Lord of Perverted Ladies

The laugh came again.

Short.

Quiet.

Almost playful.

My laugh.

The sound came from somewhere inside the abandoned facility.

I stared through the rusted gates.

The place looked dead.

Broken floodlights hung from tall poles. The main administration building had half its windows shattered. Weeds had swallowed the old training yard, and several concrete structures were covered in moss.

A faded sign hung above the entrance.

ALISSTER SPECIAL TRAINING FACILITY

Someone had painted over the word Special years ago.

My father stood beside me.

"Stay close."

"Why?"

"Because this place doesn’t remember time properly."

Ryan groaned.

"Of course it doesn’t."

My father ignored him.

"The facility was shut down in 2018."

"Yet you were here in 2019."

"Yes."

"How?"

He looked at the entrance.

"Because the facility didn’t close."

"It moved."

Noah stared at him.

"Buildings don’t move."

"This one does."

"That sentence is going to give me a headache."

My father walked through the gate.

We followed.

The moment I crossed the boundary, the atmosphere changed.

The air became colder.

The sounds of the forest disappeared.

Even our footsteps seemed quieter.

I looked back.

The road was still there.

The bus was still parked outside.

But the city was gone.

Only forest surrounded us.

No Alisster.

No hospital.

No road.

Nothing.

"Don’t look back," my father said.

I turned forward again.

"Why?"

"Because you’ll see something you don’t want to see."

"What?"

"Your life."

That wasn’t reassuring.

We continued toward the main building.

A cracked sign above the entrance read:

TRAINING BLOCK A

My father stopped.

"This is where we begin."

"Begin what?"

"Finding the original memory."

He pushed open the door.

It creaked loudly.

The hallway beyond was dark.

I switched on my flashlight.

The beam revealed rows of old photographs hanging along the walls.

Military exercises.

Training groups.

Graduation ceremonies.

Staff members.

Students.

I walked past them.

Then stopped.

One photograph caught my attention.

A group of teenagers stood in front of the building.

My father was there.

The woman from the hospital was there.

The old woman from the Scriptorium was there.

And in the center...

Me.

I was thirteen.

But there was something strange.

I wasn’t looking at the camera.

I was looking at someone outside the frame.

Someone standing beside the photographer.

I stepped closer.

"Who was taking this?"

My father didn’t answer.

"Who?"

He finally spoke.

"Your grandfather."

I looked at the photograph again.

"My grandfather worked here?"

"Not officially."

"Then why?"

"Because this wasn’t a military facility."

I turned toward him.

"What was it?"

"A training ground."

"For what?"

"People like you."

That answer made everyone stop.

"What does that mean?"

My father looked around.

"This place trained people who could interact with the Story."

Noah frowned.

"Interact how?"

"Enter."

"Modify."

"Remember."

"Forget."

"Create."

Ryan stared.

"So basically..."

He pointed toward me.

"People who can do the weird stuff he does?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic."

We continued deeper.

At the end of the hallway was a large metal door.

My father entered a code.

The door opened.

Beyond it was a massive underground training chamber.

The walls were reinforced concrete.

There were observation rooms along the sides.

Several broken monitors hung from the ceiling.

At the center was a circular platform.

I recognized it immediately.

The same symbol from the Scriptorium.

A circle divided by a line.

My father walked toward it.

"This is where you trained."

I stared.

"I don’t remember."

"You weren’t supposed to."

"What did I train for?"

He looked at me.

"Memory."

"That’s it?"

"No."

He pointed toward the opposite side.

A series of doors appeared.

Five.

Each one different.

"You trained to recognize false realities."

"Why?"

"Because the first Story wasn’t the only one."

I looked at the doors.

"How many?"

"Seven."

"Seven Stories?"

"Seven versions of reality."

"What happened to the others?"

"Destroyed."

"By whom?"

My father didn’t answer.

I already knew.

"The original Adrian."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because every version kept ending the same way."

"Death."

"Yes."

He looked at the doors.

"He tried to create one where death didn’t exist."

"That’s the World Without Death."

"One of the attempts."

I remembered the doors outside the academy.

The discarded possibilities.

The impossible worlds.

"How many attempts?"

"Six."

"And the seventh?"

My father looked at me.

"You."

Silence.

"The seventh Story was the only one that survived."

"Why?"

"Because you weren’t trying to escape death."

"I was trying to save someone."

"Exactly."

He stepped onto the circular platform.

"And that’s what made you different."

The room suddenly came alive.

Monitors flickered.

Lights turned on.

A voice echoed through the chamber.

TRAINING SEQUENCE INITIALIZED.

Everyone froze.

The System hadn’t appeared.

This was something older.

The platform beneath my father lit up.

SUBJECT RECOGNIZED.

ADRIAN CROSS.

ORIGINAL MEMORY FRAGMENT DETECTED.

My heart tightened.

"That’s me."

My father nodded.

"Yes."

"What’s going to happen?"

"You’re going to remember."

"I thought you said the memory was hidden."

"It is."

"Then how—"

The lights exploded.

Everything went white.

I was standing in the training chamber.

But nobody else was there.

A younger version of myself stood across from me.

Thirteen years old.

He was holding a wooden sword.

I watched him train.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He fought imaginary opponents.

Dodged attacks.

Fell.

Got up.

Fell again.

I didn’t understand.

Then someone walked into the room.

The person from the hospital.

They were younger.

Smiling.

They handed him a bottle of water.

"You’re getting better."

Young me wiped his face.

"I’ll beat him next time."

"Who?"

"The other me."

They laughed.

"That’s impossible."

"No."

He looked serious.

"He’s cheating."

I smiled despite myself.

Then the memory changed.

A darker version.

Young me stood in the same room.

Blood covered his shirt.

The person from the hospital was crying.

"What happened?"

"He found me."

"Who?"

"The original."

My chest tightened.

Young me pointed toward the door.

"He said I’m not supposed to exist."

The person knelt beside him.

"You’re not going anywhere."

"I know."

"You’ll stay here."

"Until when?"

"Until we figure this out."

The memory changed again.

The original Adrian appeared.

He looked exactly like me.

But older.

Angrier.

He stood in the center of the training chamber.

Across from him was my younger self.

"You’re the mistake."

Young me shook his head.

"I’m not."

"You shouldn’t exist."

"Neither should you."

The original Adrian smiled.

"That’s where you’re wrong."

He raised his hand.

The entire room began shaking.

The person from the hospital stepped between them.

"Stop!"

The original Adrian looked at them.

"You chose him."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he deserves a life."

"He is my life."

"No."

They shook their head.

"He is the life you refused to live."

The original Adrian’s expression changed.

For a moment...

He looked hurt.

Then angry.

"Then I’ll erase him."

He attacked.

The memory shattered.

I returned to the training chamber.

Everyone was staring at me.

Noah grabbed my shoulder.

"You okay?"

I couldn’t answer.

My father looked at me.

"You remembered."

"Yes."

"What happened?"

I looked at him.

"You knew."

He nodded.

"You knew he tried to kill me."

"Yes."

"Why didn’t you stop him?"

"I did."

"Not enough."

"No."

My father looked down.

"I failed."

I stared at the training platform.

"So what happened?"

"The original Adrian realized he couldn’t erase you."

"Then?"

"He changed the plan."

"What plan?"

"He created the Story."

"To trap me."

"To protect you."

"What’s the difference?"

"He believed the Story could hide you from him."

"And it did."

"Until you remembered."

The monitors flickered.

A new image appeared.

The original Adrian.

Standing alone in the white.

He was holding the black book.

Then he looked directly at the camera.

At me.

His lips moved.

I couldn’t hear him.

The image zoomed closer.

His words finally became audible.

"If you’re seeing this..."

He smiled.

"Then I failed."

The screen went black.

Then another line appeared.

BUT YOU DIDN’T.

I frowned.

"What?"

My father stepped toward the screen.

"That’s not supposed to be there."

The lights flickered.

A second message appeared.

YOU WERE NEVER THE SEVENTH STORY.

Then—

YOU WERE THE FIRST.

My blood ran cold.

Noah looked at me.

"What does that mean?"

The answer came from the speakers.

Not the training system.

Not the Witness.

My own voice.

"It means you’ve been remembering the wrong life."

The doors around the chamber slammed shut.

One by one.

The first opened.

Then the second.

Then the third.

Behind each door was a different version of me.

A soldier.

A king.

A scientist.

A prisoner.

A child.

A monster.

All of them looked at me.

Then the final door opened.

There was no version of me inside.

Only a mirror.

I walked toward it.

My reflection stared back.

Then smiled.

I didn’t.

The reflection raised its hand.

I raised mine.

It pointed behind me.

I turned.

Nobody was there.

I looked back at the mirror.

My reflection was gone.

Someone else stood there.

The person from the hospital.

They touched the glass.

And mouthed two words.

Wake up.

The mirror shattered.

The training chamber disappeared.

I fell through darkness.

Then I heard my father’s voice.

"Adrian!"

I opened my eyes.

I was lying on the circular platform.

Everyone was around me.

Noah was kneeling beside me.

My father stood at the edge.

But something was wrong.

He looked terrified.

"What happened?"

My father pointed toward the wall.

I turned.

A sentence had been written there.

Not with paint.

Not with blood.

It had been carved into the concrete.

THE ORIGINAL ADRIAN IS NOT DEAD.

Below it was another sentence.

HE IS LOOKING FOR YOU.

And underneath that...

A final line.

HE IS ALREADY INSIDE THE FACILITY.

A sound came from the hallway.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Heavy.

Coming closer.

My father immediately raised a weapon I hadn’t seen him carrying.

"Everyone behind me."

The footsteps stopped outside the chamber.

The door opened.

Someone walked inside.

He looked exactly like me.

But this time...

I knew which one he was.

The original Adrian.

He smiled.

"Father."

My father’s face went pale.

Then the original looked at me.

"Finally."

He raised his hand.

"Let’s finish what we started."

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