless nightmare. Yet the scariest part wasn't what he remembered; it was the gap in his memory, the void where those moments should have been.

The whisper from the night before echoed faintly in his mind. " Let me out."

A shiver ran down his spine as he swung his legs out of bed and stood up. His reflection in the mirror still unnerved him. The dark circles under his eyes made him look haunted, but there was something else—something in his gaze that didn't feel like him. He splashed water on his face, hoping to wash away the unease, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

" I'm gonna be late.." Lucias in a rush.

Shaking the thought away, he threw on his hoodie and grabbed his bag before heading out.

At college, the atmosphere was electric with gossip. Groups of students whispered animatedly in the hallways, their voices low but filled with excitement.

"Did you hear? Frank and Troy didn't come to school today. I heard they were beaten up so badly they had to go to the hospital."

"Yeah, but no one knows who did it. The teachers are freaking out. They think it might've been a gang fight."

"I doubt it. Whoever did that… they're terrifying. Did you see the bathroom? It was trashed."

Lucias kept his head down, his hood pulled over his head as he walked to class. The weight of their words pressed down on him, suffocating. He could feel their eyes on him, even if no one said anything directly to him. It was like they knew, or at least suspected, that he was involved.

As he entered the classroom, Mia was already seated at her desk. The moment she spotted him, her expression shifted from casual to deeply concerned. She got up and standing in front of him before he could even sit down.

"Lucias," she said, her tone soft but firm. "What happened yesterday? I looked for you after class, but you just storm out of class."

Lucias avoided her gaze, sliding into his seat. "I wasn't feeling well. I needed to clear my head."

Mia frowned, crossing her arms. "Don't give me that. You looked like you were about to pass out. And now you're acting all distant and weird. What's going on?"

"I said I'm fine," he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Her eyes widened in surprise, hurt flashing across her face.

"I'm sorry," he muttered quickly, looking down at his desk. "I didn't mean to snap. I just… I've got a lot on my mind."

Mia hesitated before sitting down in the chair next to him. "Lucias, you can talk to me. Whatever it is, you don't have to deal with it alone."

Her sincerity hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to tell her everything, but how could he? How could he explain something so impossible, so terrifying? Instead, he just nodded weakly, hoping she'd let it go.

The day dragged on painfully. Every class felt like an eternity, and Lucias couldn't focus on anything the teachers said. All he could think about was the scene in the bathroom, the voice in his head, and the fear that it would happen again.

By lunch, he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his tray and sat at the farthest table in the cafeteria, away from everyone else. He poked at his food absentmindedly, his appetite nonexistent.

But even in his isolation, he couldn't escape the whispers.

"Whoever did it must've been really strong. I mean, Frank and Troy aren't exactly weak."

"Yeah, but why? What did they do to deserve it?"

"They're bullies. Maybe they finally picked on the wrong person."

Lucias clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to scream, to tell them to stop talking, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference. Instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath and push the anger down.

After school, Lucias found himself wandering aimlessly, his feet carrying him to the library without any conscious thought. He sat at a table in the back, surrounded by stacks of books about psychology, dissociation, and trauma. None of them gave him the answers he was looking for. Most of the text felt clinical, detached, as though it was describing someone else entirely.

"Lucias."

He looked up, startled to see Mia standing there. She had her arms crossed, her expression a mixture of frustration and concern.

"Mia… what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice tired.

"I knew I'd find you here," she said, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. "You've been avoiding me all day, but I'm not letting you shut me out."

Lucias sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Mia, I—"

"Don't. Don't try to brush me off. Something's wrong, and I know it. You've been acting weird for weeks, and yesterday was the breaking point. So, talk to me."

Her persistence was both frustrating and comforting. He stared at her for a long moment, debating whether to tell her the truth. Finally, he exhaled and looked away.

"I think something's wrong with me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mia leaned forward, her brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Lucias hesitated, his hands gripping the edges of the table. "I… I blacked out yesterday. And when I woke up, Frank and Troy were unconscious in the bathroom. I don't remember what happened, but… I think I hurt them."

Mia's eyes widened, but she didn't interrupt.

"There's this… voice," he continued, his throat tightening. "It's like there's someone else in my head. Someone who isn't me. And sometimes… it feels like they're taking over."

For a moment, Mia didn't say anything. Her expression was unreadable, and Lucias braced himself for her to call him crazy or walk away. Instead, she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder .

"Lucias," she said softly, "we'll figure this out. Whatever this is,It must have some kind of explanation."

The lump in his throat grew larger, and he had to blink back tears. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve her kindness, but at that moment, it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.

But deep down, he couldn't shake the fear that the voice—the other version of himself—was far more dangerous than either of them could imagine.

The evening sun hung low in the sky, painting the streets with an orange hue as Lucias walked home from the library. His mind was a tangled mess of emotions: fear, confusion, and the faintest flicker of hope from his conversation with Mia. Her words had comforted him, but they couldn't drown out the growing storm inside him.

The streets were quieter than usual, the occasional car passing by and distant chatter breaking the silence. Lucias kept his head down, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. The weight of the day pressed heavily on him, making every step feel like a struggle.

He turned into an alleyway, a shortcut he often used to get home faster. The dim lighting and narrow path always gave him an uneasy feeling, but he was too tired to care tonight. Halfway through, he noticed two figures leaning casually against the wall ahead. They looked up as he approached, their faces shadowed but their intentions unmistakable.

"Hey, kid," one of them said, stepping into his path. He was tall and wiry, his grin revealing a missing tooth. The other was shorter but stockier, with a scar running down the side of his face. "Got any cash on you?"

Lucias stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding. "I don't have anything," he said quickly, his voice shaking slightly.

"Don't lie to us," the shorter one growled, stepping closer. "Empty your pockets, or we'll do it for you."

"I told you, I don't have anything," Lucias repeated, backing up a step. The cold grip of fear tightened around his chest, but something else stirred deep within him—a faint, menacing presence that seemed to awaken at the threat.

The taller man laughed, pulling out a pocket knife and flipping it open. "Maybe we should teach you a lesson about lying, huh?"

Before Lucias could react, the shorter man grabbed him by the hoodie and shoved him hard against the wall. Pain shot through his back as he hit the bricks, and he gritted his teeth, trying to push the man off. But they were too strong, and the fear was paralyzing.

"You picked the wrong shortcut, kid," the taller man sneered, pressing the flat of the knife against Lucias' cheek. "Now be a good boy and—"

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over Lucias. His vision blurred, and his body felt like it wasn't his own anymore. The fear that had gripped him moments ago faded, replaced by a chilling calmness. He stopped struggling, his breathing evening out.

The grip on his hoodie loosened slightly as the two men noticed the sudden change in his demeanor. Lucias' head tilted up, and when he opened his eyes, they were darker—almost predatory.

"Oh, why you stop…continue what you trying to do earlier," a deeper, colder voice said, escaping Lucias' lips. It wasn't his voice. It was his.

"What the—" the taller man began, but before he could finish, Lucias moved.

It was fast—too fast for them to react. He grabbed the arm holding the knife and twisted it sharply. The man screamed as the blade clattered to the ground, his wrist bending at an unnatural angle. In the same fluid motion, Lucias delivered a brutal kick to his chest, sending him flying backward into the wall.

The shorter man released Lucias in shock, stumbling back. "What the hell—"

Lucias turned to him, a twisted smirk on his face. "Don't you run now."

Before the man could run, Lucias closed the distance between them. He ducked under a wild punch and retaliated with a devastating uppercut that sent the man crashing to the ground. The man tried to crawl away, but Lucias grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground effortlessly.

"Pathetic," Lucias—or rather, the other identity—said, his voice dripping with disdain. He slammed the man against the wall, knocking the air out of him. The man's eyes widened in terror as he stared into Lucias' unrelenting gaze.

"Please… don't," the man begged, his voice trembling. "We're sorry… we didn't mean it…"

Lucias tilted his head, as if considering the plea. "Oh, I think you meant it," he said coldly. "But don't worry. I'm going to make sure you never try it again."

He raised his fist, ready to deliver another blow, but suddenly, Lucias hesitated. A flicker of something—hesitation, guilt, or maybe his true self—fought its way to the surface. His hand trembled, and his smirk faltered.

" You trying to spoil the fun don't you?" saying Lucias other identity while laughing.

The other identity growled in frustration but slowly lowered the man to the ground. "Fine," he muttered, his tone laced with annoyance. "But don't expect me to be so merciful next time." As he blacked out.

With that, the presence faded, and Lucias' knees buckled. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air as the weight of what just happened hit him like a truck. The two men scrambled to their feet and ran, limping and groaning as they disappeared into the shadows.

Lucias sat there for a long moment, his body shaking. He looked down at his hands, still bruised from the day before, and felt a wave of nausea. What was happening to him? Who—or what—was this thing inside him?

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see a concerned stranger, likely drawn by the commotion.

"Hey, kid, are you okay? I heard yelling," the man said, kneeling beside him.

Lucias nodded weakly, forcing himself to stand. "I'm fine," he mumbled, brushing himself off. "I just… need to get home."

Without waiting for a response, he stumbled out of the alley and into the street, the orange glow of the setting sun doing little to warm the icy fear in his chest. The other identity had taken over again, and this time, Lucias wasn't sure he'd be able to keep it contained.

In the surveillance room, the two figures sat in tense silence, their eyes fixed on one of the larger monitors. The grainy CCTV footage showed the dark alley where Lucias had encountered the two robbers the night before. The video was already chilling in its rawness, but it was what happened next that had them both transfixed.

"Here it is," the man muttered, rewinding the footage to the critical moment. The playback resumed, showing the first robber pulling a knife and advancing toward Lucias.

At first, Lucias appeared cornered, his body language unsure and defensive. "He looks scared," the woman said, narrowing her eyes. "He doesn't know what to do. This is typical for him—the host."

But then, as they watched, something shifted. Lucias' entire posture changed. His slumped shoulders straightened, and his trembling hands stilled. The fear in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, almost predatory focus.

"Right there," the man said, pausing the video. He pointed to Lucias' face on the screen. "That's the moment. The switch."

The woman leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the expression on Lucias' face. It was as though an entirely different person had taken over. His lips curled into a smirk, and his body language exuded confidence—no, dominance.

"He's not the same guy anymore," she murmured, her voice tinged with both awe and concern.

The video resumed. The first robber lunged at him with the knife, but Lucias—no, His Alternate—sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground. In one fluid motion, he shoved the robber against the brick wall with such force that the man crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain.

The second robber hesitated, clearly unnerved, but he didn't back down. He charged, swinging wildly. The Alter didn't flinch. He dodged each blow with precision, as if he could predict the robber's every move. Then, with a single, calculated strike to the man's solar plexus, Alternate sent him sprawling to the ground, gasping for air.

"What the hell…" the man in the surveillance room muttered under his breath, his eyes wide.

"Look at his movements," the woman said, her tone clinical but laced with unease. "They're too precise. Too practiced. This kid doesn't have any combat training, does he?"

"None," the man confirmed. "He's a college student. No history of martial arts, no self-defense classes. Nothing that would explain this."

On the screen, Lucius Alter knelt down beside the second robber, his expression calm but terrifying. He grabbed the man by the collar and leaned in close, speaking words that weren't picked up by the CCTV's audio feed. Whatever he said made the robber's face pale with terror.

Then the Alter stood, dusted himself off, and walked away, leaving both robbers writhing on the ground.

The video ended, and the room was silent for a moment.

"That wasn't just self-defense," the man finally said, breaking the quiet. "That was… calculated. Efficient. He could've just run when he disarmed the first guy, but he didn't. He chose to dominated."

The woman frowned, her analytical mind racing. "This isn't just a coping mechanism anymore. The alter isn't just protecting him—it's taking control. And it's enjoying it."

The man turned to her, his face pale. "If this keeps escalating, what's to stop it from turning on someone innocent? A classmate? A bystander?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she replayed the final moments of the footage, focusing on Alternate's face. "We need to get closer," she said finally. "Gain his trust. If we can observe him up close, we might be able to find a way to suppress the alter before it becomes too powerful."

"And if we can't?" the man asked, his voice heavy with concern.

The woman's expression hardened. "Then we'll have to neutralize him before he becomes a threat to everyone around him."

Meanwhile, Lucias sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His knuckles were still sore and slightly bruised from the fight, but he had no memory of throwing a single punch. All he remembered was the fear, the knife, and then… darkness. When he came to, the robbers were unconscious, and he was walking home as if nothing had happened.

"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice trembling as he gripped the edges of the sink. His reflection stared back at him, but something about it felt… off. The eyes in the mirror didn't look like his. They were sharper, colder and glowing blue —like they belonged to someone else entirely.

You already know who I am, a voice echoed in his mind, low and taunting. I'm the part of you that you've been trying to hide. The part that doesn't run, that doesn't break. The part that dominated.

Lucias shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "No… no, this isn't me. I didn't ask for this."

You didn't have to ask, the voice replied, its tone almost amused. I'm here because you need me. And whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere.

Lucias stumbled back from the mirror, his heart pounding. He didn't know what was happening to him, but one thing was clear: he wasn't in control anymore.

On the open page, his shaky handwriting filled the lines: I don't know who I am anymore. Every time it happens, I feel like I'm slipping further away. Like someone else is taking my place. Someone stronger… but darker. What if I can't come back? What if one day, I wake up, and I'm not me anymore?

His pen hovered over the page as he hesitated, his chest tight with fear. Then, almost involuntarily, his hand moved, scrawling words that weren't his own:

You can't run forever, Lucias. I'm not going anywhere.

Lucias dropped the pen, his heart pounding. He stared at the words, his breath catching in his throat. The handwriting was different—sharper, more deliberate. It wasn't his.

And somewhere, in a hidden room filled with monitors and secrets, two strangers continued to watch, their plans for Lucias unfolding as the night deepened.