Lord of Perverted Ladies

The original Adrian stood in the doorway.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

My father had his weapon raised.

The others were behind him.

And I was staring at the man who looked exactly like me.

Except now that I knew what I was looking at, I could see the differences.

His eyes were older.

Not physically.

Something behind them.

He looked at me the way someone looked at a photograph of a person they had lost.

"You really don’t remember me," he said.

I didn’t answer.

He smiled.

"I suppose that’s fair."

My father stepped forward.

"Stay where you are."

The original Adrian laughed softly.

"You still give orders."

"Adrian."

"Which one?"

My father’s jaw tightened.

"Don’t call yourself that."

The original looked at him.

"Why?"

"You know why."

"No."

His smile disappeared.

"I’ve spent seven years being told I’m something that shouldn’t exist."

He glanced at me.

"And now you want me to disappear again."

I stepped forward.

"Why did you try to kill me?"

The question made him quiet.

For the first time, the anger left his face.

"I didn’t."

I frowned.

"I saw the memory."

"You saw what they wanted you to see."

"Who?"

"The Scriptorium."

"The Observer."

"The person you loved."

"Everyone."

He looked at me.

"Memories are dangerous because they can be true and still lie."

My father lowered his weapon slightly.

"What happened that night?"

The original Adrian looked at him.

"You know."

"I want you to say it."

He sighed.

"Fine."

He walked into the chamber.

"I didn’t try to kill him."

He pointed at me.

"I tried to kill what he represented."

"What’s the difference?"

"Everything."

I crossed my arms.

"Explain."

He looked toward the shattered mirror.

"You were created from my final memory."

"I know."

"No."

He shook his head.

"You know the words."

"You don’t understand them."

He walked toward the training platform.

"When I died, I didn’t want another life."

"I wanted another chance."

"A chance to change what happened."

"To save her."

He looked at the empty space beside him.

"The person you remember."

My chest tightened.

"But the Scriptorium told me it was impossible."

"So I created you."

"Not because I hated you."

"Because I loved you."

I stared at him.

"Then why did you try to erase me?"

"Because you weren’t supposed to remember me."

He looked toward my father.

"And he knew that."

My father didn’t deny it.

"You were supposed to live an ordinary life."

"Go to school."

"Make friends."

"Fall in love."

"Grow old."

"Die normally."

He looked at me.

"You were supposed to have everything I couldn’t."

"Then why did the Story happen?"

"Because you remembered."

I frowned.

"How?"

"You were always going to."

"Why?"

"Because I made one mistake."

"What?"

"I gave you my curiosity."

The room became silent.

He smiled bitterly.

"You inherited the part of me that couldn’t leave questions unanswered."

I thought about the System.

The Archive.

The Observer.

The Witness.

Every mystery.

Every door.

Every impossible thing I’d chased.

"That’s why I kept looking."

"Yes."

"And the Story?"

"A prison."

"For me?"

"At first."

He looked toward the ceiling.

"Then it became a prison for everything."

I looked at my father.

"You said the Story was created to protect me."

"It was."

The original shook his head.

"It was created to hide me."

I looked at him.

"From what?"

"The consequences."

"What consequences?"

He pointed toward the floor.

"Look."

The circular platform began glowing.

A map appeared above it.

Not of Alisster.

Not of Earth.

A massive structure.

Seven layers.

Each one connected to the next.

The lowest layer was labeled:

REALITY

Above it:

MEMORY

Then:

POSSIBILITY

Then:

STORY

Then:

OBSERVATION

Then:

WITNESS

And at the top...

There was no label.

Just an empty circle.

"What is that?"

The original Adrian answered.

"The place nobody can reach."

"What’s above the Witness?"

"Nothing."

I frowned.

"Again?"

He shook his head.

"This time, I mean it."

"Nothing isn’t a place."

"Exactly."

The map vanished.

The original looked at me.

"That’s where the first question came from."

"The question wasn’t created by us."

"It came from outside everything."

I remembered the white room.

The first question.

The Observer.

The Witness.

"You mean..."

He nodded.

"The question existed before we did."

My father interrupted.

"Enough."

The original looked at him.

"You’re still protecting him."

"Yes."

"You should’ve told him."

"I couldn’t."

"You could have."

"You know what would’ve happened."

The original’s expression hardened.

"He deserves the truth."

My father looked at me.

"He does."

Then he lowered his weapon.

I stared at him.

"What truth?"

My father took a breath.

"You weren’t created by the original Adrian."

I looked at the original.

He nodded.

"I wasn’t?"

"No."

He looked at me.

"You created yourself."

I stared.

"How?"

"After my death, you existed as a possibility."

"You weren’t supposed to become conscious."

"But you did."

"Because?"

"Because you asked the first question."

I felt a chill.

"What was it?"

The original smiled.

"You asked..."

He paused.

Then said:

"Why can’t I be him?"

Everything inside my head went silent.

A memory surfaced.

Not the hospital.

Not the academy.

Not the white room.

A small bedroom.

A thirteen-year-old me sitting beside a dead body.

My body.

Crying.

Holding my hand.

Someone asking him what he wanted.

And that child whispering:

"I want to be him."

The memory disappeared.

I staggered.

Noah caught me.

"You okay?"

I pushed myself upright.

"I remember."

The original looked relieved.

"Finally."

"I wasn’t created."

"No."

"I wanted to exist."

"Yes."

"I became Adrian."

"Yes."

I looked at him.

"Then what are you?"

He smiled.

"The part of you that refused to die."

I stared.

"You stayed."

"I did."

"You became the original."

"No."

He shook his head.

"I became the memory of the original."

"Then the real Adrian..."

"Is gone."

Silence.

I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or empty.

The person standing in front of me wasn’t the man who had died.

He was what remained of him.

A memory with a body.

A possibility that had learned how to survive.

My father stepped toward us.

"There’s one more thing."

I looked at him.

"What?"

"The facility is collapsing."

A deep rumble shook the floor.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Ryan looked upward.

"That sounds bad."

"It’s worse than bad."

The original looked toward the hallway.

"They found us."

"Who?"

He didn’t answer.

A shadow moved across the doorway.

Then another.

Figures appeared in the corridor.

Dozens of them.

People.

Versions.

Some looked like students.

Others like soldiers.

Some were children.

Some were elderly.

Every one of them stared at me.

Noah whispered,

"Who are they?"

The original Adrian answered.

"The discarded."

"They’ve been waiting."

"For what?"

He looked at me.

"For you."

The crowd began moving.

My father raised his weapon.

"Stay back."

The original shook his head.

"They won’t attack."

"How do you know?"

"Because they’re not here to kill him."

The first figure stepped into the chamber.

A woman.

She looked about thirty.

Her face was unfamiliar.

But her eyes weren’t.

I recognized them.

They belonged to me.

She stopped in front of me.

"You finally woke up."

I frowned.

"Who are you?"

She smiled.

"Another answer."

Another person stepped forward.

A man.

Then a child.

Then an old woman.

Hundreds gathered behind them.

Different faces.

Same eyes.

All looking at me.

The original whispered,

"They’re all versions of you."

My stomach tightened.

"How many?"

"Enough."

The woman reached toward me.

I stepped back.

"What do you want?"

She smiled.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because the door is opening."

"What door?"

The original turned toward the far wall.

A crack had appeared.

White light leaked through.

The same light from the first door.

My father stepped backward.

"No."

The original looked at him.

"It’s time."

"For what?"

"For the thing we’ve been avoiding."

The crack widened.

The facility shook violently.

The figures began disappearing one by one.

Not dying.

Returning.

Each one dissolved into light.

The woman was the last.

She looked at me.

"When the door opens..."

She smiled.

"...choose carefully."

Then she disappeared.

The crack became a doorway.

Beyond it was the white space.

But something was different.

There was no endless emptiness.

There was a city.

An enormous city floating in the white.

Buildings stretched upward into darkness.

Millions of lights burned.

Roads crossed between impossible structures.

People moved through the streets.

Worlds.

Entire worlds.

Not stories.

Possibilities.

The original stared.

"The Outside City."

I looked at him.

"What is that?"

"The place where discarded realities go."

"Then why can we see it?"

"Because the door is open."

The First Reader’s voice suddenly came from behind us.

"You have to close it."

Everyone turned.

He stood at the entrance with Lucien and the Editor.

I stared.

"You followed us?"

"We had to."

"Why?"

The First Reader looked through the doorway.

His expression changed.

"Because if the Outside City connects to Alisster..."

"What happens?"

He looked at me.

"Every possibility will become real."

The room went silent.

Ryan swallowed.

"That sounds...really bad."

"It is."

The Editor stepped forward.

"The academy was only the beginning."

"The white world was only the boundary."

"The Outside City..."

She looked at the millions of lights.

"...is everything that could have happened."

I stared.

Every choice.

Every alternate life.

Every version.

Everything.

The original Adrian walked toward the doorway.

My father grabbed him.

"No."

The original looked back.

"If I don’t go in, they’ll come through."

"Then I’ll go."

"You can’t."

"Why?"

"Because they aren’t looking for me."

He looked at me.

"They’re looking for him."

I stepped forward.

"Why?"

The original smiled.

"Because you’re the only version who survived without being written."

The city lights suddenly went out.

One after another.

Then a single light remained.

At the center of the city.

It grew brighter.

Something emerged from it.

A figure.

Walking toward us.

I couldn’t see its face.

But I knew the voice.

It was the same voice that had spoken from behind the black door.

"You finally found the beginning."

The First Reader froze.

The Editor whispered,

"No..."

My father raised his weapon.

The original Adrian looked at me.

For the first time...

He looked genuinely afraid.

The figure stepped through the doorway.

And when it entered the training facility...

Every light in the building went out.

The figure stopped in front of me.

Then slowly raised its head.

It had no face.

No eyes.

No mouth.

Just a smooth, empty surface.

Yet I could hear it perfectly.

"Now answer the question."

I swallowed.

"What question?"

The figure leaned closer.

And in a voice that sounded exactly like mine...

"Why did you want to become Adrian Cross?"

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