Chapter 12: Space Alien and the Doppelgänger Dilemma

Hi, it’s me again, Sierra Fox. Everyone’s favorite ex-space tyrant who thought it was totally reasonable to add my sister’s boyfriend to my messenger contacts—without asking Lily first. I mean, it’s an elder brother’s duty to snoop and protect, right?

Naturally, Rob’s first message isn’t exactly a warm welcome.

“Uh... who are you? You look like you’re 15.”

Rude. And since he’s nitpicking my obviously 17-year-old look—based on extensive anime research, thank you very much—let’s have some fun with him.

“I’m a space alien,” I type back. Technically true, since my body did just arrive through a wormhole.

Rob replies almost instantly. “Seriously? Stop messing with me. Who are you?”

I lean back, smirking at the screen. Earthlings are so lacking in faith. Every time I tell them the truth, they assume I’m a scammer.

“I told you. Space alien. My ship’s parked just outside the solar system. Only dropped by Earth to live with your girlfriend.”

Rob goes silent for a long time, so I give him a little poke. “Same roof, same room,” I type and hit send.

Nothing. Did he block me? Please. Nobody blocks an ex-space tyrant.

I hacked his phone and changed a bit of settings. Now my messages will go through like uncensored pornography. I sent the message again.

Rob responds, “Seriously, are you for real? And why can’t I block your messages?!”

I grin. “If you don’t believe me, here’s proof.” I attach a picture from last night of a snoring Lily—mouth open, hair a mess—and hit send. That should make things perfectly clear.

Rob goes silent for a while. Then, from down the hall, I hear Lily’s phone ring. A few seconds later, she’s back from the bathroom, toothbrush still in one hand.

At first, she’s all smiles, doing that soft giggle thing girls do when they talk to their boyfriends. But then, slowly, her smile fades.

“Uh-huh… okay… yes… that’s my sister… she did what?”

There’s a pause. Her face grows steadily more serious, eyebrows furrowing into that scary look that means I’m in trouble. “Right. Don’t worry. She’s just… an unmitigated disaster. I’ll talk to her.”

She hangs up, then turns to me, gripping her toothbrush like it’s a weapon for a violent crime.

“Care to explain yourself?”

"Uh... isn’t Mom always saying I should talk to real people? Your boyfriend is real, and he is people, right?” I put on my most innocent face, adding a little head tilt for effect.

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Yes…” She pauses dramatically. “But what I want to know is how you even know about Rob.”

Oh... that. If I told her I was snooping through her belongings, she’d flip out. So, I go with an alternative explanation.

“I have a spaceship out there, remember? There’s nothing on Earth I don’t know.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Alright, then—what’s my favorite rom-com?”

I blink, grasping for an answer. “Uh… My Little Pony?”

“That was ten years ago!” she snaps, crossing her arms. “Stay out of my business if you don’t even know me.”

"Hey! That’s not even fair!" I protest.

Lily gives me a look. “Before you try sticking your nose in my relationship, maybe try living like a normal person first. Get a job, do groceries, make a friend.”

“I already live like a normal person! Look—farms and turnips!” I flash her my perfectly organized pixelated farm on the screen. I might have been dumped by every bachelorette in the game, but at least I’m the only one in this house truly living off the land.

Lily clicks her tongue. "I mean a real job, a real friend, and actually going outside!”

I gasp dramatically, placing a hand over my chest. "Outside? With skin this fair?" I let my shirt slide off one shoulder, revealing my delicate, pale skin to make my point.

Lily raises an eyebrow. "Don’t play dumb—you have nanomachines for that!"

"Alright, I'll try," I sigh, pulling my shirt back up. “But where should I even go today...”

I trail off, realizing I actually have no idea. I’ve got everything here—my family, my ship, and my games. What else could I possibly want?

“How about contacting your old friends?” Lily suggests, then quickly adds, “And no space alien nonsense, please.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t underestimate a professional home-security expert slash gamer. I don’t have any friends.” I shrug. “What did you expect from a gaming shut-in? People always assumed I was ‘the weird one.’”

Lily sighs. “Fine, just… try not to be a creepy stalker.” She turns to leave but then pauses, as if struck by a sudden idea.

“How about you go to the shopping mall and buy your own clothes?” she says, a sly smile creeping onto her face.

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I narrow my eyes. “You think I’ll get stumped at the lingerie department, don’t you?” I can’t read minds, but I know Lily well enough.

She raises an eyebrow, doing her best Spock impression. “Well, since you’re apparently not supposed to steal other people’s designs, it’s only logical for you to stock up your own closet.”

I huff. “Don’t mock me. I’ll show you my new panties… uh, clothes when you get back from school.” I gave a quick, awkward cough, hoping she didn’t notice my slip.

“It’s university! And I’m already in a master’s program!” she snaps, then walks out, shutting the closet door behind her.

Hah. I thought I’d gotten over this whole… body change thing years ago. But being back with family keeps bringing it up. Showing Lily my panties—what a brotherly thing to do.

Thinking of ten years ago… “Grams, can you dig up what really happened to me back then?”

“Didn’t you say you were transported to our universe?” Grams replies, sounding almost bored.

“Sure, that’s what I’ve been saying. But does it really make sense? How did I get there with no tech? And if I got this body, what happened to my old one?” Not to mention the game I used to play—it’s like it never even existed.

“Well, I actually checked into that while you were preoccupied with the U.S. president,” Grams replies casually.

Wait, wasn’t that during our first few seconds arriving in the Sol system?

“And?”

“Are you certain you want the answer?” Grams’s tone shifts, as if she’s holding back something either painful or potentially... incriminating.

“Yes, tell me.” I brace myself for the truth.

Grams pauses, then says, slowly, “James is already dead.” Another pause. “And you… you’re not James.”

“...”

“Are you alright, Sierra?” Grams sends the message again, her tone unusually careful.

“Why… why didn’t you stop me from calling my—James’ family?” I know the answer, deep down, but right now, I need someone else to blame.

“Rule 26: When things look bleak, don’t snuff out the last bit of hope.” Grams replies, quoting the very rule I’d programmed for her.

“...”

A hollow laugh escapes me. “Hah…”

“Well…”

“Can you show me the evidence?”

“Understood. I’m beaming you up to the interrogation room,” Grams says, and in an instant, my bedroom dissolves into the familiar plain white of the ship’s interrogation room. A single table sits in the center.

On the table lies a desiccated body. I step closer, my heart sinking as I realize it’s unmistakably… me. Or rather, James. Even though it’s shriveled, I’d know that face anywhere.

“Where did you find it?” I ask Grams, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It was orbiting the sun, between Earth and Mars,” Grams replies.

“But that still doesn’t explain why I think I’m James,” I retort.

“Here’s the autopsy report.” Grams beam the body out and replace it with several reports.

Analysis Summary Report:

Residual psionic activity was detected with a quantifiable energy signature originating from interdimensional coordinates. The extraction signature shows congruence with a known psionic pattern associated with consciousness transfer. Key findings:

1. Residual Psionic Signature:

* Signature Match: 99.995% match with Subject Sierra Fox (current consciousness carrier)

* Psionic Frequency Variance: Within standard deviation for psionic transfer events

* Energy Dissipation Patterns: Show residual imprint matching intergalactic energy sources

2. Consciousness Transfer Evidence:

* Identifiable brainwave disruptions and synaptic patterns typical of high-impact psionic pulls.

* Charted data reveals overlapping thought patterns between subject James Fox and Sierra Fox.

Conclusion: The overwhelming evidence suggests that an interdimensional consciousness extraction occurred, drawing from Subject James Fox to sustain psionic continuity in Subject Sierra Fox.

“You’re a powerful psionic being,” Grams continues. “According to the empire’s database, you sustained brain trauma during a ship collision in the war ten years ago.”

Oh, right. I remember now—my avatar’s desperate maneuver to ram a capital ship into the intergalactic cult’s space station. And the first moment I’m in this body? It’s right after the collision, waking up with a throbbing pain in my head.

To prevent imminent death, Captain Silverfoxx—or rather, you—used psionic power to pull in a compatible consciousness to repair the damage,” Grams explains, then pauses. “And that consciousness was James.

“So... the ‘non-existent’ space sim game I thought I was playing?” I already know the answer, but I need to hear it.

“That was Captain Silverfoxx’s memory,” Grams concludes.

I blink, absorbing it. So, technically, I was Silverfoxx, but before I died, I ripped James out of his world to patch myself up. Now James is running the show, but the ‘real me’ was just my supposed ‘game avatar’ all along?

I slump onto the floor beside the table, suddenly feeling… hollow. All my memories—James’s childhood, my family, the stupid things Lily and I did together—they’re real to me. I press a hand to my chest. But I’m not James, am I? I’m just borrowing his life, his memories, his very existence.

I think back to every thing I’ve done since I got here, all the moments I thought were mine alone. They’re not. They’re his. And the person my family thinks they know? Just a stranger claiming to be him.

“So, all my existential struggles and family drama?” I mutter. “Not even mine. Figures.”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. None of this—Lily, my family, even my own memories—belongs to me. I thought I’d pieced myself back together all these years, but I realize I’ve only been patching up holes that aren’t even my own. So, who am I?

And the worst part? Silverfoxx’s memories—the “real” me—feel like nothing more than a game, a figment of someone else’s imagination.

Grams’s voice softens just a touch. “Would you like me to beam you back to your room?”

I wave her off. “Don’t bother. Just leave me here.”

“How about your favorite relaxing massage in a holographic room?”

I mute her.

…

I sit there for a long while—it could be hours. This revelation has me rethinking everything I’ve done in the past ten years. But the thought that nags me most is how I’ll ever face my—or, well, James’s—family again. I’m a fraud, after all.

But then, an idea hits me.

“Grams, can you regenerate the real James?” I ask as I unmute her.

“Test, test! Yes, he’s practically freeze-dried out there in space. Just pour hot water on him, and he should spring right back to life,” Grams replies, her sarcastic tendency flaring up again.

I give her a glare. “Enough with the jokes. Can you bring him back, yes or no?”

“Yes,” she admits, “but it would require replacing several organs with cybernetic components, so technically—”

“Turning him into a cyborg,” I finish for her.

“Yes,” she adds, “but I could make him look human and feel like he’s human.”

I nod slowly. “Then do it.”