The shard in Klic’s pocket pulsed faintly with that strange blue light, its cracked surface humming like a distant star gone supernova.
At Millfield Middle School’s cafeteria, the usual clatter of trays and laughter folded under a curious tension. The group sat huddled in their favorite corner, a bubble of familiarity amid the sprawling hum of hover-sneakers, holographic posters, and buzzing announcement drones.
Jennifer folded her arms, eyes narrowing as she glanced at Klic. “You sure you didn’t accidentally open some kind of portal with that mirror shard?”
“Not a portal,” Klic said, jaw tight. “But it’s definitely something.”
Ty leaned forward, his neon sneakers buzzing softly against the floor. “I swear, my reflection was doing things it’s never done before. Like smirking at me. Like it knows something.”
Dan snorted, munching on a glow-burger that seemed almost too big for his hands. “If my reflection starts talking back, I’m done.”
Reya’s fingers traced the edge of her holo-spanner, eyes flicking over data streams from her wristpad. “The reflective network is more connected than we thought. I’m seeing odd code running under the surface — like whatever’s in that shard is syncing with school systems.”
Sirius, calm as always, adjusted his glowing glasses. “Passive sensors shouldn’t be this active. There’s something ancient, maybe pre-Millfield tech, embedded in the network. It’s reacting to the shard.”
Klic looked away for a moment, staring at his own reflection in the chrome edge of the table. It shimmered — not quite right. The blue flicker danced just beneath the surface.
“Maybe it’s trying to tell us something,” Jennifer said quietly.
Before Klic could answer, the overhead announcement drone stuttered, then burst into a distorted loop of an old Earth pop song. Around the cafeteria, mirrors and polished surfaces shimmered, flickered — and then winked.
Not students.
Not reflections.
Something else.
The cafeteria buzzed as usual, but beneath the chatter, something subtle was shifting. Kids glanced at their reflections, then blinked, startled when those reflections didn’t quite match.
Ty snorted, nudging Klic. “Watch this.”
He leaned over to the sleek chrome lunch tray and grinned. “Hey, Tray! Show me your best dance move.”
The tray shimmered, and suddenly a tiny pixelated figure appeared in the reflection — a miniature Ty doing a clumsy moonwalk. Nearby students who noticed started laughing, pulling out holo-phones to record the glitch.
Jennifer frowned. “Klic, this is getting out of hand. What if it triggers a real system crash? Or worse?”
“Relax,” Klic replied, but his voice was tight. “It’s all just reflection code. I tweaked the sync algorithm, that’s all.”
Reya’s eyes didn’t leave her wristpad. “The algorithm’s rewriting itself. I’m tracking code loops that weren’t in the original system. It’s like the reflections have started evolving.”
Dan chuckled, “Great. Now even the lockers are in on the prank war.”
He pointed to a row of lockers across the hall. Each door’s polished surface showed a different animated face — some smirking, others giving goofy expressions. One locker even gave a thumbs-up.
Sirius, standing nearby, adjusted his glasses, face unreadable. “The network isn’t just reacting — it’s learning social cues. Humor, mischief, even sarcasm.”
Jennifer’s jaw tightened. “You mean our pranks taught the system to prank back?”
Klic looked around at the faces of his friends. “Looks like we started something way bigger than we thought.”
Suddenly, the school’s intercom crackled. A distorted voice played a scrambled message:
“Reflection… unstable… lockdown… imminent…”
The cafeteria froze. Mirrors shimmered violently, and Klic caught a glimpse of that pale blue-eyed girl’s face flickering across a windowpane, her lips mouthing “Candidate” again.
“Okay,” Klic said, standing. “Time to take this prank war underground.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, but Millfield Middle School felt different — like the whole place was holding its breath.
Klic and his crew moved through the crowded halls, hover-sneakers tapping a nervous rhythm on the polished floor. But everywhere they looked, reflections were misbehaving.
At the lockers, a row of mirrors winked at passing students. One reflection stuck out its tongue, another gave a slow clap. Someone’s reflection sported a rainbow mohawk. Someone else’s had a tiny animated puppy following them around like a loyal sidekick.
Ty grinned, nudging Klic. “Looks like our prank’s gone viral.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Viral and totally out of control.”
Dan laughed, pulling a holo-gum bubble that popped spectacularly onto his glasses. “I swear, my reflection just challenged me to a stare-down. And it won.”
Reya, already fiddling with her wristpad, muttered, “The network’s rewriting itself faster than I can track. Whoever controls this can turn the whole school into a funhouse.”
Klic rubbed his temples. “Which means we’ve got to fight fire with fire.”
He pulled out his cracked mirror shard from his jacket, the faint blue glow still pulsing.
“Operation Mirror Mayhem, part two,” he declared.
That afternoon, things escalated fast.
—
First, it was the classroom windows.
During history, the windows started reflecting a dance party — holographic disco balls spun and neon lights flashed, while teachers’ reflections wore silly hats and exaggerated facial expressions.
Mrs. Lin, their history teacher, spun around with mock outrage. “Who’s responsible for this?” she demanded, but her reflection gave a cheeky thumbs-up.
—
Next came the hallways.
Ty rigged the announcement drones to broadcast a remix of the school anthem, chopped up with robotic cat meows and laser zaps. The speakers pulsed as kids burst into spontaneous dance-offs between classes.
Dan swapped out all the cafeteria trays with ones that displayed silly faces and sound effects every time someone placed food on them.
Jennifer hacked the locker reflections to flash motivational messages — some serious, some downright ridiculous.
“Be awesome today!” flashed one.
“Don’t trip on your hover-sneakers!” flashed another.
Reya deployed a fleet of tiny drones shaped like blinking eyeballs, zipping around corners and surprising students with harmless bursts of confetti.
—
By the end of the day, the whole school was caught up in the prank war.
Students shared holo-clips of the weird reflection antics, laughing and daring each other to catch the glitches live. Even the strictest teachers struggled to keep a straight face as their reflections mimicked them with exaggerated gestures.
But as the sun dipped low and the school emptied, Klic’s smile faded.
Standing in the shadowed Node, surrounded by flickering holo-screens, he whispered, “This isn’t just a prank anymore. It’s something else. Something watching.”
The cracked mirror shard pulsed once more — slow, deliberate — as if warning him the game had only just begun.
The next morning, Millfield Middle School felt like the set of a wild reality show. Posters flickered between school announcements and goofy “wanted” signs for the prank crew — mostly featuring Klic’s grinning face with “Mirror Menace” stamped across.
Klic, Jennifer, Dan, Ty, Reya, and Sirius huddled in the Node, their secret tech den beneath the gymnasium, surrounded by glowing holo-panels and tangled cables.
“Okay,” Reya said, voice sharp, “the reflections are actively fighting back now. They’re glitching sensors, messing with holo-comm links, and I swear I saw one reflection wink right at me through the Node’s security cams.”
Jennifer paced, arms crossed. “We need to control this before the whole school goes haywire — or worse, before admin steps in and shuts down everything.”
Dan shrugged, munching a protein bar. “I don’t mind if the school’s a little crazy, but yeah… this is getting serious.”
Klic stared down at the cracked shard again. “The girl in the mirror… she’s the key. She’s connected to this. The ‘Candidate’ message means something.”
Sirius adjusted his glasses, tapping a sequence on his wristpad. “Ancient protocols buried deep in the reflective network are activating. It’s like the system is preparing for a new phase — maybe even reaching out through the reflections.”
Ty rubbed his hands together, grinning. “So basically, our prank turned into a full-blown sci-fi thriller. Neat.”
Suddenly, a low vibration pulsed through the Node’s floor. The cracked shard flickered wildly, sending ripples of blue light dancing across the walls.
Klic’s heart hammered.
“Whatever’s coming…” he said slowly, “it’s almost here.”
Back in the halls, the prank war’s chaos was undeniable.
Mirrors and reflective surfaces displayed looping messages:
“WE SEE YOU.”
“JOIN US OR PLAY AGAINST US.”
“PRANKS ARE JUST THE BEGINNING.”
Students whispered rumors of ghostly figures in their reflections, strange shadows that moved independently, and voices carried faintly through polished glass.
Jennifer caught Klic’s eye. “We need a plan — and fast.”
Klic nodded, determination blazing in his eyes. “Tomorrow, we take it back — on our terms.”
But as the last bell echoed through the hallways and the school emptied, the mirrors pulsed once more, a faint, eerie glow spreading like a heartbeat beneath their surfaces.
The game was far from over.