Rebecca Moore never thought she’d be fighting herself. But there, on the rain-slicked asphalt of the old marina parking lot, she gripped the steering wheel of her pickup, engine snarling. Across the cracked pavement, another Rebecca Moore—same face, same scar above her left eyebrow—sat in an identical truck, headlights blazing.
She didn’t know if she was the original or the echo. But as she stepped out into the cold dawn, she knew one thing: she had finally stopped running from herself. rebecca moore ramming rebecca
It started as a glitch in the quantum mirror experiment—a duplicate created from a single choice. Now, every instinct Rebecca had was split in two. The only way to collapse the waveform was collision. Rebecca Moore never thought she’d be fighting herself
The impact was less a crash and more a reunion. Metal folded like memory. Glass exploded into possibility. When the dust settled, one Rebecca Moore sat alone in the twisted cab, hands still on the wheel, breathing. She didn’t know if she was the original or the echo