Worlds Apart

by James Riley

  “I don’t know if anyone will ever get this,” she said. “But if anyone’s watching, Nobody did this. He destroyed Quanterium.” She nodded off-screen, and the camera turned to show a very similar sight to what Bethany had found when she arrived. “He took all of our Prospect Enhancers, and the research, then blew up most of them in the middle of the city. I think we’re going to lose the entire planet, if not more.”

  Bethany shook her head in silence. Nobody . . . had done all of this? Was it all like Kiel had said, to restart the fictional world by turning it back into pure possibility? Even if that was the case, these were people’s lives! Even if they still somehow existed, this was beyond cruel and terrible.

  “I’m going to save my people,” Charm said, slapping a panel closed on her robotic arm. The arm leaped to life, and she grabbed one of the possibility ray guns. “We don’t have many options left, so I’m going to the one place where I know I can find help.” She sighed, long and deep. “I really, really hate to do this. But as it is, I think only the Magister might be able to help.”

  “What?!” Bethany and Kiel shouted at the same time.

  Her father had told her the Magister had escaped from the textbook she’d left him in, showing up with Nobody when he’d split her in two. But now he was back in his original story?

  “So that’s where I’m headed with my people, to see him and beg for his help. If I don’t make it back—and Kiel, you’re the one watching this . . .” She paused, then looked at the screen with red, wet eyes. “I lost my family, I lost my people, and I’ve lost my planet. I’m not losing you, too. Wherever you are, I will find you. I promise.”

  And then the video went dark.

  Kiel was silent as Bethany stared at him. “The Magister is back?” she said quietly. “If that’s true, he must still be working with Nobody, and probably helped destroy this whole planet!”

  Kiel nodded, then sighed. “There’s no help for it. We’ve got no choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we’re going to have to go have a little talk with my former teacher,” Kiel said. “And if he harmed one wire in Charm’s head, I’ll make him wish he’d never been written.”

  Bethany grinned evilly. “I’m on board. Let’s—”

  She stopped in midsentence as something metallic clanked outside in the entrance hall. They both went silent, listening carefully as the clang repeated, then again. Kiel’s eyes widened, and he pulled Bethany farther back into the lab, behind some tables.

  “Do you think that’s a Quanterian?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I recognize that sound. Those are Science Police robots. And we’re in trouble.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Owen awoke to two black helmets strapping him into what looked like a dentist chair as a woman in a lab coat applied some sort of pads with wires to his forehead.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted, trying to break free, but the straps held firm.

  One of the black helmets tightened them even more, sending pain shooting through his arm. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice that same odd monotone. “Disobeying orders will cause you pain.”

  “Don’t worry, this should only hurt when it’s meant to,” the woman in the lab coat said. She bent down over Owen, spread his eyes wide with her fingers, then stared into them one at a time. “We put any suspected fictional sympathizer through this mental test to determine where their loyalty actually lies. And if you are a traitor to your reality, well, you’re not going to enjoy what comes next.” She grinned maliciously.

  “Traitor?” Owen said, his heart racing in a way that made him even more nervous. “This is all a huge mistake. I’m just a normal kid!”

  The woman snorted. “I doubt that. But a little advice, just in case you are innocent: I’d try to relax. I’m told the process is slightly less painful if you don’t fight it.” She stood back up. “Now, please concentrate on the screen in front of you as long as you can. Most patients don’t last more than a few minutes.”

  A few minutes?! What was this?

  The woman and the black helmets all left the room, and for a moment nothing happened. Then a screen appeared in the air above him, just like when Charm used to write in midair using her robotic finger. A smiling man and woman flashed on the screen, both wearing lab coats as they walked through a park with children playing around them.

  “Hello!” the man said. “My name is Dr. Anthony Root, and I’m real.”

  The woman waved. “My name is Dr. Emily St. James, and I’m real as well!”

  Dr. Root gestured around himself. “That means we come from the real world, the nonfictional world. The nonfictional world is one where things make sense, and our children get to grow up safe from impossible things and ideas.” He smiled and patted the head of a child who ran by, then put on a more serious look. “But our world is now threatened by one of the worst evils to ever exist: the fictional.”

  Owen bit his lip anxiously, not liking where this was going at all. What had happened here that everyone knew fictional people really existed? Could fictional people actually have invaded somehow in the last five years?

  “These people, the fictionals, don’t truly exist like we do,” Dr. St. James said. “Because of that, they hate us. And that hatred compels them to do anything in their power to destroy us.” She smiled at Dr. Root. “That’s why we’re all so thankful for the PFFIA, the Protection From Fictional Invasions Agency. As everyone knows, the PFFIA was created after the first invasion from the fictional world.”

  This had really happened? But how could fictional people invade the real world if Nobody had separated the two worlds?

  As if the video heard his thoughts, the screen shifted and turned much darker. Images now showed evil-looking soldiers rising up out of the pages of books, wearing science fiction armor and shooting strange laser weapons at fleeing crowds of what had to be nonfictionals. At the bottom, a disclaimer stated that this was a reenactment of events, even as a fictional warrior laughed evilly on the screen.

  “The problem is, fictionals often look just like you and me,” Dr. Root said as the horrifying reenactment faded away. “So how can we tell the good, nonfictional people from the evil, reality-hating fictionals?”

  The image shifted to scientists just like the ones who’d tested Owen and Kara. “The PFFIA has advanced technology that can determine if a person is fictional or not,” said Dr. Root’s voice over an image of a man being scanned. The video zoomed in on the scan, which showed a human shape; a large stamp then came down on the scan that read “NONFICTIONAL” in big red letters.

  Next, a second man was scanned, only this time, the machine showed the outline of a monstrous creature with huge, clawed hands and tentacles coming out of its back. The creature was stamped “FICTIONAL,” and alarms began to ring.

  “But sometimes, we can’t tell a person’s true nature just by scanning them,” Dr. Root said, appearing back on the screen. “Sometimes, nonfictional people are brainwashed or tricked into helping the fictionals. And there are some who even hate the nonfictional world themselves, and so side with evil against their own people.”

  “To root these traitors out, Dr. Root and I came up with a series of questions that will help us determine if you, in fact, side with our enemy,” Dr. St. James said, smiling at the camera.

  “You’re going to be given a series of questions to see where you, a supposed nonfictional, stand on fictionals,” Dr. Root said as a boy skipped by him holding ice cream.

  “Let’s hope you show yourself to be a true nonfictional,” Dr. St. James said as fireworks started exploding in the daytime sky behind them and music swelled. “After all, if you’re siding with the fictionals, you’re putting your entire world in danger.” Black helmets filled in around both doctors, pointing their weapons directly at Owen. “And if there’s one thing the PFFIA won’t allow, it’s for our people to ever live in danger.”

  Both doctors disappeared then, and words a
ppeared line by line on the screen.

  Question 1: When was the first fictional invasion of our world?

  A. Four years ago, by a group of futuristic terrorists.

  B. They’ve been invading our minds for centuries whenever we read a fictional book.

  C. What invasion?

  “Please answer each question verbally,” Dr. St. James’s voice said from off-screen.

  Owen started to hyperventilate, the image of the black helmets aiming their ray gun rifles at him flashing through his mind. How was he supposed to know when the invasion happened? Should he pick B, since that seemed like a pretty safe choice considering how much these people hated fictionals?

  But what if the buttons on his head could determine if he was lying, just like the interrogators had earlier? Maybe it’d be better to just answer honestly, so they’d give him points for not lying? “Uh, answer C,” Owen said quietly.

  “I’m sorry, that’s incorrect,” Dr. Root’s voice said. “Obviously the invasion four years ago was the most notable time, but in actuality, the fictional world has been infecting us with its impossible ideas since the very first book was written.”

  Both doctors appeared back on-screen. “Realizing the true history and extent of fictionals’ hatred of us is important,” Dr. St. James said, stepping forward. “To help you learn, our scientists have determined that each wrong answer must be punished. That way your mind will internalize the correct responses quicker!”

  “Don’t worry, though,” Dr. Root said. “This punishment will be nothing you haven’t seen before. That’s because our machines will take your own worst memories and make you relive them for each wrong answer. This way, you’ll be on the right track to learning in no time!”

  Owen’s eyes widened. What did they—

  A Tyrannosaurus rex ran at him, its mouth wide as it roared. Owen screamed in terror and tried to run, but he just wasn’t fast enough. All around him the jungle was too dense to push through, and if he stayed on the path, he’d surely be eaten.

  The T. rex lunged, its jaws dripping . . .

  Owen let out a terrified scream, only to find himself back in the dentist chair, staring at the man and woman on-screen again. He screamed again, then again for good measure as his heart raced in his chest. That had felt so real, like he was actually being chased! But if that was a memory, when had it happened? He remembered the time prison, and dinosaurs roaring outside, but he and Kara had escaped out the exit door the very first day he’d woken up. He’d never been eaten by dinosaurs . . .

  Had he?

  What if he really was there for more than one day, and some part of his mind . . . remembered?

  “That wasn’t pleasant, I’m sure,” Dr. St. James said.

  “So for your sake, try to get this next question correct,” Dr. Root said with a smile.

  Question 2: Are all fictional people bad?

  A. No, just the majority. There are probably some good ones, I assume.

  B. Yes, every single one of them hates our reality and would destroy our world if they could.

  C. Just the villains, like Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster.

  “Again, please respond verbally,” Dr. St. James said.

  Sweat ran down Owen’s neck as he squirmed in his bindings. He couldn’t deal with another wrong answer, not if it was anything like the first. But what did these people want to hear? Obviously they hated fictional people, apparently because of the invasion. Though Kara’s idea that their lack of imagination made them selfish since they couldn’t picture what it was like to live as someone else seemed to make more sense.

  If that was the case, then it seemed like they’d think answer B was the right choice, then.

  “Um, B?” Owen said, then winced.

  “B is the correct answer,” Dr. Root said happily, back on-screen, only to have the image shift, like it’d been edited, and Dr. Root jumped to a slightly different spot on the screen. “However, our sensors tell us that you are, in fact, lying. We can see that you actually believe that answer C was right. And for that, you must be punished once more.”

  Before Owen could even react, another memory filled his mind.

  A boy in a question mark mask stood over Owen as his mom’s library burned around him. “I’m taking your life, you pathetic failure,” the boy said. “You never knew how good you had it, but I’ll make the most of it.”

  “No!” Owen shouted, trying to stand up, but the boy used a stolen wand to cast a spell, paralyzing Owen. He struggled to move, but it was no use.

  “You never deserved your life . . .”

  “Stop!” Owen shouted, back in the chair.

  “Isn’t this fun?” the woman said, smiling widely. “Now, on to number three.”

  Question 3: Why do fictional people want to take over our world?

  A. They hate us for not reading their books.

  B. They hate our reality, because they’re not truly real.

  C. They’re just evil.

  “None of the above!” Owen screamed, not even caring anymore. He knew that something bad was coming, but what could he do? The machine knew if he lied, and none of those options were true! Fictional people weren’t evil, not any more than nonfictionals were. Whoever had invaded might be, if that was really even what happened, but they didn’t represent all fictional people. This whole thing was ridiculous, and he knew that even without his imagination.

  Dr. St. James reappeared on the screen and shook her head. “Hmm, it does seem like you’re doing rather poorly on this test. I think we might have a fictional sympathizer!”

  “Let’s try upping the punishment, and see if that makes a difference?” Dr. Root said.

  Dr. Verity stood over Owen, a scalpel in his hand. “It’s nothing personal, Kiel,” the Quanterian villain said. “I just need your heart to open the Source of Magic. Well, that, and it’s also very personal.” He leaned over and touched the blade to Owen’s chest. “I’m going to enjoy this quite a bit.”

  The scalpel pushed down . . .

  And Owen’s eyes flew open. He was barely able to breathe as terror filled his body. “No, please, Dr. Verity!” he screamed, flailing in the seat. “Let me go!”

  Dr. Root and Dr. St. James smiled down at him on the screen for a moment, but before they could speak again, the video flickered, then, weirdly, disappeared into thin air.

  Owen frantically breathed in deeply over and over, trying to calm himself down before whatever horror was coming next. The test couldn’t just be three questions, could it? The original scientist had said something about it only lasting as long as he could take it, so maybe he’d had enough? He definitely didn’t want to see any more of his own worst memories, that was for sure.

  A door opened somewhere behind him, and he struggled to turn his head to see what was happening, but he couldn’t move enough to look. Footsteps crossed the floor, getting closer, and Owen’s heart began beating wildly once more.

  “Well, I must say, this is a surprise,” a familiar voice said. “I don’t recognize you, but somehow you know my name. And that makes me curious!”

  An older man in a lab coat wearing goggles leaned over him, eyes wild with a sort of dead interest.

  Owen’s entire body went cold. They were still punishing him. This had to be a dream, or a very, very bad memory.

  “So, have we met?” the man asked. “Because I’m Dr. Verity, and trust me, I’m very interested in getting to know you better.”

  CHAPTER 16

  From out of the darkness, several red laser sights shone down the hallway as the clanking intensified. Several robots passed the doorway, though none of them looked like the Science Police Bethany had seen before. Instead, one hovered with some sort of metal wings, looking like a human bird of prey. Another was almost bigger than the hallway, looking like a troll with a sinister robotic head. The one in the lead was tiny, like a gnome, and moved quicker than the rest, leaping from wall to wall with some sort of grappling gun, much like her Twili
ght launcher.

  “HEAT SIGNATURES DETECTED,” the smallest one announced in a monotone voice, crunching its metal feet into the wall. “VOICE RECOGNITION DOES NOT MATCH ANY KNOWN QUANTERIANS. DEFENSIVE MEASURES INITIATED.”

  Kiel winced and pulled out his wand-knives. “They must have been changed by the possibility weapons, and no one was left to turn them off,” he whispered to Bethany. “I’ll handle them. You just—”

  Bethany rolled her eyes, then leaped up and whipped three Twilight throwing stars at the smallest robot. “Initiate that, you robotic jerks!” she shouted, only to cringe as the throwing stars bounced off the robot’s metal chest.

  “You can’t just attack them head-on!” Kiel shouted, pulling her back farther into the lab. “They’ll cut us apart with their lasers!”

  “I’ve got this, okay?” she hissed, shoving him off of her. She shot her Twilight launcher out into the hallway, then clicked the retract button, holding on tightly. The launcher sent her soaring through the door just as she changed into a statue of herself made out of steel, which crashed into the gnomelike robot with a building-shaking crunch.

  “NONSCIENTIFIC BEHAVIOR DETECTED,” the second science soldier said. “POSSIBLE MAGIC DETECTED. ANTIMAGIC COUNTERMEASURES INITIATED.”

  The flying robot started emitting some sort of gas, so Bethany quickly changed into a giant fan, blowing it away from her and Kiel. The former boy magician used the confusion to leap into her flow of air and throw himself into the gigantic robot, digging his wand-knives into its chest. Even weakened from lack of food and hiding for days, Kiel managed to hold on while the robot swept massive arms around, plowing through walls and other robots until its body began to sizzle with electrical sparks. The robot collapsed forward, and Kiel leaped off right before it hit the ground, grabbing its laser rifle as he moved.

  “I’m not totally useless,” he told Bethany with a wink as he aimed the laser rifle at the small robot. That robot fired its own laser right through Kiel’s cape, and he swore as he threw himself back into the laboratory.

  Bethany quickly morphed back, ready for more. “Just stay back, Kiel,” she shouted, and started to turn into a tank, only to scream in pain as another laser grazed her shoulder. She fell to her knees, holding her shoulder as the robot shot through the spot she’d been standing.