(Robotic Dimension )
The lab was unnaturally silent, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears instead of soothing them. White lights hummed faintly overhead, reflecting off steel walls and glass panels that contained years of research, failures, and secrets that were never meant to leave this room.
A scientist entered quietly, his footsteps controlled, almost hesitant. In his hand was a transparent bottle filled completely with water. He placed it on the metal table with care. The bottle made a soft click as it touched the surface.
The scientist's eyes flicked briefly to the table. An empty bottle already lay there—crushed slightly, its cap discarded. Evidence of urgency.
Before the scientist could step back, Sergain reached out and grabbed the fresh bottle. He didn't even bother sitting properly. He twisted the cap open and drank as if he had been stranded in a desert for days. Water spilled down the sides of his mouth, dripping onto the table and the floor.
Within seconds, the bottle was empty.
Without a word, another bottle appeared in his hand—one that had been placed there earlier. He drank that too, just as fast. His breathing slowed only after the second bottle was completely drained.
Behind him, Olive stood with arms folded, eyes sharp, observing every movement.
"Professor Nolen," Olive said calmly, turning slightly, "thank you. You may leave."
Professor Nolen nodded once. "Yes, sir."
He didn't ask questions. He never did. He turned and exited the lab, the heavy door sealing shut behind him with a mechanical hiss.
Silence returned.
Sergain wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"How did he do it?" Sergain muttered.
Olive didn't respond immediately.
Sergain continued, voice low but intense. "That man with the black scarf. How did he know I was there? How did he know exactly when to act?"
He stood up abruptly and began pacing.
"This isn't coincidence," he said. "Something is happening around us. Something we're not seeing. Someone is watching—closely. Too closely."
He stopped near a glass panel, staring at his own reflection. His eyes looked tired. Angry. Haunted.
"That shop," he added. "That toy shop… it's not normal."
Olive finally spoke. "Your intuition has been right before."
Sergain exhaled sharply. "And every time I ignored it, people paid the price."
His jaw clenched.
(Modern Dimension)
Morning light filtered weakly through narrow windows as Jimmy unlocked the door to his lab. The place smelled faintly of metal, oil, and ozone—the smell of invention.
He moved with routine precision, hanging his coat, turning on the lights, activating the main console. Everything was normal.
Too normal.
Jimmy walked toward a locked cabinet at the back of the lab. This cabinet wasn't labeled. It didn't need to be. Only one thing was ever kept there.
He unlocked it.
The cabinet was empty.
Jimmy froze.
His heart skipped—not from panic yet, but from disbelief.
"No," he whispered.
He leaned closer, checking every corner, every shelf, as if the object might somehow be hiding.
Nothing.
He straightened slowly.
Then something caught his eye.
Jimmy turned.
On the central table, resting calmly as if it had always been there, was the dimension traveler.
Perfectly placed.
Perfectly still.
Jimmy stared at it, his mind racing. I locked it away. I know I did.
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. No signs of forced entry. No alarms triggered.
"Impossible," he muttered.
His fingers hovered above the device, but he didn't touch it.
Instead, he turned sharply and reached for his communicator.
"Scott," Jimmy said when the call connected. "Come to the lab. Now."
Moments Later
Scott entered the lab cautiously, sensing tension immediately.
"What happened?" Scott asked.
Jimmy didn't look at him at first. His eyes remained fixed on the dimension traveler.
"Did you touch this?" Jimmy asked.
Scott hesitated. "I just… tried to turn it on. I wanted to check if it was still working."
Jimmy turned, fury flashing in his eyes.
"Do you have any idea what could have happened?" he shouted. "What if it activated? What if it sent you somewhere else? How would I find you? How would anyone find you?"
Scott stepped back, stunned.
"You don't touch this without my permission," Jimmy continued, voice sharp and absolute. "This is your last warning."
Scott swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand."
Jimmy turned away.
Scott left the lab quietly, disappointment weighing heavy on his shoulders.
Outside
Scott walked down the steps slowly, head lowered. The scolding replayed in his mind, every word sharper than the last.
Then—
"Scott."
He looked up.
Erika stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"What now?" Scott asked, forcing a smile.
"We're going out," Erika said.
Scott's eyes widened. "Again? To 'talk'?"
"This time, I mean it," she replied. "Just talking."
Scott hesitated. "Last time you said that, things escalated."
"This is different."
He sighed. "Fine. But this is the last time I trust that sentence."
They walked together, Scott bombarding her with questions—where, why, who—but Erika answered none of them.
They stopped before a large, sophisticated house. Cars lined the driveway. A fountain glistened in the front yard.
Security approached immediately.
"Who are you?" the guard asked.
"Andrew called," Erika said calmly.
The guard made a call.
Moments later, the gate opened.
Inside stood Andrew.
Scott froze.
This kid?
"The same one,who did a word fight with me" Scott muttered.
"I'm not a kid," Andrew said flatly.
Inside the House
Andrew asked them to wait and returned with drinks.
Scott drank immediately to leave the house as fast as possible.
Erika smelled hers first—then drank.
Andrew noticed.
"Come," he said. "I'll take you to her."
They climbed the stairs.
The room was warm. Cozy.
Sherlin sat on the bed.
Andrew entered first. "Sherlin, Erika and Scott are here."
He turned to Erika. "Be careful."
Then he left.
Sherlin looked at Erika. "Why are you here?"
Erika took a breath. "Because I fought someone who was already wounded. That's not how a soldier behaves."
Sherlin stiffened.
"A soldier?" she repeated.
Erika continued. "Why fight underground when you have this?"
Sherlin smiled sadly.
"Do you want the long story?" she asked.
"Yes," Erika said. "I think I do."
Sherlin took a slow breath.
"My mother," she began, "was a strong woman. Stronger than anyone I've ever known."
She lifted her eyes toward the ceiling, as if the memories were written there.
"She owned a hotel—one of the biggest in this city. Not just one shop, not just one business. A hotel, several rental stores, this house… all of it was hers. People looked at her and saw wealth. But what they didn't see was how hard she worked for it."
Her lips curved faintly, a fragile smile.
"She used to say money doesn't make you powerful. Discipline does."
Sherlin paused.
"My real father died when I was very young. I don't remember his face clearly—only his voice, sometimes, in dreams. After he died, my mother took everything onto her shoulders. The business. The house. Me."
She swallowed.
"For years, it was just the two of us."
Her fingers loosened slightly.
"When I was seven, she married again. My stepfather."
She let the word hang in the air, heavy.
"At first… he was fine. Polite. Quiet. He smiled a lot. Too much, maybe, but I didn't know how to read people back then."
Sherlin's gaze dropped to her lap.
"Then my mother died."
The room seemed to shrink around the words.
"Suddenly. An illness. Fast. Cruel."
She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing.
"After that, everything changed."
Her voice hardened—not angry, not loud, just stripped of warmth.
"He took control of everything. The hotel. The shops. The money. This house. He told everyone it was his responsibility now."
She gave a short, humorless laugh.
"And maybe it was. But the way he handled it…"
Sherlin shook her head.
"He didn't hit me. He didn't shout all the time. That would've been easier to understand. Instead, he pushed me."
Erika leaned forward slightly.
"Pushed you how?" she asked.
Sherlin exhaled.
"He wanted me to be independent. That's what he said. Again and again. 'You won't grow if I make life easy for you.'"
Her jaw tightened.
"But independence wasn't what he wanted. He wanted distance."
She glanced toward the door briefly, then back at Erika.
"He made rules. I couldn't eat at the main table whenever I wanted. I had to earn pocket money by working in the shops. I wasn't allowed to ask for help. If I failed, that was my fault."
Scott frowned but stayed silent.
"And Andrew?" Erika asked gently.
Sherlin's expression softened.
"Andrew is different. He's… kind. He tried to stand up for me when we were kids. But he was younger. And he's my stepfather's real son."
She gave a small shrug.
"He was allowed to stay. Eat. Sleep peacefully. He had rules too—but not like mine."
Her voice dropped.
"I don't blame Andrew. Never have. He didn't choose this."
She paused again, collecting herself.
"When I turned old enough, my stepfather told me to move out."
Scott stiffened.
"Move out?" he repeated.
Sherlin nodded.
"He said I needed to 'learn the world.' He gave me nothing. No money. No support. Just words."
Her fingers clenched again.
"I stayed in cheap places. Worked in shops as a servant. Long hours. No rest. Barely enough to eat."
She laughed softly, bitterly.
"People think poverty is loud. It's not. It's quiet. It's being invisible."
Erika's eyes never left her.
"I couldn't survive like that," Sherlin continued. "Not forever."
She lifted her chin slightly.
"That's when I found the underground fights."
Scott's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing.
"At first, I watched. Men fighting. Bleeding. Losing everything in one night."
Her lips pressed together.
"I told myself I'd never do it."
She paused.
"I lied to myself."
Her voice steadied as she continued.
"I fought once. Just once. I won. The money was more than I earned in months."
She met Erika's gaze directly now.
"And once you win once… you realize the world rewards violence faster than honesty."
The room was silent.
"I trained. I learned. I fought again. And again."
Her shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath.
"I didn't fight because I loved it. I fought because it gave me control. Because no one could push me there. No one could tell me I didn't deserve to exist."
She looked away.
"Every bruise, every scar… it reminded me I was still alive."
Scott shifted uncomfortably.
"And this house?" Erika asked. "You come back here sometimes."
Sherlin nodded.
"When my stepfather is away, Andrew calls me. I sleep here. Rest. Just for a while."
Her voice softened.
"The staff… they remember my mother. They take care of me quietly. Food. Medicine. A place to sleep."
She smiled faintly.
"I stay in the backyard most of the time. It's small. Simple. But it feels safer than the streets."
She fell silent.
Erika waited.
Finally, Erika spoke.
"Are you happy?" she asked simply.
Sherlin thought for a long time.
"Yes," she said at last. "Not all the time. But… enough."
Erika nodded once, standing up.
"If you wanted to talk something or wanted to have a change of place, then you can contact me. I will be in scott's home." she said.
Sherlin looked surprised.
Then they left.
(Historic Dimension)
Alexander stood before Erika's squad.
"You follow my orders only," he said.
"But Jaccob—" one of them began.
"No," Alexander interrupted. "You stay in the castle. Protect the king. Jaccob must not know."
After they left, Alexander whispered to himself, "I don't know if Erika will return… but I'll do what she asked."
(Robotic Dimension)
Sergain sat with Olive.
"I checked the cameras again," Sergain said. "Every kidnapping. Every theft. Cameras crash."
"There's a connection," Olive said.
"There's something in that toy shop," Sergain replied.
Beneath their table—
A bug blinked.
Far away, a scientist spoke urgently to a figure with red skin and three arms.
"He's close."
The figure laughed. "I'll teach him the right lesson."
The call ended.
A girl approached him.
"Lord Kargzoar," she said. "We have a problem."