Somewhere, Sometime in Time and Space (6 S Molton St, W1K 5QF, London, England, Earth, Solar System, Milky Way. 13th Bundle. June 12th, 2003, 3:00 A.M.)
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The Writer sat in a dimly lit waiting area of the hospital, the cold sterility of the corridor stark against the stillness of the night. A folder lay open in his lap, its contents spilling over with medical records he had procured through his unique influence. The hospital director, swayed by his enigmatic authority, had granted him unrestricted access, no questions asked, no supervision required.
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He had already secured the first of the twins from Norilsk, Russia. Initially, the Russians had been hesitant, reluctant to relinquish the newborn into his custody. Yet, with little resistance, they eventually handed over the infant, accompanied by a transcript of the mother’s medical history. The Writer had transported the child to the Singularity Cloister, preparing a meticulously programmed Nursery Room with the aid of his Advisors.
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Now, he waited for the nurses to bring him the second twin. To pass the time, he leafed through the documents, stopping to review the details of each case.
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[Hospital Records Document Transcript]
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Patient Record: Twin 1 (The Writer’s Notes)
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Name: [Unknown]
Gender: Female
Date of Birth: June 12, 2003
Time of Birth: 11:59 PM
Location: Norilsk General Hospital, Norilsk, Russia
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Birth Details:
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Delivery Method: Emergency Cesarean Section (C-Section)
Gestation Period: Premature (29 weeks)
Complications: Severe respiratory distress post-delivery
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Birth Summary:
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The patient was delivered via an emergency cesarean section following maternal complications during labour. Upon delivery, the infant exhibited no spontaneous breathing or crying. Immediate neonatal resuscitation was performed, including:
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Oxygen administration.
Suctioning of airways.
Repeated application of positive pressure ventilation.
After approximately seven minutes, the infant began breathing independently and produced a weak cry. Monitoring revealed oxygen saturation levels normalised within 30 minutes post-delivery.
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Condition of the Mother:
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The patient’s mother, [Name: Redacted], aged 28, suffered severe haemorrhaging during the procedure and was declared deceased at 12:07 AM on June 13, 2003, despite extensive resuscitation efforts.
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Notes:
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Father’s information is absent from the medical record.
The infant was placed in neonatal intensive care for further observation and treatment.
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Signed and Authorised:
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Norilsk General Hospital
Dr. Irina Petrova, Chief Obstetrics Surgeon
Date: June 13, 2003
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[Patient Record: Twin 2 (The Writer’s Notes)]
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Name: [Unknown]
Gender: Female
Date of Birth: June 13, 2003
Time of Birth: 12:00 AM
Location: Weymouth St Hospital, London, England
Birth Details:
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Delivery Method: Emergency Cesarean Section (C-Section)
Gestation Period: Premature (31 weeks)
Complications: None reported at birth
Birth Summary:
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The infant was delivered following the sudden death of the mother in a road accident en route to Weymouth Street Hospital. Emergency responders performed a post-mortem cesarean section. The infant exhibited normal respiration and reflexes immediately after delivery, with no noted complications.
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APGAR Scores:
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At 1 minute: 8
At 5 minutes: 9
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Condition of the Mother:
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The mother, [Name: Unidentified], aged 32, sustained fatal injuries in a vehicular collision. She was declared deceased upon arrival at the hospital.
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Notes:
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Father’s information is absent from the medical record.
The infant was placed in neonatal intensive care for monitoring due to prematurity.
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Signed and Authorised:
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Weymouth Street Hospital
Dr. Harold Clybourne, Obstetrician-Gynaecologist (OB/GYN)
Date: June 13, 2003
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The Writer closed the folder briefly, leaning back in the chair as his mind churned with questions. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook, jotting down observations and queries to pose to his son—later.
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The Writer’s Notes:
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"The twins' father’s information is absent from both medical records. I had sent the initial bloodwork from the first twin for comparison with the second twin, conducted here at Weymouth Street Hospital. The results show no anomalies, yet their shared genetic markers confirm their status as fraternal twins, despite being born in different locations under entirely separate circumstances.
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Both twins were born at the cusp of consecutive days, each amidst high-stress events involving the death of their mother. This extraordinary synchronicity raises questions about potential genetic peculiarities and unseen forces at play. Further investigation into these events and their connection is imperative."
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- Sir, A.C.E.S.
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The Writer closed his small notebook and slid it back into his coat pocket before meticulously organising the scattered documents. Each page was placed in order and secured in his briefcase. This briefcase, he decided, would remain with him until he returned the second twin to the Nursery Room within the Singularity Cloister.
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Earlier, upon arriving at the Cloister with the first twin, he had been less than pleased to spot his son’s silhouette near the pavilion, cigarette in hand. The area, though enclosed, was filled with curling smoke, a stark violation of the sterile environment required for the infant’s health. Concerned for the newborn, whose history of respiratory distress was already precarious, the Writer avoided confrontation. Instead, he quickened his pace, delivering the child to the Caretaker in the Nursery Room. The automated attendant assisted in placing the baby into an incubator, carefully monitoring her fragile well-being.
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The memory lingered for a moment, but his thoughts snapped back to the present as a nurse approached, cradling a swaddled newborn in her arms. A doctor walked alongside her, his professional demeanour betrayed by a flicker of pride in his step. The Writer rose from his seat, moving to meet them halfway.
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The doctor extended a hand and introduced himself. “Good morning. My name is Dr. Harold Clybourne. I’ve been overseeing the care of this little one.” He paused as the nurse gently transferred the infant into the Writer’s waiting arms. The Writer’s usually guarded expression softened the moment the baby was placed against his chest. Enamoured, he studied her with uncharacteristic tenderness.
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Dr. Clybourne continued, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, sir. It’s an honour to know that I played a role in ensuring the safety of someone so significant to you... Sir Schrödinger.”
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The mention of the name snapped the Writer’s attention back to the doctor, his expression sharpening with interest. He met Clybourne’s gaze. “Indeed, Dr. Clybourne. I must commend you for your exceptional work. To save a newborn under such dire circumstances—a post-mortem delivery after a deadly car accident—is nothing short of remarkable. Both you and your team have done a splendid job.”
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The Writer’s unexpected praise left both the nurse and Dr. Clybourne flustered. The doctor cleared his throat to regain composure. “Thank you, sir. That means a great deal to us.”
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Clybourne hesitated for a moment before asking, “So... what will you name her?”
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The Writer shifted his focus back to the baby, his brow furrowing in deep thought. His face scrunched in concentration—a peculiar habit that made both the nurse and the doctor glance at each other nervously.
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Finally, his expression cleared. “Alice,” he declared firmly.
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As if in response, the baby cooed softly. The sound caught the attention of both Clybourne and the nurse, who leaned closer. Their eyes widened in astonishment as the infant’s eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of midnight-blue irises shimmering with what appeared to be the cosmos themselves.
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***
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Evangeline Weiss’s Diary Log #1: October 17th, 1941, 10:49 P.M.
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Dear Diary,
On my first day in 1941, Schrödinger and I were escorted by Sister Hildegard von Zweyer, following Dr. Wagner’s recommendation. As much as it pains me to admit it, I was relieved to leave the church. The wounded soldiers had nearly overrun its grounds, and even the able-bodied could not keep up with their ceaseless suffering. I couldn’t bear it any longer—so I severed my connection to their cries. And suddenly, the silence returned.
We walked for nearly ten minutes, moving carefully along the cobblestone streets towards a castle perched atop a hill. Old-model vehicles sped past us, rattling over the uneven stones. The sight of them stirred memories of the historical and geographical studies I had once undertaken at the Belvedere Castle Library back in 2203. I am standing in the midst of a war that left deep scars on history—a war that, in my time, has long been forgotten.
Was it deliberate? Did the NIX erase humanity’s past out of disdain? Or do they wish to repeat it?
At the top of the hill, Schloss Colditz came into view. A fortress—imposing, formidable. Strangely enough, they allowed a nun and a complete stranger to enter without resistance. The atmosphere was nothing like the church’s. Here, the soldiers moved with clear purpose, their minds sharp, their bodies focused. They were preparing for war. Those left in the church, however... they had already given up.
I might have wandered off, mesmerised by my surroundings, had Schrödinger not bitten my ear and yanked me out of my reverie. I snapped back to reality just in time to catch up with Sister Hildegard before I lost sight of her. Thank the heavens she didn’t notice I had strayed.
Inside, Schloss Colditz was breathtaking. I could not help but admire the architecture, the gilded artwork, the wealth on display. The owner of this castle clearly invested great effort in showcasing their prestige. Yet, not all of these treasures were German…
Sister Hildegard led us through the living quarters, where she turned to me and said:
„Sie werden sich ein Zimmer mit meiner Nichte teilen. Ich hoffe, Sie können sich mit ihr anfreunden. Dr. Wagner wird Sie durch einen Leutnant rufen lassen. Bitte ruhen Sie sich aus und machen Sie sich frisch, solange Sie hier sind. Meine Nichte wird um sieben Uhr abends zum Abendessen hier sein. Sie wird Ihnen den weiteren Weg zeigen.“
"You will be sharing a room with my niece. I hope you can become friends. Dr. Wagner will send for you through a lieutenant. Please rest and freshen up while you are here. My niece will arrive at seven in the evening for dinner—she will guide you through the rest of the way."
(I learned German before writing this entry—hehe.)
My assigned quarters were... overwhelming. Compared to my minimalist room at the NIX Polytechnic, this space was cluttered. At NIX, furniture was sleek, embedded into the walls or floor, devoid of unnecessary items. This room, in contrast, was overflowing with details—floral-patterned bedding, a desk, a nightstand... even a carpet. A carpet. The texture beneath my feet felt strange, funny even. Schrödinger wasted no time settling onto it, his white fur blending in despite the soot clinging to his coat.
A knock on the door startled me from my nap. I napped. I also nearly stepped on Schrödinger. Oops.
When I opened the door, I came face-to-face with the lieutenant. The same man who had attacked me on the battlefield.
„Dr. Wagner ruft Sie zu sich in den Kerker. Ich werde Sie dorthin begleiten.“
Dr. Wagner is calling you to the dungeon. I will escort you there."
I simply nodded, not understanding a word he said. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. Before he could take another step, however, a nun burst into view, shoving past him.
„NEIN! Um Gottes Willen, nimm sie nicht mit, bevor ich die Chance hatte, mit ihr zu reden zuerst zu erreichen!“9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcNWa306IyG
"NO! For God's sake, don't take her with you before I've had a chance to speak with her first!"
Then, she turned to me, eyes scanning my entire figure with unmistakable disapproval.
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"You are not to dressed like that for dinner!"
Before I could ask what she meant, she grabbed my wrist, yanked me back inside, and slammed the door in the lieutenant’s face.
In her hurry, she stepped on Schrödinger.
“WATCH WHERE YOU'RE STEPPING, YOU MINDLESS ZOMBIE HUMAN!” he yowled.
---
Dinner, like everything else in this place, was lavish.
The grand dining hall mirrored the luxury of the living quarters—extravagant, opulent, suffocating. I had a moment to glance outside the window, searching for the soldiers I had seen before. For the townspeople.
But I saw nothing.
Why does this place feel... hollow?
Why do I feel like I am back in NIX?
Dr. Wagner’s questions during dinner were intrusive, prying into subjects I had no interest in discussing. His attempts at conversation only heightened my unease. Around me, guests of various backgrounds dined in eerily controlled silence. Among them, I noticed a Japanese couple. The wife was pleasant, her manner warm and cordial. Her husband, however, could not stop glaring at me.
I was grateful for Schrödinger’s presence on my shoulder. His unblinking stare met the man's hostility head-on, his small form radiating silent defiance.
My roommate, Juliet, remarked that I was feeling nostalgic.
No.
I am not nostalgic.
I am on the wrong side of this war.
[End of Entry].
***
90-60 Union Turnpike, Glendale, Queens, NY, USA. February 14, 2023, 00:00 A.M. ??
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Five seconds until impact.
“LUCY!” Tetsuo screamed.
Two seconds until impact.
Lucy plummeted towards the supermarket floor, the force of her descent threatening to leave a crater.
One second until impact.
Wind howled in her ears. Her mind was blank, still reeling from the storm demon’s point-blank strike.
Zero seconds and a thousand milliseconds until impact.
A sudden force seized her upper back, halting her descent in an instant. Someone had caught her. Lucy hadn’t realised her eyes were still shut, bracing for impact. Her lower body dangled limply, surprisingly unscathed. A shout—sharp and reprimanding—pierced the chaos.
“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS IS A SUPERHERO CONTEST! GET OUT OF THE WAY BEFORE YOU’RE BANNED FROM THE CLUB!”
A boy’s voice, amplified by a megaphone, rang out directly in her direction.
“LUCY!”
Tetsuo’s panicked scream drew her gaze. He was trapped behind an invisible, bubble-like prison alongside Sievernich, the Movement’s rebels, and terrified civilians. His face was pale, frozen in disbelief—mirrored perfectly by Sievernich.
The storm entity surged into the supermarket, shattering the entrance.
Its eyes locked onto Lucy, burning with pure fury. She had severed its arm; her projected swords still protruded from its back.
Lucy braced for the inevitable as a red notification flared before her.
WARNING! YOU HAVE NO ANIMA RUNES LEFT TO UPGRADE/HEAL OR PURCHASE ITEMS.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0VqpZS1lPC
CURRENT ANIMA RUNES: 57/19,000
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.
“What am I going to do? Excalibur’s Caliban won’t activate without sufficient Anima Runes.”
Her thoughts spiralled into panic as the storm entity advanced, sabers unsheathed from its back.
A movement caught her eye—the boy with the megaphone. He was watching, excitedly munching on a chocolate bar.
“Is this just a game to him? No…”
She noticed the others—four children and six teenagers—watching eagerly from the sidelines. A chilling numbness settled over her. She tightened her grip on Excalibur, readying for the duel.
A voice cut through the tension.
“Pardon my intrusion. I don’t have time for your entertainment.”
Lucy spun toward the source, her chest tightening in fear.
The storm entity halted as a small girl stepped in front of Lucy.
“Aren’t you here for the boy’s wish?” the entity hissed. “To witness an epic battle? To find a true superhero?”
The girl’s expression was impassive. “No. Don’t lump me in with something so trivial.”
The entity narrowed its eyes. “Then what do you wish for?”
“Nothing I can’t fulfil myself.”
She raised her right arm. The white sleeve of her neon-green NASA-logo sweatshirt was torn. From the exposed skin, something sprouted—curling and twisting like a bow, adorned with crystalline butterflies and brambles.
She pulled back on a string of flowing blood. An arrow of red light coalesced in her grip, distorting space itself.
Lucy’s Formula interface flickered to life, scanning the girl’s Magnitude.
UNKNOWN NEXUS PROPERTIES. MAGNITUDE UNIDENTIFIABLE.
The storm entity lunged, sabers aimed to cleave the girl in half.
Before the strike could land, something else materialised. As though it had always been there.
The Monster.
Towering at eight feet, it knelt behind the girl, shielding her with its form. In its hands, a colossal, scissor-like blade—nine feet tall—planted into the ground, stopping the storm entity’s saber in its tracks.
The entity realised its mistake too late.
The arrow was already at its chest.
A split second stretched into eternity.
Then—blinding light.
Reality shattered.
The storm entity fragmented into burning shards of black glass. The supermarket lay in ruins. Beyond the wreckage, the landscape that had once been a dune was now a yawning chasm, still smouldering from the arrow’s impact.
Starling turned toward you.
A mischievous smile.
“Welcome to the ÆnigmaVerse.”
ns 15.158.61.19da2
