Lord of Perverted Ladies

The question echoed through the training facility.

"Why did you want to become Adrian Cross?"

I couldn’t answer.

Not because I didn’t know.

Because I knew too many answers.

The figure stood directly in front of me.

Faceless.

Motionless.

Yet somehow I could feel it watching me.

The original Adrian stood several steps behind.

My father had lowered his weapon.

The First Reader wasn’t moving.

Even the discarded versions surrounding the chamber had disappeared.

Everything waited.

I swallowed.

"Because I wanted to live."

The figure didn’t react.

"That’s incomplete."

I frowned.

"Then because I wanted another chance."

"Incomplete."

"Because I wanted to save her."

Silence.

"Incomplete."

I clenched my fists.

"Then what do you want me to say?"

The figure tilted its head.

"The truth."

"What truth?"

"The one you have avoided since the beginning."

My mind suddenly filled with memories.

The hospital.

The academy.

The white room.

The Black Door.

My mother.

My father.

The person I loved.

The original Adrian.

Every version of myself.

They all flashed past me.

Then everything stopped.

I was standing in a small bedroom.

My bedroom.

But I was thirteen again.

I knew this room.

I’d seen it before.

A bed.

A desk.

A window.

A bookshelf.

And someone sitting on the floor.

Me.

The younger me was crying.

A body lay beside him.

My body.

The original Adrian.

Dead.

The younger version of me was holding his hand.

Someone stood behind him.

My father.

He looked younger.

"Come with me," my father said.

The child shook his head.

"I don’t want to."

"You can’t stay here."

"I want him to wake up."

"He won’t."

"Then I’ll wake him."

My father knelt beside him.

"Adrian..."

The child looked up.

"I’m not Adrian."

My father froze.

"What?"

The child pointed toward the dead body.

"That’s Adrian."

My chest tightened.

The memory continued.

"Then who are you?"

The child didn’t answer.

He simply stared at the dead body.

Then whispered,

"I don’t know."

My father reached toward him.

The child pulled away.

"I don’t want to forget him."

"You won’t."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The memory shifted.

The child stood beside the hospital bed.

The person from the hospital was there.

She knelt in front of him.

"You need a name."

"I have one."

"What?"

"Adrian."

She smiled sadly.

"That’s his name."

The child shook his head.

"Then I’ll use it."

"Why?"

"Because if I have his name..."

He looked toward the body.

"...maybe he’ll still exist."

The memory broke.

I returned to the training facility.

I couldn’t breathe.

The figure was still standing in front of me.

"Now you remember."

I shook my head.

"No."

The original Adrian looked at me.

"You do."

"No."

I stepped backward.

"I wasn’t trying to become him."

"Then what were you trying to do?"

"I was trying to keep him alive."

The original nodded.

"Exactly."

The figure spoke.

"And why did you need him to remain alive?"

I stared at the floor.

"Because he was the only person who understood me."

The figure didn’t respond.

I continued.

"Because everyone else kept telling me to move on."

"My father."

"The Scriptorium."

"Even her."

"They all wanted me to accept that he was gone."

"But I couldn’t."

My voice cracked.

"So I took his name."

"I took his memories."

"I took his life."

"Not because I wanted to steal it."

"Because I was terrified that if I stopped being him..."

I looked toward the original.

"...then he would truly disappear."

The facility became silent.

The original Adrian lowered his head.

The figure finally spoke.

"That is the truth."

I closed my eyes.

"But then why did I create the Story?"

The original answered.

"Because you eventually realized that being me wasn’t enough."

I looked at him.

"You wanted him back."

"Yes."

"And you thought the Story could do that."

"Yes."

"So every world..."

"Was another attempt."

"Every version of reality..."

"Another possibility."

"Every reset..."

"Another failure."

I looked at the figure.

"And the Witness?"

"It watched."

"The Observer?"

"Recorded."

"The Author?"

"Wrote."

"The Reader?"

"Interpreted."

"And me?"

The figure was silent.

I waited.

Finally, it answered.

"You remembered."

Something about those words unsettled me.

"What does that mean?"

"Every role in the Story existed because someone had to perform it."

"But you refused to remain in yours."

The figure raised one hand.

The entire training facility disappeared.

We were standing in the Outside City.

Millions of lights stretched around us.

Each light was a world.

A possibility.

A choice.

A life.

I saw versions of Alisster.

One where I had never disappeared.

One where my father had died early.

One where my mother had never met him.

One where the hospital had never existed.

One where the academy had never been built.

One where I had never been born.

Another where I had become the original Writer.

Another where I had become the Observer.

Another where I had become the Witness.

Thousands.

Millions.

Possibilities without end.

I stared.

"How many?"

"All of them."

"How many versions of me?"

"All of them."

"Then why am I different?"

The figure turned toward me.

"Because you chose."

I frowned.

"What?"

"The others were possibilities."

"You became a decision."

The words struck me.

A possibility could exist without consequence.

A decision could change everything.

That’s what I had done.

Every time I chose something, another possibility was created.

Every time I refused an ending, another path appeared.

Every time I rejected the role given to me...

I created something new.

The Outside City wasn’t made of discarded worlds.

It was made of my choices.

Not only mine.

Everyone’s.

Every person who had ever asked what if?

Every decision that could have gone differently.

Every road never taken.

Every life never lived.

All of it existed here.

The First Reader stepped forward.

"So that’s what this place is."

The figure looked at him.

"Yes."

"The Outside City isn’t outside reality."

"Correct."

"It’s outside certainty."

The figure nodded.

For once, the First Reader looked impressed.

"Then the Witness..."

"Maintains the boundary."

"The Observer..."

"Records the possibilities."

"The Story..."

"Selects one."

I stared at the city.

"And the Keeper?"

The figure turned toward me.

"Maintains the question."

"The question?"

"The question that created everything."

I remembered.

What is this?

Then another.

What are we?

And finally...

Why did you want to become Adrian Cross?

I suddenly understood.

Those weren’t separate questions.

They were the same question.

Identity.

Existence.

Choice.

"Who am I?"

The figure’s voice echoed through the city.

"That is the first question."

The lights around us began moving.

Millions of worlds shifted.

Some disappeared.

Others appeared.

The entire city seemed to breathe.

Then the figure extended a hand toward me.

"Answer it."

I looked at my hands.

Then at the original Adrian.

Then my father.

Then the countless possibilities.

For years, I’d searched for an original.

The first Adrian.

The first Writer.

The first version.

The person who had created everything.

But there was no original anymore.

Maybe there never had been.

Maybe existence wasn’t something inherited.

Maybe it was something chosen.

I looked at the figure.

"My name is Adrian Cross."

The original Adrian smiled.

"I chose that name."

I continued.

"I was born from a memory."

"I was raised by a family."

"I lost someone I loved."

"I stole a dead man’s identity because I couldn’t accept losing him."

"I created stories because I wanted to change the ending."

"I became a character because I wanted to escape being the author."

"I became a contradiction because I refused to disappear."

"And now..."

I looked toward the millions of worlds.

"...I’m choosing to be myself."

The figure became completely still.

The city stopped moving.

Every light froze.

Then the figure asked one final question.

"Who is yourself?"

I smiled.

"I don’t know."

The original Adrian stared at me.

My father looked confused.

The First Reader’s eyes widened.

I continued.

"And I don’t need to know yet."

The figure tilted its head.

"Explain."

"Because if I decide exactly what I am..."

I looked around.

"...then I’ll just become another story."

Silence.

"So I won’t."

The figure didn’t move.

"I’ll change."

"I’ll make mistakes."

"I’ll choose."

"I’ll regret."

"I’ll grow."

"And if someone tries to tell me what I’m supposed to become..."

I looked directly at it.

"I’ll choose again."

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then the figure smiled.

It had no mouth.

Yet somehow I could see the smile.

"Accepted."

The Outside City erupted.

Millions of lights exploded into existence.

Every door opened simultaneously.

Every possibility became visible.

The training facility appeared beneath us.

The academy.

Alisster.

The hospital.

The Scriptorium.

Everything connected.

My father shouted something.

I couldn’t hear him.

The figure was disappearing.

"Wait!"

It stopped.

"What are you?"

The figure turned.

"The answer you refused to become."

"What does that mean?"

"You’ll understand when you stop asking me."

Then it vanished.

The Outside City collapsed.

I fell.

This time, I didn’t feel fear.

I knew where I was going.

Back.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the training platform.

Everyone was around me.

Noah was staring.

Ryan looked terrified.

Marcus and Ethan were silent.

Daniel was checking whether I was breathing.

My father stood at the edge of the platform.

The original Adrian was gone.

I sat up.

"What happened?"

Noah laughed nervously.

"You disappeared."

"For how long?"

"Three seconds."

I looked around.

The training facility was normal again.

No cracks.

No strange doors.

No white light.

The old woman was standing beside the entrance.

She looked at me.

"You answered."

I nodded.

"What happens now?"

She smiled.

"Now you can finally leave."

"Leave?"

"The facility."

"Where do we go?"

She pointed toward the exit.

"Anywhere."

I stood.

For the first time, the place didn’t feel like a prison.

The doors opened.

Sunlight poured through.

Outside, the forest was quiet.

The bus was still waiting.

My father walked beside me.

I looked at him.

"You knew all of this."

"Not all."

"Enough."

"Yes."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Because you had to choose the answer yourself."

I sighed.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

He smiled.

"Maybe they’re right."

We reached the bus.

Before boarding, I looked back at the facility.

Something was written above the entrance.

It hadn’t been there before.

Four words.

THE STORY IS YOURS NOW.

I stared at them.

Then turned away.

Noah climbed onto the bus.

Ryan followed.

The others came after.

My father waited.

"You coming?"

I looked at Alisster in the distance.

There were still questions.

My father’s disappearance.

The person from the hospital.

The Keeper.

The Witness.

The Outside City.

And something even deeper.

But for once...

I wasn’t afraid of not knowing.

I stepped onto the bus.

"Yeah."

The doors closed.

The engine started.

As the bus drove away from the training facility, my phone vibrated.

I checked it.

No number.

One message.

UNKNOWN:

You answered the first question.

A second message appeared.

Now answer the second.

Then the final line.

What will you do with a world that can finally hear you?

I stared at the screen.

Outside the window, Alisster slowly disappeared behind the trees.

I smiled.

"Guess we’ll find out."

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