image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/928ec021-4c65-49cb-a10d-4b3a3af31656/0_0.png]

----------------------------------------

Peter’s doppelganger arrived five minutes early. Peter's first take of his alter-ego was the helmet, reflecting in a mirror. It was almost identical to his own, and the resemblance continued in the leather jacket. Garcia gasped and dropped an empty plate on the floor, probably thinking it was the killer coming to dispose of witnesses. But his expression turned into a sigh of relief a second later, even before the second Peter took off his helmet.

The reason became evident when the doppelganger arrived at the table, and Peter raised to shake hands. The one from Floor Two was… diminutive. An impressive array of piercings, earrings, and tattoos were displayed all over his face and body, and he had muscles that were clearly worked out in a gym.

"Don't stare. I'm one meter and seventy," the look-alike sneered, exaggerating by at least ten centimeters. "Hi, little brother, he said aloud. "I'm born five minutes earlier. Twins," he winked at Garcia. The owner smiled and brought them the menu. They both opted for the salami and pepperoni, frowning at each other, obviously disturbed by the identical tastes.

"So…" Peter said, drumming his fingers on the table, trying not to look at his double's beard, earrings, piercings, and tattoos.

"Let's put things into perspective. You make jokes about my height, I end you," the doppelganger said. "You tell anyone I was here, I end you. And never make a pass at my girls," he flickered a butterfly knife. "Or I end you."

"G-girls?" Peter gasped.

"My harem. Regina, Ariana, and Naomi."

"Look, sh—schmuck," Peter changed 'shorty' at the last second. "Don't underestimate me just because your friend caught me in a moment of vulnerability. Let's talk business. What do you want from me?"

"I don't know yet. That's why I'm here. You're a Cultivator?"

"No. A… Wild Magician."

"Excellent. Ditto. Do you have… connections with the Mafia?" the double lowered his voice. "Or any… interesting people?"

"Maybe… I know some smugglers," Peter decided to show his goodwill by sharing some information.

"It will have to do. I'm recruiting you into the Resistance. Say no, and I end you. We'll have to move people around, faking their deaths. Ask your smugglers if they can do some fake IDs."

Peter rolled his eyes because the question was obvious. "Why?"

"Come here," the look-alike beckoned. When Peter's ear arrived close enough, he whispered: "To hide people. There's a culling coming, starting the new scholar year. If a student has a doppelganger on the other floor, and they both are Cultivators, they're safe. If both have no powers, they're safe. If one is a Cultivator and the other not, the Cultivator will have to kill their double and their family. Killing your other self and loved ones while staring them in the eyes builds character… Cultivator curricula. If they refuse or fail, they'll be killed too, together with their families."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Peter clenched his teeth. "It doesn't add up. One of our teachers gave her life for a student, and she was the meanest bitch."

The doppelganger folded his arms, leaning back with a bitter half-smile. "They don’t know, bro. You get it all wrong. Your teachers are second-rate Cultivators, and the students here, and in every other college, are also second-rate. Cattle, slaves. Do you think the nobles, the pure-blood, learn in public schools? No, they have private teachers in their floating palaces. Some high-ranked faction or noble house wants to break people into heartless minions, and that’s it. No one cares about what the cattle want."

"How do you know all this?"

"Pizza's here," the doppelganger said. "We'll talk later."

Garcia's pizza was good, so all the problems were forgotten for a while. It was strange to look at himself eating, though. There was a difference in their tastes, after all. Peter had an IPA craft beer with his food, the look-alike a glass of the house’s red wine. The true Peter wouldn’t have touched that cheap wine even under torture.

“How long ago were you conquered?” Peter asked when only a slice remained.

“Three years and a couple of months,” the doppelganger said. “They used the same tactic. Big ship, nukes were useless. Not much changed, though. Life went on.”

"And how's life into the fifth Reich?" Peter couldn't stop himself from asking.

"The sixth. Well, life is life…" the double shrugged. "Nothing special."

"Really? Hitler Rex?"

"Hahaha…" the shorter self laughed. "It's history now. Our Adolf was as nuts as yours but had a different enemy. The French… Killed half of them, poor guys…"

"Regina has French heritage."

"I know," the second Peter sighed. "And yet I love her so much… Anyway. Our Adolf didn't hate the Jews, though, so you can connect the dots. Scientists, the bomb. The Germans were the first. Pearl Harbor was atomic; a German Uboot did it. The Reich won the war, and the US surrendered happily. Lots of sympathizers.

“Then he took Canada, mostly to kill the Quebecois… poor guys... But by then, Stalin had also gotten the bomb and conquered Europe. Germany included. The Reich remained only with the US, Canada, and UK. Adolf died in a plane crash; sabotage was suspected, and after that, things returned to normal."

"With a genocidal maniac on your bills?"

The doppelganger shrugged. "Beats the European Soviet Union. Look, let's not argue about politics. In a few months, your Regina and Ariana will be ordered to kill my girls and my Naomi yours."

Goth. But Naomi IS a Cultivator. “Naomi is a cultivator,” Peter voiced the same thing.

“A crippled one… she has made no progress for half a year. They do tend to get rid of those.”

I was going to. "How do you know all this?"

"The Sect is ruled by a High Council of Cultivators. They need staff to run things. Hundreds of thousands of civil servants. Some are girls, and… well," the look-alike waved his hand over himself, "this pretty face and killer body are in demand."

They should be everywhere, Peter half shrugged.

“And those… err… civil servants are where exactly?”

“Floor six.” The doppelganger replied curtly. “You wanna try your hand at seducing some? I’ll tell you my secret. It's all about self-confidence. You can do it too. Do you need a drawing?”

Peter growled, wishing to strangle his double on the spot. “I’m perfectly fine,” he sneered. “Was just curious how many floors are out there.”

“No one knows exactly. It could be a dozen or hundreds. I have been only on floors one, two, three, and six. The sixth is like a huge administrative complex combined with sea and mountain resorts to keep civil servants happy. It’s pretty impressive. There’s another floor where the higher-ups are, and that’s all I know.”

“How did you go from one floor to another?”

“There are secret passages,” the doppelganger shrugged. “Enough questions, mate. Make sure to find someone to make good fake IDs for now, including for your friends. Your Earth is better for hiding, but there’s not much time left. There are a lot of things to take care of. Money, where to go, cover stories… Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”

Peter hated even the thought of collaborating with someone from a Nazi country; nevertheless, the problem was serious and involved Regina.

"OK, I'm in," Peter said. "But in exchange, I want to move between floors."

Optimal.

"I'll see what I can do. We'll keep in touch. You pay… I have only Adolfs on me."

Throwing the napkin on the table, the doppelganger exited with dancy steps, exaggerated by his high heels. Peter facepalmed.