"I travel. To worlds."

Blackwood leaned against the doorframe. Through his peripheral, he could still see the mound of lifeless bodies on Floor Negative 1.

Morales exhaled short.

"There are others out there. Different from ours, but just as real." Behind a half-lidded expression, he continued filling the void. "In some, dinosaurs still roam. In others... cloning exists."

Morales shifted his gaze to the children—the originals. He threw a hand on his forehead. "You're kidding me."

"I travel to worlds where technology is advanced enough for that. From there, it's just a matter of reverse engineering."

He lowered his hand. "You use the word travel a lot. Why is that?"

He smirked. "Unfortunately, that's as much as you get, lieutenant. What matters is that until now, I've approached the children's parents for permission."

"I'm not going to take your word on that," he scoffed, amused. "And who says I fully believe you? They could all just be twins."

Blackwood tipped his head. "Sure."

"But let's say you're not joking. Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged. "I've done everything I wanted." He pushed himself off the wall and eyed the gun sitting on Morales' waistband. "Either way, no one can harm me."

"Hell does that mean?"

He curled a lip. "Ask my attorney."

"What's your name? The real one."

"Who knows? I've been Blackwood since I can remember."

"What do you plan to do with them?"

"I'm going to burn their bodies. Their clones can never find out."

Morales squinted. "What happens if they do?"

"For the clone, their life expectancy cuts in half. For the original, their organs burst." He recalled the original Atlas who saw his clone before he tried to escape.

"Okay... I won't take the chances."

He nodded, thankful.

"On any note, you're under arrest." Morales pulled out a jingle of handcuffs and pulled Blackwood's wrist from the warmth of his pocket to slide cold metal over it. "For illegal human experimentation, child abduction, possession of illegal genetic material, conspiracy... You should prepare yourself for a long ass day."

While Morales confined the other wrist, he glanced curiously at the cigar. "You're a smoker?"

"It only looks that way." Blackwood smiled a bit. "Keep it safe. That's the only thing I'll ask."

"Why?" He questioned, stepping away. "It's got something to do with all of this?"

"No. It's the last thing I have from someone special."

The lieutenant nodded slowly. "Sure." He retrieved a plastic bag that he held up; Blackwood parted his lips to let the item fall inside. He twisted his confined wrists over his lap, the pressure already getting uncomfortable.

"Why did you have Luka pretend to save those kids?"

"I told you—"

"I'd be a fool not to question it."

"I told you," he repeated. "To get the CIA off his back."

A chasm of doubt manifested in his, "Why?"

"Because he's a good kid who was going to be killed."

"I agree. But what was in it for you?"

Blackwood pronounced his answer firmly, holding the lieutenant's gaze as he did. "Nothing at all."

***

Two Days Ago

Blackwood slowed to a stop when the footsteps behind him died quicker than he would've liked.

"No. I'm not following you until you tell me you'll fix me."

They were still only in the lobby of the building—a white, open space with tiled flooring on which his logo was stamped. He pivoted on the C.

"I know you're confused, Luka, which is why I need you to listen. It'll make sense in the end."

"I'm tired of listening to you talk. It's making me sick. Turn me back to normal."

Neon green lasers aimed at Blackwood who glanced down at the two dimensional logo under his feet. "You have to bear it, Luka." He flicked his browns upwards, meeting his glare. "Otherwise, everyone will die."

Luka scoffed, unamused. The frown had only barely sunk. "Take back what you did to me. I'm not joking."

The lobby echoed with a loud sort of silence. 

Despite the face Luka put on, Blackwood knew that he was trying hard to hold down the fear beneath his anger. "I won't live like this any longer."

"Will you listen to what I have to say?"

"Make me normal, first."

"I will, but for now, you have to bear it so you can listen. Tell me you'll listen." Blackwood emphasized, then waited for a sign of understanding from Luka. It came in the form of a tired grunt.

Blackwood removed his cigar so his words would be clear. Otherwise, they would be even harder to believe.

"The world we live in is one of many. There are others, but the number of others slims down every so often."

Luka mouthed a distressed what?

"It has to do with a guy who goes by Traveler. He had many cousins and a twin brother. Together, they endured the worst. One way or another, they all died horrible deaths.

"Traveler took his brother's death the hardest. Not only because they were twins. But because they had became killers together.

Luka was shaking his head in seeming disbelief, but at least that meant he was listening.

"The details don't matter, but he made a pact with someone. They gave him the ability to travel between worlds to search for his brother. In exchange, he'd have to take his own life every time, and in every life, he'd have to end someone else's."

As he spoke, Luka went through a series of expressions. What remained throughout the confusion, doubt, and fear, was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Three centuries later, to raise his odds, the ones with power proposed to destroy any world his twin could not possibly be in. That is, a blood relative, and a willful killer."

Rise... fall. Rise... fall.

"Traveler was pure LeRouge. And you have his blood, Luka."

"No, I don't." The retaliation was quick. "I don't—I can't. Celine is my aunt but she's a Leroux. I'm not related to her husband. I can't have Traveler's blood."

"But Dimitri did," Blackwood said, tilting his chin. "Do you remember playing with blood when you two were younger?"

His breath caught.

"Dimitri's sister, Chloe, told me," he explained. "We were about to start a family. To keep the world from ending. When I was younger, I drank a LeRouge's blood. Because of that, I qualify."

"You mean... this world only exists because of you?"

He smiled slightly. "You're catching on nicely."

"That means you killed someone." Luka reasoned, in a daze, holding a judgmental glare.

"It does," he confirmed. "Anyway, I won't be alive for much longer. You're the only one there is, Luka. But, you only have Traveler's blood." Blackwood paused for it all to sink in. "The second requirement isn't competed yet."

Rise, fall. Rise, fall.

"You have to kill someone. It has to be intentional to count. Not forced. That's why I reversed your syndrome. Made it so killing is the only thing that satisfies your hunger. It's so you'd have the desire."

Risefallrisefallrisefallrisefall.

He studied his face. Luka held his lips taut and held his eyes open to hold his intrusive thoughts down. Blackwood saw right through it.

"I don't—I would never kill someone." He stepped back, the rhythm behind his chest returning. "I just want to be normal again. That's all I want. That's it."

Blackwood looked away, apologetically. "It isn't pretty."

Luka's cheeks were painted with glistening trails, translucent unlike the emotions they reflected..

"The end isn't quick, or painless. The sky turns red, and not from sunsets. Do you understand?"

"I'm not a killer," whispered he. "I don't want to be."

He echoed his volume. "I know."

"I'm not a psychopath."

"I know."

"I'm not a... a sadist."

"I know."

"I'm a good person." It all cracked in delivery. "I'm good."

"I know."

Blackwood took the three steps separating them and wrapped an arm around Luka's quaking shoulders.

"But I'm so hungry."

***

Present Day

Morales hit his knuckles rapidly on the frosted glass where a tarnished nameplate was adorned along with the name Captain Kelly Quixote spelled in serif [kee-hoh-teh].

The muffled response he received was his cue to twist the firm doorknob.

He pointed a chin over his shoulder and smirked. "That sign'll say Morales soon."

The Captain's eyes widened. She exhaled at him, and made a smile at the woman standing before her table who by now, was also looking at Morales. "As I was saying, I need a gag order on this matter immediately. Otherwise, people will begin to make hypotheses again. Do whatever you can."

"I understand." She nodded before leaving.

Kelly stood from the table, met his gaze, and as soon as the door shut, she rounded it. Before he knew it, her arms were around his neck. Morales swept his fingers through the base of her curly hair and as she pulled him closer, wasting no time to catch her lips.

He chuckled. "I'm still alive."

"Obviously," she mumbled against him. "Just get over here. And stop saying stupid things in front of company."

"I can't help it, Captain More."

She rolled her eyes under a smile, then made her way towards the table against which she leaned. "Anyway. Something weird's going on. I hope you have answers for me."

"What is it?"

"All six of the children Luka found—they were all suffering from some disease before they went missing. Now, they're all perfectly healthy."

"Is that why you're issuing a gag order?" Morales recalled. "Good call. It's not something we should tell the public."

She narrowed her eyes, curious. "What does that mean?"

He told her everything he knew.

By the time Morales let out each concept he once thought was theory—infinite worlds, traveling, and cloning—the Captain had gone through at least four alternations of gasping and then composing herself.

"That's all I know. At the moment, Blackwood is being held in a cell."

Currently in the composed stage, she tapped her nails on mahogany, deep in thought. "What do you make of this, Lieutenant?"

"The CIA was after something," he began, eliciting another composure-disrupting gasp.

"The CIA?"

"An old codex they call Traveler's. I think it might have something to do with all of this, but until I confirm something, I can't know for sure."

"Whatever it takes."

"Copied." He bobbed his head before turning.

***

Blackwood didn't quite like the suit he was in. Nor the lack of a cigar between his teeth.

None of this was ideal—betraying the peaceful life he was accustomed to all because of Boucher's foolishness. But, oh well.

At least it wasn't chaotic. A hushed murmur from the scarce attendance barely filled the hallway. A bailiff, a pair of security guards, two professionals, and a man in a wheelchair.

Blackwood stuffed a hand in his pants' pocket just as an older man entered and walked towards him, formally clad. He set his briefcase down on the bench nearby.

"Winston," Blackwood greeted his attorney with a downward tip of his chin.

"This was bound to happen, right?" The old man chuckled with a voice textured and hoarse; it complimented the white streaks in his hair. "Nervous?"

"Never."

"Always the same, huh, Black. You got that from Redbeard, I bet." Winston's skin wrinkled in a smile.

As Blackwood reminisced of a man with a red-hued beard, a small crowd filed into the hallway, stemming from a court adjourned.

Inside the growing noise, a woman groaned. "God, you're the worst client I've ever dealt with."

"I don't care. I really don't. My daughter was going to die without a heart transplant. I don't care if it came from some poor kid in Africa—"

"The judge didn't need to hear that, you moron. If there's a brain in that skull, you'll shut your mouth from now on."

Doctor senses as a spike, Blackwood's head turned towards their passing conversation. In the same direction, the man in a wheelchair propelled himself before a set of wooden doors similar to the ones facing Blackwood.

The two made eye contact, exchanged thinned out smiles, and they would have turned forward.

Blackwood became immersed in what happened next. A different man walked towards the wheelchair, causing it to turn.

The newcomer had a deep scar on his cheek. "Neo, can you believe it? They approved my license. Last minute, I know."

The one in the wheelchair was silent for a moment. "You should leave, Damien. I deserve whatever they give me." He shook his head. "Also, you'll get in trouble if you do this. Conflict of interest."

"It's alright. I'm not Damien right now."

"Either way, they gave me a lawyer already."

"I don't see him here." Not-Damien made a smile that didn't shift his scar. "Neo, if I'm not in there, you'll get Celine's sentence, as well."

The one seated looked at his lap. "I wouldn't mind that. Honestly."

"Don't say that, Neo. Let me help you."

A hand tapped Blackwood's back, making him turn. "We're up," Winston smiled, tugging his blazer. "Try not to slouch in there."

"No promises." Blackwood smirked, his attention only halfway there.

***

Lieutenant Morales was seated on leather, holding his notepad against his steering wheel. He looked at the analogy scribbled on it.

Most people die with thirst.
Only a few get to drink.

"Dying with thirst... reminds me of Blackwood saying he did everything he wanted to. He also implied he's the only one who can travel... But that second line doesn't say one, it says a few."

He scanned the writing printed beneath the analogy.

LeRouge took their life (implanted bombs)
Celine took her life (implanted bomb)
Dimitri took his life (stab in stomach)

"Maybe... the others are dead. From this world, at least."

Morales entered a certain neighborhood not far from the police headquarters. He was a couple blocks away from the house he was heading to when he saw straight black hair, secured in an elastic.

Evaughn was walking his bike when Morales inched his truck close. The boy glanced over his shoulder for less than a millisecond before speeding up.

"Hold on, Evaughn." He lowered his window "I'm a detective. Lieutenant Morales, see?"

Thankfully, he paused, twisting to see the badge. It made him look away with embarrassment. "Oh."

"I just have a question for you, if you don't mind," Morales pocketed the badge. "It's about Dimitri."

Evaughn stiffened. "Uh... I-I think I need a lawyer."

Morales got out of his car to stand before him. "A lawyer. Smart move. But what if I ask you, first? I promise I don't mean harm."

It was hesitant, but he nodded anyway.

"Is there any chance that Dimitri told you anything before he died?"

Evaughn's grip on his handlebars tightened. He looked at the concrete, quietly answering. "He said a lot of things."

"Anything that stuck out to you?"

A rosy breeze covered his cheeks.

"It's alright if not," Morales put out there, noticing.

And it was alright... sort of; Celine's final words had been etched in his mind since she uttered them. But the validity of them—

It's about time I pay him back. In person this time.

—was what he needed a counterpart for.

"There was something... that he said," Evaughn's cheeks were brushed with a shade deeper than roses now. He looked everywhere but the one he was speaking to. "Dimitri called me... p-pretty. That was weird. And he said he... he hopes we meet again."

For Victor Morales, the universe expanded. Burst into infinite stems. Made him feel smaller than an atom. And then smaller than that.

He felt himself nod. Felt his lips move to thank Evaughn for his help. Once he left, Morales stumbled backwards, catching himself against his car as he muttered dazedly.

"I'll be fucking damned."