Lord of Perverted Ladies

The knocking stopped.

Nobody moved.

Three knocks.

That was all.

Yet the sound seemed to remain in the chamber, hanging in the darkness long after it had ended.

Noah whispered, "Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was."

"I don’t know what you think it was."

"Something behind that door."

"Then yes."

"Great."

Ryan took a slow step backward.

"I vote we leave."

Marcus looked at him.

"You said that about the white world."

"And I was right."

Daniel was staring at the black door.

"What exactly is behind it?"

The old woman didn’t answer.

She was looking at me.

Not the door.

Me.

"That’s what your father spent six years trying to find out."

I walked toward the door.

Noah grabbed my shoulder.

"Don’t."

"I’m not opening it."

"You’re walking toward it."

"I need to see something."

"What?"

I stopped in front of the door.

There were no handles.

No hinges.

Nothing that suggested it could open.

Yet I could feel something on the other side.

Not a person.

Not an entity.

A presence.

Something that knew I was standing there.

I raised my hand.

The moment my fingers touched the surface, a memory appeared.

A young version of me stood in this exact chamber.

My father was beside him.

The person I loved stood on the other side.

And the black door was open.

I watched silently.

Young me was crying.

Not from fear.

From anger.

"You said you could bring her back."

The person from the hospital shook their head.

"I said I could preserve what remained."

"That’s not enough."

"It has to be."

"No."

Young me stepped toward the door.

"I can change it."

My father grabbed him.

"No."

"Let me go."

"You don’t understand."

"I understand perfectly."

"You don’t."

Young me turned toward him.

"I’ll create a world where nobody has to die."

My father looked devastated.

"You can’t."

"Then I’ll make one."

The memory ended.

I pulled my hand away.

Noah stared at me.

"What did you see?"

I didn’t answer immediately.

"The first Story."

Ryan frowned.

"I thought we already knew that."

"We didn’t."

"What changed?"

I looked at the black door.

"The Story wasn’t created to escape death."

"Then why?"

"To contain something."

The old woman nodded.

"Yes."

"What?"

She finally looked at the door.

"An unfinished possibility."

I frowned.

"That’s it?"

"No."

She shook her head.

"A possibility that refused to remain a possibility."

The words sounded familiar.

The white world.

The discarded versions.

The doors.

The people who had never become real.

"One of them became real."

"Yes."

"And it killed the original Adrian."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because the original Adrian tried to erase it."

I stared at her.

"What was it?"

She looked at me.

"You."

Silence.

Noah’s expression changed.

"What?"

The old woman continued.

"The original Adrian created the first Story."

"He separated himself into multiple versions."

"He created the Observer."

"The Writer."

"The Reader."

"The Character."

"And eventually..."

She pointed at me.

"...you."

I shook my head.

"No."

"Yes."

"I didn’t exist before the Story."

"Not as you are now."

She walked toward me.

"You were the discarded possibility."

"The life Adrian could have lived if he had never opened the door."

My stomach tightened.

"What?"

"You were supposed to disappear when he chose the Story."

"But you survived."

"Outside the narrative."

"The original Adrian tried to erase you."

"And failed."

"Why?"

"Because you weren’t an error."

"You were his choice."

I looked at my hands.

"So I killed him?"

"No."

She shook her head.

"He killed himself trying to erase you."

The room went silent.

The younger Adrian’s words echoed in my mind.

One of us had to stay.

The other Adrian.

The first Writer.

The original.

He had spent years trying to understand what he had created.

And eventually...

He had died.

Not because something attacked him.

Because he couldn’t accept the existence of another possibility.

Me.

The old woman stepped back.

"The first Story was created to contain the consequences."

"Then why did it become so large?"

"Because every attempt to contain a possibility creates more possibilities."

I looked at the thousands of doors I’d seen.

"That’s why."

"Yes."

"The Archive."

"Yes."

"The Observer."

"Yes."

"The Witness."

"Yes."

"All of it."

"All of it."

Ryan rubbed his face.

"So everything we’ve been fighting..."

"Was never the enemy."

The old woman nodded.

"Most of it was a consequence."

Noah looked toward the black door.

"Then what’s behind that?"

She didn’t answer.

Instead, the door opened.

Nobody touched it.

The darkness beyond was absolute.

Then a light appeared.

A small one.

Like a candle.

Someone was standing in the doorway.

I knew immediately who it was.

My father.

He looked older than the memory.

Much older.

His hair was completely grey.

His face was thinner.

But he was alive.

Actually alive.

He looked at me.

"Adrian."

I couldn’t move.

"Dad?"

He smiled.

"You’re late."

I laughed despite myself.

"You’ve been missing for six years."

"I know."

"You could’ve called."

"I couldn’t."

"Why?"

"Because the moment I contacted you, they would know where I was."

"Who?"

He looked toward the ceiling.

"The ones who haven’t chosen a side."

That wasn’t helpful.

"Which ones?"

"The people outside the Story."

"Again with that."

My father smiled.

"You’ve met them."

"The possibilities."

"Some."

"The doors."

"Some."

"The Witness."

"Yes."

"The Observer."

"Yes."

"Then what are you hiding?"

He stepped through the doorway.

"The truth about the original Adrian."

I stared.

"I already know."

"No."

He shook his head.

"You know what happened."

"Not why."

He walked toward the table.

"That’s different."

I followed.

He placed an old folder on it.

Inside were photographs.

Records.

Medical reports.

Pages of handwriting.

I picked up the first document.

SUBJECT: ADRIAN CROSS

STATUS: DECEASED

DATE OF DEATH: AUGUST 19, 2019

I looked at my father.

"This is the original."

"Yes."

Another document.

SECONDARY SUBJECT: ADRIAN CROSS

STATUS: UNRESOLVED

DATE OF CREATION: AUGUST 19, 2019

My heart stopped.

"Creation."

My father nodded.

"That’s you."

I stared at the word.

"How?"

"The first Adrian didn’t simply split himself."

"He created you."

"From what?"

"His final memory."

I looked at him.

"The last memory before death."

"Yes."

"Which was?"

My father looked toward the black door.

"Your mother."

I froze.

"What?"

"The last thing he remembered before he died was your mother holding his hand."

"And that memory became me?"

"Not exactly."

He pointed at the document.

"Your personality."

"Your memories."

"Your instincts."

"Your fears."

"Your desires."

"All built around one thing."

"What?"

"Love."

The word felt almost absurd after everything I’d been through.

My father continued.

"The original Adrian believed that if he created a version of himself capable of living without the burden of his memories, that version could finally be happy."

"And that’s me."

"Yes."

"But I didn’t."

"No."

"Because I kept remembering."

"Exactly."

I looked at the black door.

"So he created me to escape his own grief."

"Yes."

"And the Story?"

"A cage."

"To keep the memories away from you."

I understood.

The academy.

The worlds.

The System.

The characters.

Everything.

It wasn’t simply a story.

It was a prison built around my identity.

But something had gone wrong.

I had escaped.

My father looked at me.

"And now the cage is broken."

"What happens next?"

He hesitated.

"The thing your father feared will return."

I stared at him.

"What thing?"

He looked toward the door.

"The original possibility."

"Me?"

"No."

He shook his head.

"Something older."

"Older than the Story?"

"Yes."

"The Witness?"

"No."

"The Observer?"

"No."

"Then what?"

My father looked at me.

"The first question."

I frowned.

"What?"

"The question itself."

The chamber went silent.

"The question became an entity."

"How?"

"Because it was never answered."

"What happens to an unanswered question?"

He looked toward the black door.

"It searches."

"For an answer."

"Yes."

"And what answer does it want?"

He looked directly at me.

"You."

The lights flickered.

The black door began closing.

My father grabbed my arm.

"Get everyone out."

"What about you?"

"I’ll follow."

"No."

He shook his head.

"You can’t stay."

"Why?"

"Because this place is about to collapse."

The old woman shouted,

"Move!"

Everyone started running.

We rushed back through the chamber.

The shelves began falling.

Books exploded into white light as they hit the floor.

The walls cracked.

The underground Scriptorium began collapsing around us.

Noah grabbed Ryan.

Marcus pulled Daniel forward.

I ran beside my father.

"Dad!"

"What?"

"Where are we going?"

"To the training grounds."

"Why?"

"Because that’s where I hid the last piece."

"Of what?"

He looked at me.

"Your original memory."

I stopped.

He grabbed my shoulder.

"If you want to know who you really are..."

The floor cracked beneath us.

"...you’ll need it."

We reached the staircase.

The old woman was already climbing.

The chamber behind us began disappearing.

I looked back.

The black door was almost closed.

Something stood behind it.

I couldn’t see its face.

But I knew it was watching.

Then it spoke.

Not loudly.

Not threateningly.

Just one sentence.

"You were never supposed to remember."

The door slammed shut.

We ran.

We reached the elevator.

The doors opened.

Everyone rushed inside.

My father entered last.

The elevator began rising.

Nobody spoke.

Then the lights flickered.

The display changed.

B13

B12

B11

Then—

B0

The elevator stopped.

The doors opened.

We were back in the hospital lobby.

People walked around us.

Nobody noticed.

My father stepped out.

I followed.

"Where’s the training ground?"

He looked toward the hospital entrance.

"Not there."

"Then where?"

He pointed across the street.

At an old bus.

Its destination display read:

OLD TRAINING GROUNDS.

I stared.

The bus had been waiting there the entire time.

My father smiled.

"That’s our ride."

I looked at the others.

Noah sighed.

"At this point, I’m not even surprised."

We crossed the road.

The bus doors opened.

Nobody was driving.

My father stepped inside.

"Come on."

I followed.

The doors closed.

The bus started moving.

Alisster passed outside the windows.

Then the buildings became fewer.

The roads became narrower.

The city disappeared.

For almost twenty minutes, nobody spoke.

Then the bus stopped.

My father stood.

"We’re here."

I looked outside.

There was nothing.

Only an abandoned military facility surrounded by forest.

The sign was barely readable.

ALISSTER TRAINING FACILITY — CLOSED 2018

My father stepped off.

I followed.

He walked toward the rusted gates.

Then stopped.

"Before we go inside..."

"What?"

He looked at me.

"Whatever you see in there..."

"Yes?"

"Don’t believe the first version of yourself."

The gates opened by themselves.

And somewhere inside the abandoned facility...

A child laughed.

My laugh.

My father’s expression changed.

"He’s awake."

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