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His doppelganger arrived fifteen minutes late. Or as a matter of fact, fifteen minutes early, observing the restaurant from a dark alley across the street. Peter had installed a hidden camera on top of a building, an hour prior, sending a live feed to Peter's phone.

The first take of his alter-ego was the helmet, reflecting in a mirror. It was exactly like his own. Plus the leather clothes. 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.

"Don't stare, I'm one meter and seventy," the doppelganger sneered. He was 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.

"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 look at my girls," he flickered a butterfly knife. "Or I end you."

"Girls?"

"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."

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

"I know some smugglers…"

"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 double beckoned. When Peter's ear arrived close enough, he whispered: "There's a culling coming, starting the new scholar year. If a student has a doppelganger on the other floor, and they are both 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 at any stage, they'll be killed too, together with their families."

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

"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 Cultivators, learn in public schools? No, they have private teachers, in their floating palaces. Some faction or noble house wants to train assassins, 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 very good, so for a while, all the problems were forgotten. It was strange to look at himself eating, though. There was a difference in their tastes, though. Peter had an IPA craft beer with his food, the doppelganger a glass of red wine.

"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 blood."

"I know," the doppelganger 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, one 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, he got a good third there. But by then Stalin got the bomb too 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… well… things returned to normal. The French are safe, and we're a Republic."

"With a genocidal maniac on your bills?"

The doppelganger shrugged. "You have a country run by the descendants of somebody who killed millions."

"North Korea?"

"Belgium, bro. Belgium. They killed millions of Congolese. Think about that the next time you drink a beer or have chocolate. 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.

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

"The Sect is ruled by a High Council made of Cultivators ranks nine and ten. They need staff to run things. Tens of thousands of civil servants. Some are girls, and… well," the doppelganger waved his hand over himself, "this pretty face and killer body are in demand. Do you need a drawing?"

Yeah… but collaborating with Nazis? Even mild ones?

"OK, I'm in," Peter said. "But I also have a plan that could help. I need to be able to move between floors, like you do. The higher, the better."

"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, made so by his high heels. Peter facepalmed.