I don’t know what I expected to find when I turned the corner. Maybe another gloomy corridor or a fresh nightmare waiting to eat my face. But this?
This was straight-up Twilight Zone material.
The room stretched wide, lit by a soft, artificial glow that hummed like a bad fluorescent bulb. And smack in the middle of it all—no joke—was my workshop. Or at least, something that looked exactly like it. My cluttered workbench, my half-built lawn mower, even the same bent screwdriver I kept swearing I’d replace but never did.
I blinked. “What... the hell?”
“Congratulations!” Elmo’s voice blared in my head, oozing mockery. “You’ve unlocked the secret Home Depot Dimension! Where dreams go to die, and duct tape fixes everything.”
I ignored him and stepped closer. The details were too perfect. The old coffee mug on the bench still had that little chip from the time I dropped it three years ago. The corkboard on the wall had the same dumb doodle of a dragon I’d sketched during a particularly boring Zoom meeting. Even the faint smell of motor oil and despair was exactly right.
“This can’t be real,” I muttered.
“Oh, it’s real, alright,” Elmo said, voice dripping with faux seriousness. “Real creepy. I mean, look at this place. It’s like your sad little garage had a baby with a sci-fi horror movie. Don’t be surprised if something bursts out of the lawn mower and starts singing show tunes.”
I shot a glare at the air, as if that’d somehow make him shut up. No such luck.
“Oh, c’mon, Blake,” Elmo continued, barely containing his glee. “Don’t tell me this doesn’t scream ‘personal growth montage.’ All you need now is an 80s power ballad and some motivational slow-mo. I hear ‘Eye of the Tiger’ pairs great with midlife crises.”
“Midlife?” I snapped. “I’m not even thirty!”
“Sure, champ,” Elmo quipped. “Tell that to your hairline.”
I groaned and turned my attention back to the room. As unsettling as it was to see this uncanny recreation of my garage, there was no denying one thing: it wasn’t just a copy. The lawn mower glowed faintly, the engine casing pulsating like a heartbeat. That definitely wasn’t standard.
And, of course, the SYSTEM decided now was the perfect time to chime in.
Unidentified Workshop Discovered.
“What does that even mean?” I muttered.
“Means it’s playtime, Sparky,” Elmo said. “Crack open the toolbox, start fiddling with stuff, and see what happens. Worst case, you blow yourself up. Best case, you invent a toaster that doubles as a grenade launcher. Win-win!”
I rolled my eyes and approached the mower. The glow from the engine was hypnotic, like staring into one of those old lava lamps. A soft hum buzzed through my fingertips as I reached out.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I muttered.
“Han Solo, 1977,” Elmo said, his voice dipping into an exaggerated impression. “Man, you’re just a walking cliché, aren’t you? Don’t worry, buddy—I’ve got my popcorn ready. Let’s see if this turns into ‘MacGyver’ or ‘Final Destination.’”
I hesitated for a moment, then picked up a wrench from the bench. It felt... right in my hand, like it belonged there. Maybe this place wasn’t just messing with me. Maybe it was trying to tell me something.
Or maybe it just wanted a front-row seat to watch me screw up.
I tightened my grip on the wrench and leaned over the glowing lawn mower. Up close, the hum was louder, almost rhythmic, like the bassline of a techno song that hadn’t been invented yet. The engine pulsed faintly, its glow throbbing like it had a heartbeat—or was about to explode.
“This is either the most advanced piece of tech I’ve ever seen,” I said, wiping a sweaty palm on my jeans, “or it’s about to melt my face when I open it up.”
“Oh, let’s hope for the second one,” Elmo chirped. “Your face could use a little remodeling. Maybe you’ll come out looking like Chris Hemsworth. Or, y’know, the elephant man.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy,” I muttered.
I crouched down, examining the strange lines etched into the engine casing. They looked like circuit patterns, but they glowed faintly, shifting and rearranging themselves as I watched. Definitely not something I’d find at the local hardware store.
“Alright,” I said, exhaling sharply. “Let’s see what happens.”
“Famous last words,” Elmo said, his voice now mimicking a cheesy movie announcer. “‘Blake Morgan thought he could tinker his way to salvation... but he was dead wrong.’ Coming soon to a streaming service no one asked for.”
Ignoring him, I slid the wrench into a groove that felt almost like it was made for it. The second the metal touched the surface, the glow flared, and the hum kicked up a notch.
“Okay, that’s probably not good,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Not good? Blake, it’s fantastic!” Elmo said, practically cackling. “You’re one step away from creating Skynet! Or, at the very least, a blender that can vaporize you. Either way, I’m entertained.”
The circuits shifted again, and a panel popped open on the side of the mower, revealing an array of gears and something that looked suspiciously like a glowing crystal. A new SYSTEM message appeared in front of me.
SYSTEM MESSAGE:
Proto-Energy Core Acquired.
Compatibility: 85%. Integrate to enhance personal stats or workshop functionality.
“Well, that’s new,” I muttered, squinting at the text.
“Proto-Energy Core?” Elmo snorted. “Sounds like something you’d order off a late-night infomercial. ‘For just four easy payments of $19.99, you too can power your home and accidentally open a portal to another dimension!’”
“Can you take anything seriously for five seconds?”
“Not when you’re holding what looks like a glowing kidney stone,” he said. “C’mon, Blake. Stick it somewhere and see what happens. Worst case, you end up glowing in the dark. Think of the money you’ll save on nightlights!”
I sighed and reached for the crystal, hesitating for half a second before pulling it free. The moment it came loose, the entire mower went dark, the hum cutting off like a blown speaker.
“Uh... is that bad?”
“Define bad,” Elmo said. “If you’re asking if it’ll blow up, probably not. If you’re asking if you just turned off the only cool thing in this dump, then yeah. Way to go, champ.”
I stared down at the now-dark mower, the crystal cool and weighty in my hand. The whole thing felt like a bad magic trick. One minute, it was glowing like the world’s most suspicious lightbulb, and the next, it was as dead as my social life.
Was it supposed to do that? I wondered.
“Alright, let’s think this through,” I muttered to myself, ignoring Elmo's smug little chuckle in my head. “This thing could make me stronger, or it could turn my insides into mush. Not that I haven’t been through worse…”
“Oh, no worries, Blake,” Elmo piped up. “If your insides turn to mush, you can always use that body of yours as a human paperweight. Very symbolic.”
I shot a glance at the now-dark mower, and then back at the crystal in my hand. This was a tough call. I had no idea what kind of energy this thing was packing—could be some kind of god-tier upgrade, or it could be a one-way ticket to an untimely demise. If I used it on myself... well, there was no telling how my body would react to it. Not to mention, I didn’t exactly have the best track record with, well, being alive in this place.
On the other hand, I had survived this far by using tools and resources from outside myself. Every win I’d had came from using ingenuity, like that lawnmower I’d jury-rigged to turn into a weapon, or the makeshift electric zapper that fried that mutant thing back in the hall. Everything had been external—tools, not... me.
But if I gave it to the workshop, maybe I could finally give this place a taste of its own medicine. I wasn’t exactly in love with the idea of becoming some kind of power-up guinea pig.
I chewed my lip, glancing back at the now-dead mower. “Alright. You know what? Screw it.”
“You’re really gonna do this?” Elmo asked, suddenly sounding concerned, which only made me more suspicious. “You sure? ‘Cause once you give it away, it’s gone. Not like you can just poof it back into your hand like some magic bean or something.”
“I’m sure,” I said, finally making up my mind. “I’ve survived by thinking outside the box. Let’s see what happens when I apply the same principle to this.”
With a deep breath, I stepped over to the workbench. The mower’s engine was still glowing faintly, and the whole setup looked... almost disappointed, like I’d let it down. Maybe it was just me projecting. Maybe it was the fact that I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
“You’re such a genius,” Elmo mocked. “Here’s an idea, Blake—just stick it into the thing and see what happens. Maybe you’ll accidentally invent the next iPhone. Or maybe the next disaster. Who’s to say?”
Ignoring Elmo, I held the crystal up to the glowing slot where I’d pulled it from. It fit perfectly, just like I’d hoped. I could feel the weight of it, a strange buzzing in the air as I pushed it into place.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, as soon as it clicked into place, the entire workshop lit up. It wasn’t a normal glow—it was a full-on transformation. Lights that flickered to life overhead, humming with energy. The workbench’s surface shimmered, and tools that had been lying dormant now pulsed with life. Even the lawnmower's engine had come back to life, its lights flashing like a brand-new vehicle, but this time, it was more than just a mower. It was like it was alive.
“Well, well, well…” Elmo’s voice took on an almost reverent tone. “Look at you, Blake. Looks like you just built yourself a workshop worthy of Tony Stark. Too bad you still look like a guy who’s never seen the inside of a gym.”
“Shut up, Elmo,” I said with a grin. “But seriously—this is... incredible.”
The whole workshop had been upgraded. I could feel the power surging through it, like the place had been injected with life. Everything that had felt like a decaying relic was now vibrant, functional. It was more than just a couple of new tools or some high-tech doodads. This was a fully integrated system that hummed with the promise of creation. The whole place felt like it could go toe-to-toe with anything this labyrinth threw at me—and that felt... good.
I ran my hand over the now-glowing workbench, taking in the smooth surface, the way the tools almost seemed to lean toward me. It was like the whole workshop was anticipating my next move.
“Well, aren’t you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside,” Elmo remarked sarcastically. “I bet the tools are gonna start offering you advice like your mom when you were eight. ‘Don’t forget to tighten that screw, sweetie, it’s important for the structure.’”
I let out a low laugh. “I’ll take my chances. If it’s offering free upgrades, I’m all for it.”
A new message appeared on the screen, and I almost couldn’t believe it.
SYSTEM UPDATE:
Workshop Enhanced.
New blueprints available. Access to advanced materials unlocked.
“Wait... blueprints?” I said aloud. “What kind of blueprints?”
“Advanced blueprints, Blake,” Elmo said, his voice taking on a dramatic tone. “That’s code for ‘you’ve got the tech now to build some seriously cool stuff.’ We’re talking lasers, rocket launchers, maybe even a robot butler who will look at you like you’re an idiot. You’ve got the tools to make it happen. We have the technology. We have the capability. So get to work, and let’s see what you’re made of!”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
I paused for a moment, soaking in the weight of the upgrade. This workshop wasn’t just a place to patch things up—it was now a command center.
I had no idea what I’d be able to build, but I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t going into the next fight with just a lawnmower blade.
Maybe now, with some real firepower at my disposal, I’d be able to take the fight to this damn labyrinth.
As I stared at the workbench, a small notification flickered in my peripheral vision. I glanced at it, half-expecting something meaningless, but it was a SYSTEM UPDATE.
+1 Wisdom
I froze for a second, letting the words sink in. Wisdom. That felt... significant. I’d just made the decision to invest in the workshop, not in myself. And the system had rewarded me for it.
I wasn’t just some random player running around leveling up by hacking and slashing. I was learning. Adapting. The system was smart enough to recognize that. It had rewarded my choice, and I had a feeling that wasn’t the last time it would.
Elmo’s voice broke my thoughts, still cheery and annoyingly upbeat. “What’s the matter, Blake? You look like you just realized you’re not as dumb as you thought. Wait, did you just get some sort of upgrade? Tell me it’s not ‘level up’ again. We’ve had enough of those, right?”
I smirked, not bothering to look up from the workbench. “No, it’s Wisdom. +1 Wisdom.”
“Elmo’s voice got serious, if only for a second. “Ah, the ol’ wisdom boost. You know what that means? It means you’re making the right choices, Blake. You’ve learned that sometimes doing the hard work pays off. Your decision to upgrade the workshop instead of yourself? That’s the kind of thing that gets rewarded. You’re on the right track, kid.”
I nodded to myself, feeling a sense of quiet satisfaction. It was a good choice. The kind of choice that mattered in the long run. I had survived so far by relying on external tools, and now, by giving the workshop a boost, I’d given myself the tools I needed to really level up—at my own pace, on my own terms.
The system wasn’t just a game—it was paying attention. And it wasn’t interested in just rewarding brute force. It recognized hard work. It recognized the wisdom to choose something better in the long term.
For the first time since arriving in this strange, hostile place, I felt like I was finally in control. The kind of control that didn’t come from slashing through monsters or stealing the spotlight. It came from making the right decisions. From thinking things through.
“Alright, Elmo,” I muttered, walking back to the workbench. “You got me thinking. What’s the first thing I should build? A turret? A giant mech suit? Or maybe just a flamethrower. You know, something simple.”
Elmo’s voice piped up, way too cheerful for the mood I was in. “Ooh, a flamethrower sounds nice. But let’s be real—nothing says ‘I mean business’ like a rocket launcher. Think about it: You’ve got the tech, you’ve got the tools, now let’s see you blow something up. I’ll even throw in some special blueprints for that. You know, ones that’ll make your enemies go, ‘Wait, was that an explosion or did my soul just leave my body?’”
I chuckled despite myself, knowing full well Elmo was right. A rocket launcher did sound like something I could get behind. But, as much as I loved the idea of adding some big boom to my arsenal, I wasn’t exactly swimming in materials yet.
“Okay, fine, I’ll start with something I can actually make. How about... a heavy-duty crossbow? A good mix of range and power, and it doesn’t need a ton of high-end parts.”
“Crossbow, huh? Kind of old-school, but I guess I’ll allow it. Still, don’t get too cozy with that, okay? You’ll want a backup plan when that thing inevitably breaks in the middle of a fight.”
I smirked. “Yeah, that’s probably true. But it’s a start. One step at a time, right?”
Elmo’s voice took on a mock-heroic tone. “One step at a time, indeed. Just don’t get too cocky. Remember: you’re still in the labyrinth. You know, the place where things go to die. Keep that in mind while you’re out here crafting the next big thing.”
I rolled my eyes. “I get it. It’s dangerous. I’ll be careful. But you know what? I think it’s time I started making my own luck.”
I started pacing around the workshop, feeling the weight of my decision sink in. A heavy-duty crossbow wasn’t going to win me any awards for originality, but it would give me a solid weapon to start with. I’d been relying on whatever I could find, but if I was going to keep surviving in this hellhole, it was time to get serious.
Picking up a stack of scrap metal and some old wood, I began sketching out the basic design on a piece of discarded blueprint paper.
“Elmo, you still there?” I asked, laying down the initial measurements.
“Always, kid,” Elmo replied, sounding like he was snacking on popcorn. “Let me guess, you’re going for function over flair now? Like some kind of high-tech knight with a crossbow and a dream?”
“Pretty much,” I muttered, measuring the crossbow frame. “It’s got to be sturdy, simple, and able to handle whatever I throw at it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're a practical guy, Blake. Still, I’m kind of disappointed. No lasers? No plasma bolts? Just some sticks and string? Really?” Elmo said, his voice dripping with mockery.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Hey, slow and steady wins the race. And besides, I’m not trying to be the next Transformer. I don’t need to convert into a sports car or anything.”
Elmo perked up at that, his voice suddenly way too enthusiastic. “Oh, wait—now you’re talking! You want to make this thing transform? Like, it’s a crossbow, but also, I don’t know, a drone or something that shoots fireballs or—”
I cut him off, shaking my head. “Let’s focus on not blowing myself up first, okay?”
“Elmo sounded disappointed, like a kid who didn’t get his favorite toy. “Pfft, fine. But you’re telling me you wouldn’t want a crossbow that transforms into a giant mech? That’s totally a missed opportunity.”
I grinned as I started hammering out the basic structure of the crossbow. “Maybe once I’m swimming in more scrap. First, I need something that works.”
“Fair enough,” Elmo replied with a mock sigh. “You’re such a buzzkill. I’m just saying, you’ve got the tech now. You could make this crossbow so much cooler—like, imagine the trigger could transform into a shield or something. And the bowstring could be a laser grid, or—”
“I’m good with a simple, traditional setup,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’ve got to leave room for improvements. One step at a time, right?”
Elmo paused, probably giving that some thought. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’ve got to build it first. But when you get that thing up and running? Just don’t forget that we could’ve made it way cooler. I'm just saying—I'm here for you. In case you change your mind and want to slap some lasers on that thing or turn it into a flying robot ninja.”
I smirked, tightening a bolt into place. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The framework started to take shape, and I found myself growing more and more invested in the project. I wasn't just building a crossbow. I was building something that would give me a fighting chance to survive. A weapon that could keep me alive in the labyrinth.
“Alright, Elmo, let’s get down to the specifics,” I muttered as I worked. “The arms need to be strong but light. I’ll need to reinforce the metal with some of this scrap, maybe repurpose those old springs from the broken carts.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a plan,” Elmo said, the sarcasm in his tone fading just a bit. “Though, I’ll be honest, I was expecting you to be more of a ‘let’s use a jetpack and shoot rockets while riding a motorcycle’ kind of guy.”
I snorted. “I’ll stick to what works for now. I’ll leave the jetpacks for later.”
“Suit yourself,” Elmo said. “But when you’re out there in the labyrinth, I’ll be the one saying ‘I told you so’ when the crossbow breaks in half mid-fight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “If that happens, I’ll make sure it’s on your tab.”
“Pfft, I’m not the one with the crappy crossbow. You’re the one that’s gonna get stuck with a broken piece of junk, not me,” Elmo retorted, clearly enjoying himself.
I chuckled under my breath, but kept working. Elmo could joke all he wanted, but as the crossbow took shape, I felt a strange sense of pride. This was mine. I was building it with my own hands—well, mostly, with Elmo’s unsolicited commentary in the background. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about proving to myself that I could craft my own future, piece by piece.
With each new section of the crossbow, I felt more confident. The materials weren’t top-tier, but they were enough. I could work with this.
"Alright, Elmo," I said, tightening the final screw. "This is it. Crossbow’s done."
Elmo hummed, probably pretending to sound impressed. "Ooooh, fancy. Now just don't shoot your eye out, kid."
I grinned. "I’ll keep that in mind."
I propped the finished crossbow against the workbench, stepping back to admire my work. It wasn’t much to look at—rough edges, mismatched materials, a slight wobble in the stock—but it was mine.
“Alright, Elmo,” I said, brushing the sweat from my forehead. “Time to test this bad boy out.”
“Yeah, great idea,” Elmo chirped. “Let’s test the first weapon you’ve built here by firing it in a confined space. What could possibly go wrong?”
I smirked, ignoring him, and turned toward the lawn mower. It sat there like a metal beast, quiet and imposing in the dim light of the workshop. Something about it was… off. The way the faint light from the crystal on the workbench hit its surface, almost shimmering like it was alive.
“Elmo,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes, “you seeing this?”
“Seeing what?” he replied, a note of genuine confusion in his voice. “It’s just your Frankenstein mower. Or are you finally realizing you’ve got a flair for creepy aesthetics?”
“No, it’s…” I stepped closer, my gut tightening. The mower wasn’t where I’d left it. I was sure of it. “It’s moved.”
“Moved?” Elmo’s tone shifted to mockery. “Oh no, the big bad mower’s alive! Quick, hide the children!”
“Elmo, I’m serious.” My hand instinctively reached for the crossbow. “I parked it against the wall. Now it’s in the middle of the floor.”
There was a long pause, and then Elmo whispered in a low, sing-song voice, “The call is coming from inside the house.”
I ignored him, my eyes locked on the mower. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right. The room felt colder, heavier, like the air itself was pressing down on me.
Then, just as I took another cautious step forward, the mower twitched.
I froze. “Did you see that?”
“Oh yeah,” Elmo said, his voice oddly giddy. “It’s alive! It’s alive! You’ve officially created your first monster, Doc Frankenstein.”
“Elmo—shut up.” My grip tightened on the crossbow as I crouched, my heart pounding. “Something’s wrong.”
The mower twitched again, but this time it wasn’t subtle. Its metal body jerked violently to one side, wheels scraping against the stone floor. And then, as I watched in disbelief, it unfolded.
“What. The. Hell,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of grinding metal.
The mower’s blades extended outward like claws, its frame elongating into a grotesque, humanoid shape. The headlights—once dull and cracked—flared to life, glowing an eerie, blood-red hue.
“Elmo, what am I looking at?” My voice shook as I raised the crossbow, aiming at the monstrosity in front of me.
“Well,” Elmo said, unnervingly calm, “if I had to guess, I’d say you’re looking at you. Or at least something trying really hard to be you.”
“What?” I risked a glance away from the creature, confused.
“Look closer, buddy,” Elmo continued. “That’s not just a killer lawn mower—it’s your doppelgänger. And wow, I’ve got to say, you look way scarier with spinning blades for arms.”
As if on cue, the creature fully straightened, standing at nearly seven feet tall. Its metallic chest twisted and shifted, forming a grotesque, vaguely humanoid torso. The face, however, was the worst part—it was a crude, metallic replica of my own. A twisted parody of me, grinning maniacally with glowing red eyes.
The doppelgänger cocked its head, mimicking my movements, before letting out a low, mechanical growl.
“This is bad,” I muttered, backing up.
“Bad? Nah,” Elmo quipped. “This is terrible. Congrats, Blake, you’ve officially pissed off the labyrinth enough that it made you your very own evil twin. I’m so proud.”
The creature lunged, blades spinning, and I barely had time to dive out of the way. Its claws raked across the workbench, sending sparks flying as wood and metal splintered.
“Great, it’s fast,” I said, scrambling to my feet and fumbling to notch an arrow into the crossbow.
“Fast, deadly, and looks just like you,” Elmo said. “It’s like the labyrinth took all your best qualities and then made them horrifying. Except the good looks—that’s all on you.”
I ignored him, leveling the crossbow at the doppelgänger as it turned to face me again. Its movements were jerky, almost unnatural, but there was a strange intelligence in its glowing eyes—a predatory awareness that sent chills down my spine.
I fired. The arrow flew true, striking the doppelgänger square in the chest. It staggered back, sparks flying from the impact, but it didn’t go down. Instead, it straightened, ripping the arrow out with one clawed hand and tossing it aside like it was nothing.
“Oh, that’s not good,” I said, backing up further.
“Ya think?” Elmo snapped. “Maybe next time, try aiming for the face, or, I don’t know, run?”
The doppelgänger charged again, faster this time, its spinning blades shrieking as they cut through the air. I dodged to the side, barely avoiding the deadly claws, and stumbled into the far corner of the workshop.
“Blake,” Elmo said, his voice uncharacteristically serious, “you’re gonna have to do something big, or this thing’s gonna turn you into mulch.”
The doppelgänger lunged again, its movements a chaotic blur of metal and malice. I dove behind the workbench, the spinning blades screeching as they carved deep gouges into the floor where I’d just been standing.
“Big, huh?” I muttered, scrambling to my feet. “Define big, Elmo!”
“Big like... I don’t know, Die Hard meets Terminator big! Make a statement!” Elmo snapped back. “Maybe try not dying as a first step?”
I gritted my teeth, glancing around the workshop. My newly built crossbow lay on the bench, but the doppelgänger was between me and it, its glowing red eyes scanning for my next move.
The room shook as it swiped at a stack of tools, sending wrenches and bolts scattering across the floor. A heavy toolbox tumbled over, landing inches from my foot. I grabbed the largest wrench I could find and held it in front of me like a makeshift club.
“Yeah, because this’ll stop it,” I muttered.
“Hey, if it worked for Mario,” Elmo chimed, “maybe you’ll get lucky and hit a weak spot. Bonus points if you scream ‘Mama mia’ while you’re at it.”
The doppelgänger snarled and charged again, its claws gouging deep furrows in the concrete as it gained speed. I barely had time to leap aside, the wrench slipping from my sweaty grip and clanging uselessly to the floor.
“Blake!” Elmo’s voice cut through the chaos. “Distraction isn’t a strategy—it’s desperation. Do something smart before you’re toast!”
The words hit like a slap. He wasn’t wrong. I’d been reacting, not thinking. I’d built this workshop to be a place of creation, innovation—a place where I could have an edge. And now I was using it like a glorified hiding spot.
The doppelgänger skidded to a halt and turned toward me, its blades revving with an almost taunting rhythm. It was learning, adapting to my movements. I could see it in the way it slowed, watching, calculating.
And it was faster than I’d ever be. Stronger, too.
But I was smarter. I had to be.
I darted toward the back of the workshop, grabbing a heavy coil of wire from the floor. The doppelgänger followed, faster than I anticipated, its claw grazing my arm as I twisted away. Pain flared, but I didn’t stop. My fingers worked quickly, tying one end of the wire around a support beam and the other to a set of industrial clamps on the bench.
“Okay, Elmo,” I said, my voice tight with adrenaline, “tell me this thing runs on electricity.”
“Runs on murder, but close enough,” he replied. “What’s the plan? Because if it involves getting diced, I give it a solid D-minus.”
Ignoring him, I yanked a power cable from the workbench, sparks flying as I exposed the copper wires. The doppelgänger charged again, its blades slicing through the air with lethal precision. I ducked low, the claws missing me by inches, and jammed the exposed cable into the coil.
The wire sparked to life, crackling with raw energy as the makeshift trap hummed dangerously.
“Clever,” Elmo said, his tone impressed. “Or insane. Honestly, I’m here for both.”
The doppelgänger rounded on me, its eyes locking onto the sparking wire. I stood my ground, my heart hammering in my chest as it prepared to lunge.
“Come on,” I muttered, the words barely audible over the hum of the charged wire. “Come and get me.”
It launched itself forward, blades spinning, its metal frame reflecting the glow of the electric current. I sidestepped at the last moment, grabbing the other end of the cable and slamming it into the doppelgänger’s back.
The room filled with a blinding flash as the electricity surged through its body. The creature convulsed, its movements jerky and erratic, but it didn’t go down. Instead, it turned toward me, smoke rising from its scorched frame, and I realized with a sinking feeling that I’d only pissed it off.
“Uh, Blake?” Elmo said, his voice edged with panic. “Plan B? You do have a Plan B, right?”
The doppelgänger roared, its damaged blades spinning faster than ever as it advanced. I stumbled backward, my mind racing for an answer, for anything that could stop it.
“Blake,” Elmo said again, this time almost pleading. “You need to—”
The walls of the workshop trembled violently, cutting him off. A deep, guttural growl echoed through the room, louder than the doppelgänger’s whirring blades, shaking the very foundation beneath my feet.
I froze, my eyes darting to the source of the sound.
And then I saw it.
The far wall of the workshop buckled inward, cracking under the weight of something massive just beyond it.
“Oh no,” Elmo whispered, for once at a loss for a quip. “Ohhh no.”
The doppelgänger turned toward the noise, its head tilting as if sensing a rival.
The wall gave way, and something far worse than the doppelgänger began to emerge.