I blinked away the crust in my eyes as they opened, vision blurry as I sat up. The sheets fell off my chest, and I stared at the ceiling overhead.
"Huh. An unfamiliar ceiling…"
I couldn't help myself. Always wanted to say that. A low chuckle slipped out as I glanced around the room, taking in what looked like a surprisingly upscale apartment, miles better than anything I'd ever lived in. I patted myself down just to be safe, but everything seemed intact. No missing limbs, no strange pains. So at the very least, I hadn't been lasered to death.
Voices filtered in through the nearby door. As tempting as it was to stay in bed another year, I figured I should probably check in. The twins were probably really confused. With a groan, I pulled myself out of the very comfortable bed.
The place was huge. I strolled through the apartment, whistling under my breath. Easily 3,000 square feet, maybe more. The old man hadn't cheated me out. I made a mental note to explore later. First, I needed to deal with the possibly confused and panicking androids.
I stepped into the living room and found them. Devola and Popola were crouched around Popola's leg, casting some kind of magic over it. The burns were already mostly healed, the skin smooth and pale again.
"Yo—" I raised a hand in greeting.
Then froze. My body tensed reflexively as they moved. One second they were by the couch, the next they were directly in front of me. Heads lowered. Kneeling. Bowing so fast and hard that if they were human, I would've worried about cracked skulls.
"Hey, what's—" I started, but the words died in my throat.
"We're failures! Sorrythatweevendoubtedyouforasecond!" Devola was rambling, words tripping over each other so fast I could barely keep up.
"I'm sorry we let them die—it's our fault, the Gestalt Project failed because of us!" Popola choked on her own voice, tears streaking down her face as she kept going.
"Uh—" I tried again.
"Our fault!"
"Just—one sec, guys—"
"We shouldn't have doubted you, not even for a moment—!"
Their voices overlapped, fast and frantic, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. The guilt, the desperation—it all came out at once, and I had no idea where it was coming from or how to deal with it.
I panicked and did the only thing that came to mind.
I hugged them.
Just wrapped both twins in an awkward, clumsy hug and whispered, "It's okay."
They froze the instant I touched them, and I flinched a little myself. Maybe that had been a mistake.
Then the crying got worse.
Before I could pull away, their arms locked around me in return, tight enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. The grip only got stronger, iron-like and unrelenting, but I just held them there, whispering soft reassurances as the twins cried their hearts out…I was confused, but questions could be asked later.
—
After what felt like an hour of slow, awkward comfort, the two of them had finally calmed down enough to talk. We sat together on one of the living room couches—easily the plushest thing I'd ever parked myself on. Devola and Popola still looked a bit shaken, faces pale and eyes red, but at least they weren't in full-on breakdown mode anymore. That said, their quiet, reserved silence was starting to make things weird.
I cleared my throat. "So… you killed the humans?"
My brain immediately crashed.
What the actual fuck kind of idiot question was that?
Before I could try and walk it back, Popola nodded slowly, as if I'd just stated an obvious fact.
"Yes," she said, voice small. "It's because of us that Project Gestalt failed. We ruined everything."
Devola looked down, clearly gutted, and I instantly regretted opening my mouth.
"Okay, uh… that came out wrong," I said quickly. "So, I like I said earlier, but I'm from another version of Earth. Basically. So… could you maybe explain what Gestalt is? And, like, give me a brief overview of your guy's history?"
Devola straightened at the question. "Of course, sir."
And then I got hit with one of the wildest history lessons of my life.
Apparently, humanity had been on the verge of extinction thanks to something called White Chlorination Syndrome. The solution? Project Gestalt. A full separation of body and soul using magic, because obviously that wouldn't backfire. Except, of course, it did. Surprise. Something went horribly wrong with the soul-splitting nonsense, and the whole thing collapsed. Humanity was basically extinct. And then, just when things couldn't get worse, actual aliens showed up and started a war with the remaining androids.
So yeah. This world's history wasn't pulling any punches.
That was a crisis for later me, though.
For now, one detail stuck out.
"Wait… you two aren't the original models, right?"
Popola shook her head. "No. We were caretakers stationed in another sector. Still, it doesn't change the fact that this is our fault."
"But… you're not them. You're different people."
Devola looked over. "The models are the same. The fault lies with us."
I frowned. That logic was complete crap. Blaming someone for something they didn't do just because they looked like someone else? That wasn't just unfair—it was delusional. I wasn't a psychologist, but there was no way in hell I was letting them think any decent human would hold them responsible.
"Girls," I said, lifting a hand.
The effect was immediate. Both of them went quiet, freezing mid-sentence like I'd flipped a switch.
"I say this as a human being," I continued, keeping my tone steady. "It's not your fault. I don't blame you."
I saw it coming—the retort, the protest already forming on their lips—but I cut it off before it could take shape.
"Nothing you say will change my mind. Humanity's fall… everything that happened… that's not your burden to carry."
I made sure the words came out sharp, almost regal. Like a commandment from someone who wasn't taking any more arguments.
Devola's expression twitched, cycling through guilt, disbelief, confusion, something like hope. Popola trembled beside her, hands clenched, her breath catching as if my words hit a switch she didn't know existed. I could feel the emotional wreckage under the surface. I'd stepped into something deep—something tangled in the core of who they were.
But in the end, none of that mattered.
I wasn't going to let the twins carry that sin. Not when they'd already been willing to throw their lives on the line for me—back when they thought I was just some raving lunatic, not the supposed second coming of humanity.
There were still a ton of bombs I had to deal with. The reverence the twins gave to the word creators didn't go unnoticed—hell, swap it out with god and they wouldn't even blink. That kind of blind devotion wasn't just unsettling, it was loaded. And let's not forget the casual revelation that aliens were a thing now. Fantastic. Just toss that on the growing pile of bullshit.
But all of that? I shoved it down. Real deep. Like any emotionally healthy adult would.
I glanced over at the twins, deciding not to dwell on any of it and leave it for future me.
"Forgot to ask—how long was I out?"
"About seven hours, sir," Popola replied without hesitation.
I winced at the formality. "Uh… you know, you can just call me by my name. We're not in the army."
Devola frowned. "But you're one of our creators. We have to show respect."
"Calling me by my name is respectful. In human culture," I said, lying through my teeth.
The twins looked at each other
I stood up and started checking out the apartment. And yeah—this place was ridiculous. The bathroom, the kitchen, even the bedrooms—everything pristine, furnished, polished. Felt more like a showroom than a home. Top-of-the-line quality across the board.
Except.
There wasn't a single scrap of food.
My stomach finally clued me in—I was starving.
"Uhh… you guys wouldn't happen to know a spell that makes food appear, would you?"
Popola and Devola exchanged a glance. It was the kind of look that said please don't make me answer this.
"I can conjure some ice…" Popola offered weakly.
Devola swatted her arm. "We have food at camp. Assuming we can leave. Which… might be a problem. We didn't see any doors."
Oh. Right.
"This place is basically a pocket dimension," I said, already closing my eyes. It was hard to describe—like trying to manipulate the shape of a thought. But there was an intuitive shape to it. All it needed was a little nudge…
A door materialized in front of me. No hinges. No frame. Just… standing there. Devola stared, clearly fascinated, while Popola moved around it and pulled it open, only to find nothing on the other side. Just a blank void.
I grinned and stepped forward, grabbing the knob myself. Gave it a twist. Opened it again.
This time, the door swung open to a wide desert landscape. Hot wind swept in. Sand glinted in the sunlight.
"Ooh!" Popola clapped her hands, delighted.
"Okay, so how far out is—"
The scream cut me off.
In the distance, crawling across the sand, one of those pale-faced freakshow machines whipped around—its red eyes locking straight onto me.
Oh fuck.
I slammed the door shut.
I caught the flash of red just as I slammed the door shut, breath held tight in my throat.
Of course, it's still there. I should've expected it, but part of me hoped the door would lead somewhere safe automatically.
I hesitated, cracked the door open again—just a sliver. The same distorted screaming and mechanical babble poured through the gap. I shut it quickly, lips pressed thin. Waited. Then tried again. Still screaming.
The door, apparently, had no interest in taking us anywhere but back to the killzone.
"Can you make it… open somewhere else?" Devola asked after a moment. "Not just close and reopen—but actually move it?"
I didn't respond right away. I closed my eyes, searching for that strange inner sensation—like reaching for a switch buried beneath thought. I focused. Pulled the trigger.
The door vanished in an instant.
Then reappeared exactly where it had been, unchanged and unmoved.
Popola stepped in then, her tone too quick, too sharp. "We could make a break for it. If we prepare—give it a few hours—we might be able to pull their attention long enough for you to get through. You'd reach camp in a couple of days if you move fast."
I didn't say anything at first. Something in her expression made my stomach turn. It wasn't fear or dread—it was excitement. They wanted to do this. The idea of throwing themselves into a suicidal distraction just to get me out had them visibly eager, and I had no idea how to deal with that.
Before I could speak, something shifted again in my mind. Not a thought or a feeling, but a pressure—like another trigger being pulled from deep within.
I followed the sensation.
Another door shimmered into view.
This one looked nothing like the other. It was larger, constructed from two entirely separate doors welded into a single frame—uneven, asymmetrical, the line between them jagged and ugly. Faint pulses of light throbbed from each half, distinct in color and rhythm.
I stepped forward, breath caught halfway between suspicion and curiosity.
Words shimmered across the metal surface, etched in a faint, rippling glow.
Star Wars on the left.
Worm on the right.
"What the fuck…" The words slipped out before I could catch them.
I didn't stop. I grabbed the handles and pulled.
The Star Wars door opened to a breathtaking expanse of blue ocean, stretching endlessly beneath a pair of twin suns. Strange bird-like shapes circled in the distance, casting long shadows over glittering water. The entire scene radiated a surreal kind of peace, so picturesque it almost looked fake.
I turned back. "Either of you know how to sail?"
They didn't answer. Devola and Popola just stared through the doorway, awestruck, their eyes reflecting suns that didn't belong to this world.
I turned to the other door and pushed it open.
Beyond lay a quiet street at night. Streetlamps buzzed faintly overhead. Further out, beyond the curve of the road, a dimly lit town waited beneath a haze of streetlight and shadow. A billboard rose near the horizon, too far to read clearly.
As I moved toward it, the sensation returned—not a sound or message, but a truth embedded in the world itself.
Pick one.
Only one.
My hands curled into fists. I looked back at the twin suns, the vast ocean, the hint of something brighter, filled with wonders I'd dreamed of since I was a kid.
Then I looked down. No boat. No land in sight. Just open water and the promise of drowning beneath a beautiful sky.
I dropped to my knees and let out a cry of despair.
"Are you alright!?" Devola's voice was softer now, concerned.
"I'm grieving my lightsaber," I muttered, letting my head fall forward.
As much as I wanted the galaxy far, far away, I wasn't ready to die for it. Not floating aimlessly in a sunlit ocean with no land in sight.
That left one option.
Worm. A world I only knew from secondhand. The scattered pieces I knew weren't encouraging; all I remembered was grimdark, lots of trauma, and superpowers.
I stood up and faced the twins again.
"Alright," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Here's what's happening…"
——
Cool night air brushed against my face as I stepped through.
The road ahead stretched quiet and unbroken beneath the glow of flickering lamps. The town in the distance looked small, almost peaceful, but I knew better. I followed the curve of the path, eyes tracing the shapes ahead.
A sign stood near the edge of the road, just barely lit by the streetlight.
Welcome to Eagleton.