After a fight to the death with his own double, Tim was understandably cautious as he proceeded along the hedgerows. Instead of hustling forward with the cart, fascinated by the wonder of the alien environment, now he walked slowly, expecting some kind of monster to pop out from behind an orange leaf at any moment. The stamped path on his forearm led him on through the maze until in the distance he could see a large wrought iron gate. It looked like something from a cheesy gothic movie about Dracula, with ornate fillagree and extra spikes extending from the rails. The gate was open, drawn to the top like a portcullis despite the lack of castle behind it, and Tim approached slowly trying to figure it out.
The architecture was strange enough to capture his attention at a distance. When he got closer though his focus was captured by something else. A man stood to one side of the gate, dressed in a long brown robe. It was somewhere between a blanket over his shoulders and a bathrobe, but it managed to seem dignified despite the fact that Tim usually associated robes with nursing homes or pajamas. This guy rocked it in a Jedi kind of fashion, and his face was all too familiar. Once again Tim was staring at a man who could be a carbon copy of himself, although this one at least had the decency to wear the goatee required of an evil twin. Tim made sure to park the sample cart between himself and his hirsute Jedi counterpart.
“Uh, so are these the droids I’m looking for?”
“That doesn’t even make sense, Tim. Are we truly that desperate to sound clever?”
“Don’t be a dick, man. The last me tried to smash my brains out with a hammer, but at least he didn’t mock me. Let me guess, this is some kind of ghost of Christmas past thing? The first double was the physical so what, you’re the metaphysical?”
“A fair intuition, my young padawan. The other was a representation of how you perceived the natural world to work. I am the representation of that which you do not understand.”
“No need to be condensating. Oh wait, that’s liquid water forming from rapid temperature change. Honestly, man, if you represent shit I don’t understand shouldn’t you be a chick?”.
“Ah, I should clarify. A representation of how you interact with the world in ways that you do not understand. The prior iteration interacted in ways that you understood. He used physical force, logic, etc to interface with reality. Aspects of the multiverse, however, require an interface at a different level. Soul, chi, manna, aura, you have dozens of constructs within your mind that approximate it. The beta trial will serve to solidify the way that human kind accesses the multiverse.”
“So, what? You’re the magic me? Fair warning, I’ve seen the David Blaine netflix special so if you’re going to impress me, you better bring it.”
“I’ve no need to impress you, Tim. Much like the physical counterpart, I’m here to kill you.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He waved his hand in the air somewhat casually and a wall of flame flew at Tim. There was a dull whumpf as all the oxygen in the area rushed to the conflagration. Tim screamed in fear and cowered down behind the inadequate shelter of the metal sample cart. It was over in less than a second. He felt intense heat, and his mouth went dry despite the large cart taking the brunt of the fireball. Then even that shelter was taken from him as the new Not-Tim waved an arm and invisible hands yanked the rolling cart from between them. Tim was terrified but the lizard part of his brain was hard at work, and it told him his only chance of survival was to close the distance and attack before anything else could happen.
He lunged to his feet and staggered forward. It wasn’t much of an attack, more of a high school football tackle. Even this many years later Tim still had the muscle memory. Keep your head up, lower your body at the hips, bring your head across and run through the tackle. He wrapped Not-Tim up in a manner that would have made Coach Robertson proud. In a marked lack of good sportsmanship however, he had also pulled his dikes from the leather case at his belt. They were sturdy things, meant to trim sprues from the fittings at the factory, and they came to a fairly sharp point on the end. As Tim made his tackle he tried driving that point into Not-Tim’s kidney.
“GNaaaahhh”
It wasn’t clear if Tim made the noise or his opponent. The dykes drew blood, but there is a reason duels were fought with daggers rather than pointy pliers. They failed to penetrate more than an inch or so past Not-Tim’s robe. Then there was a blinding flash of light and a sound of crackling like bacon frying and Tim found himself lying prone on the grass. Tim shook and trembled, not from fear but it seemed like his muscles had somehow been overruled. His own face with a now sinister seeming goatee stared down at him.
“A crude physical attack from the mind which generated me. I am truly appalled. Your long term memory has thousands of images of mythic heroes and villains harnessing the powers of the cosmos to control limitless destruction and you try to beat me up with your fists. Its pathetic.”
“You mean I have magic powers?”
“We’ve already established that I am merely a representation of you. Of course you have powers. Unfortunately, as you are aware of the evil overlord rules so am I. I will not be monologuing as you attempt to learn how to harness them. I believe I’ll simply kill you now.”
As soon as Tim became aware of the possibility, somehow his mind made an impossible connection. The hundreds of times he’d handled the dikes; trimming parts, opening packaging of snacks in the break room, even nipping his own finger when he was trimming one of the fiddly bits. It was almost like the familiar tool was a part of him. Just like an effortless flex of his will could make his fist clench or his toe tap, it made the dikes open and close. Like a murderous Pac-Man the dykes began to work their way deeper into Not-Tim’s side just as he finished speaking.
“Son of a bitch.”
The man’s face wrenched in pain as his torso contorted, trying to reach around and pull the dykes out of his lower back. Tim chose that moment to continue his crude attack in the crudest way possible. Flat on his back he kicked up and rammed the sole of his boot into his doppleganger’s crotch. The new Not-Tim fell to one knee, still flailing at the source of incredible pain in his side and Tim scrambled forward and threw a punch. He was trying to hit the man in the head, a hasty plan to knock him out before he could use his powers the only thing he could think of. Luckily for Tim, he hadn’t practiced throwing punches while crawling and instead the blow thudded into the side of his opponents neck. He felt a crack as his fist landed and at first he assumed he’d broken a knuckle, but his opponent fell limp, his arms no longer even trying to pull the blood slicked pliers from his back.
A broken neck wasn’t necessarily fatal though, so with an effort of will Tim shut off the rythmiclly moving pliers before grabbing them physically and plunging them down rather messily into the softer parts of his opponents undefended body. By the time he was finished, Tim was covered in blood and panting hoarsely, winded from the frantic activity and the adrenalin. He thrust himself to his feet, and staggered away from the gruesome reminder of his activity before flopping back down in the open gateway and breathing hoarsely. Another of those text boxes appeared before him then.
Congratulations. You have completed your portion of the Beta Trial. Points will be awarded based on performance once calculated. Please secure all personal effects before transporting in 3. . . 2. . . 1. . .