Chapter Text
It started like any other evening at Blackrock Labs—Meddinal hunched over a microscope documenting cellular decay rates in xenomorph tissue samples, Subspace across the lab cackling maniacally as he mixed chemicals that definitely should not be mixed.
"...Subspace, if you blow us up again, i will make you clean the ceiling and the floor this time."
"Relax, relax! I've got it under control—"
KABOOM
A plume of purple smoke erupted from Subspace's workstation. Meddinal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose through his decorative eyepatch, the cyan crystal pattern catching the emergency lights.
"That's it. I'm telling Einreyn—"
But before he could finish, the smoke didn't clear. It thickened. It darkened. It pulsed with something that felt ancient and wrong, like staring into a void that stared back.
"Uh." Subspace's four horns ached. "Meddinal? That's not supposed to happen."
"No shit, it's not supposed to happen—"
The darkness lunged.
...
Consciousness returned in fragments.
First: cold floor against his cheek. Smooth, polished, not the industrial concrete of Blackrock.
Second: absence. Something was wrong. He reached up instinctively to push hair out of his face—a habit born of years with that stupidly long white forelock—and his hand met nothing but scalp.
His eye shoots open.
"No."
He scrambled upright, ignoring the way his antler-like horns (still there, thank the Creator) caught on something—a bedsheet? A pillow? He didn't care.
He found a vanity mirror across the room and launched himself at it, clawed hands gripping the edges as he stared at his reflection.
Antler-horns: intact. Good.
Cyan crystal eyepatch: still there. Good.
Face: same green eye, same golden ring on his left horn, same everything.
Hair: GONE.
Meddinal stared at his bald head in absolute, soul-crushing horror. The long white hair he'd meticulously maintained for years—the one thing that made him look vaguely distinguished despite the whole thing that is their labs—erased.
"No no no no—"
From somewhere behind him, a wheezing laugh.
He whirled around. Subspace was on the floor, clutching his stomach, four horns glinting in the morning light streaming through—windows. They were in a room. A bedroom. An unfamiliar one.
"Your—your FACE—" Subspace gasped between laughs, absolutely losing it. "You look like a—a—BALD EGG—"
"Shut UP." Meddinal grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his coworker's face. "This isn't FUNNY—"
Subspace kept laughing, his air filter mask askew from where it'd gotten knocked during transport. "Oh man, oh man, wait until Barbara sees you—"
"Subspace." Meddinal's voice went flat. Dangerously flat. "Check your own head."
Subspace blinked. Reached up.
Felt nothing but scalp between his four horns.
The laughter died.
No.
No no no no NO.
Subspace scrambled to his feet—when had he sat down?—and practically leaped to the vanity, shoving Meddinal aside (rude, but fair) to stare at his own reflection.
Gone.
His hair was gone.
The long, spiky, dramatic, perfect mane he'd cultivated since adolescence—the one he'd spent hours on, the one that made him look like the mad scientist of his dreams—vanished into the void.
"...No." The word came out small. Broken.
Meddinal, despite his own grief, couldn't help the smirk creeping onto his face. "Oh no. Whatever will you do without your precious—"
"My HAIR!" Subspace wailed, grabbing his own head, fingers digging into his scalp like he could will it back into existence. "Years! YEARS of growth! The spikes! The volume! The—the—"
"It's okay." Meddinal patted his shoulder, voice dripping with false sympathy. "At least you still have your—"
"My—my IDENTITY—"
"Your air filter mask."
Subspace paused, mid-wail. Looked at his reflection. Touched the mask.
"Oh." He straightened it, the familiar weight settling back into place. "Right. Yeah. That's—that's something."
They stood there in silence for a long moment, two bald scientists mourning their lost locks in a strange room neither recognized.
Then Meddinal spoke again, voice flat: "We got isekai'd, didn't we."
Subspace sniffled. "...Yeah. Probably."
"By what?"
"Does it matter?" Subspace slumped against the vanity, defeated. "We're bald, Meddinal. Bald. In a world we don't know, with no idea how we got here, and—" He stopped, finally looking around properly. "Wait. Where is here?"
---
They both surveyed the situation
The room: modest but well-furnished. Two beds (they'd apparently woken up in one, tangled together like discarded laundry—neither commented on this). A closet. A bathroom. A window overlooking... a city.
Not Blackrock. Not any city Meddinal recognized. The architecture was a strange blend of sleek modernity and something almost old, with very a tall tower and rounded buildings that caught the morning light in odd ways. And the sky—was that a purple ball of light?
Subspace pressed his face against the glass. "Okay. Okay. This is—this is weird. But maybe—maybe we can figure this out." He pulled back, turning to Meddinal with something approaching hope. "First things first. What do we look like? I mean—" He gestured vaguely at himself. "We've still got horns. You've got your antlers. I've still got my mask. Are we... did we change?"
Meddinal examined himself in the mirror more carefully. Same build. Same features. Same decorative eyepatch. Same—
He held up his hands. Claws. Definitely claws. "We're not Hennats anymore."
"No shit." Subspace was already pulling open drawers, rifling through clothes. "Look at this—these outfits fit us. Like, specifically us. Someone prepared for this."
"That's... concerning."
"Everything about this is concerning!" Subspace tossed a jacket at him. "Put this on. We need to go outside and figure out where the hell we are."
As Meddinal caught the jacket, something strange happened. A small pistol materialized in his free hand—sleek, silver and cyan, with a crystal chamber that glowed softly. It hadn't been there a moment ago. He stared at it.
"Subspace."
"What?"
Meddinal held up the pistol. "This just... appeared."
Subspace's eye widened. He crossed the room in two strides and examined the weapon, his scientific curiosity overriding everything else. "That's not— I didn't see you summon anything. It just poofed?"
"I don't know. I was thinking about... protection. And then it was there."
Subspace reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of purple crystals—familiar, humming with faint energy. His experimental crystals. The ones he'd been working on back home.
"These came with me," he said slowly. "I can feel them. They're... tied to me now. Not like equipment. Like part of me."
They looked at each other.
"This world has rules we don't understand yet," Meddinal said. "We'll figure it out, One step at a time."
---
The streets were busy.
Demons of every shape and size going about their business like this was completely normal. Which, Meddinal supposed, it was. For them.
He and Subspace stuck close together, trying not to gawk. The city was a sensory overload: signs in languages they could somehow read (that was weird), advertisements for things called "Phights," posters with faces that looked vaguely familiar in ways that made Meddinal's head hurt.
A demon bumped into Subspace, muttered an apology until they saw him and walked faster.
Subspace grabbed Meddinal's arm. "Do you see that?"
"See what?"
Subspace pointed at a shop named "Da Shop", at the window where a one armed demon was working on a rocket launcher.
Meddinal tilted his head in confusion. "What?"
"I wanna go there." Subspace joyingly said
Meddinal processed this. Then, slowly: "Why?"
"Because. Look at that launcher. Look at the craftsmanship. I need to know how their tech works."
"We don't even have currency here."
"We'll figure it out. Come on."
Meddinal sighed, but followed.
---
Da Shop's interior was cramped but organized. Rows of mechanical parts lined the walls. A counter near the back held a register and a stack of paperwork. And behind the counter, the one-armed demon looked up as they entered.
"Welcome to Da Shop," Zuka said, eyeing them with a mix of suspicion and professional curiosity. "What are you looking for?"
Subspace's eye swept across the shelves—gears, components, half-assembled weapons. "What do you have that's... interesting?"
Zuka's remaining eyebrow rose. "Interesting how?"
"Unusual. Experimental. Things that don't fit the standard catalog."
A long pause. Then Zuka reached under the counter and pulled out a small, palm-sized device—a dark metal disk with glowing runes around its edge. "Test model. Creates a temporary barrier. Not for sale yet, but I'm looking for field data."
Subspace snatched it before Meddinal could object. "How much?"
"You got Bux?"
"Not yet. But we will." Subspace's grin was sharp. "Consider this an investment. I'll bring you data, you let me pay later."
Zuka stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. "You're either very confident or plain stupid. Fine. Take it. Come back with something useful, and we'll call it even."
Subspace pocketed the barrier disk and practically bounced out of the shop. Meddinal followed, already regretting everything.
---
They explored more of Crossroads after that—a dizzying maze of markets, residential blocks, and transport hubs. Meddinal mentally mapped the layout while Subspace chattered about the technology they'd seen.
"It's like someone took every level of advancement and just... threw them together," Subspace said. "Steam engines next to holograms. Clockwork next to AI. It's chaotic."
"It's unfamiliar. We'll adapt."
They passed a food stall selling skewers of something that smelled incredible. Meddinal's stomach growled. They had no currency. He kept walking.
As evening approached, the light shifted—softer, amber, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The crowds thinned. And they found themselves in front of a cafe called "Thieves Rest."
The sign was hand-painted, slightly crooked. The windows glowed with warm light, and through them Meddinal could see mismatched chairs and tables, a counter lined with pastries, and a blue-horned demon wiping down the counter with lazy efficiency.
The smell—fresh bread, roasting coffee, something sweet—hit Meddinal like a physical force. His stomach growled again, louder this time.
"We need food," he said.
"We don't have money," Subspace reminded him.
"I know." Meddinal's eye fixed on the cafe. "But we have other things."
Subspace tilted his head. "Like what?"
"Recipes. Knowledge. We're scientists, Subspace. We know things no one in this world knows." Meddinal started toward the door. "Let's see if that's worth a meal."
---
The bell above the door chimed as they entered. The blue-horned demon looked up from his counter, his expression shifting from bored to curious.
"Welcome to Slingshot's Cat Cafe." He paused, taking in their appearance—the mismatched accessories, the general lost quality. "You two look like you've had a day."
"You have no idea," Subspace muttered.
Slingshot's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've seen a lot of faces in Crossroads. Yours aren't familiar. Tourists? Refugees? Runaways?"
"New arrivals," Meddinal said carefully. "We're... from a far uncharted land."
"Far enough that you don't have Bux?"
Meddinal's silence was answer enough.
Slingshot sighed, leaning against the counter. "Look, I run a business. I can't give away free food to every lost demon who wanders in. But—" He held up a hand as Meddinal started to turn. "—you said you're from far away. Far enough that you might know things I don't?"
"We might," Subspace said, stepping forward. "What if we traded? Information for food?"
"What kind of information?"
Subspace glanced at Meddinal. Then he smiled—that sharp, confident smile that meant he had an idea.
"Culinary information," Subspace said. "Recipes from our homeland. Things you've never tasted, never even seen. We'll cook them for you. You judge if they're worth a meal."
Slingshot raised an eyebrow. "You're offering to cook for me? In my kitchen?"
"We're offering to prove our trade has value." Subspace spread his hands. "What do you have to lose? A few ingredients? If it's terrible, you throw us out. If it's good..." He let the sentence hang.
Slingshot studied them for a long moment. Then he pushed off the counter and waved toward the back. "Kitchen's through that door. You've got one hour. Don't burn anything down."
---
The kitchen was small but well-stocked—fresh vegetables, cuts of meat Meddinal didn't recognize, spices in glass jars, and a wood-fired oven that radiated steady heat.
Subspace was already moving, his eye sweeping across the ingredients, calculating.
"Soup first," he said. "Priscilla's favorite, the one she asks for when she's sick."
Meddinal's hands stilled. Priscilla's soup. He knew that recipe by heart—the way Subspace had perfected it over years, adjusting the broth until it was exactly right for their strange, experimental, adoptive daughter.
"I'll prep the vegetables," Meddinal said.
They worked in silence, the way they always did in a lab—efficient, synchronized, trusting each other's movements. Meddinal washed and chopped while Subspace brewed the broth from scraps and spices, his hands steady despite the unfamiliar ingredients.
"What else?" Meddinal asked, as the soup began to simmer.
"Cream bread. Barbara's favorite." Subspace's voice softened. "She gets that look when I make it, like she's surprised I remembered."
Meddinal found flour, butter, and something that approximated cream. He measured while Subspace mixed, their shoulders brushing as they worked around each other.
"And the shake," Meddinal said. "Digi's."
"Digi's shake." Subspace smiled—really smiled, not the manic grin he wore for Phights. "The one that took me seventeen tries to get right."
"It was eighteen."
"Seventeen."
"You forgot the honey on attempt twelve. It curdled."
"I didn't forget. I was experimenting."
Meddinal snorted and began pulling ingredients for the shake—a base of fermented milk he didn't recognize, some kind of sweet fruit, and the ground seeds that seemed to approximate the nutty flavor Digi loved.
---
An hour later, Slingshot stood at his own counter, staring at three dishes he hadn't made. With Vine Staff and Shuriken as additional judges.
The soup was golden, fragrant with herbs he'd never thought to combine. The cream bread was still warm, its crust crackled with sugar, steam rising from the soft interior. And the shake—pale purple, flecked with something that caught the light—sat in a tall glass, condensation beading on the outside.
"Huh," Shuriken said.
"Try the soup first," Subspace said. "It's best hot."
Slingshot picked up a spoon. He dipped it into the broth, blew on it, and took a sip.
His eyes widened.
He took another sip. Then a third. Then he grabbed a piece of the cream bread, tore off a chunk, and shoved it into his mouth. Shuriken followed suit after that reaction and also shoved soup on his mouth.
"Oh," he said, muffled. "Oh, that's—"
"The shake," Meddinal prompted, "is meant to be drunk between bites. It balances the richness."
Vine Staff drank. Her expression went through several complicated phases—surprise, confusion, delight, and finally something like acceptance.
Slingshot set down his glass and stared at the two strangers in his kitchen.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?"
Subspace and Meddinal exchanged glances.
"A long way from here," Subspace said. "And we had good reasons to learn."
Slingshot was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed—a real laugh, not the tired huff he'd greeted them with.
"Alright. Deal." He started portioning the soup into bowls. "You teach me the recipes, I'll feed you for the week. Fair trade?"
"Fair trade," Meddinal said.
They ate together at one of the mismatched tables—Slingshot asking questions about their "homeland" that they answered vaguely, Subspace stealing bread from Meddinal's plate, the warm light of the cafe making everything feel almost... normal.
When they finally left, the twin moons were rising, and Meddinal had a full stomach for the first time since arriving.
"Tomorrow," Subspace said, "we learn about this place. The factions, the Phights, the swords. Everything."
"Tomorrow," Meddinal agreed. "Tonight, we sleep."
....
Zuka never had a good impression of Subspace, everything he heard about him was either a complaint or a snarky comment. Plus, his experiences with blackrock's scientists left a bad taste in his mouth.
Why was he acting differently? Zuka thought. Firstly is the lack of Bux, he knows that Subspace has at least a stash of Bux in his lab for emergency uses, and with their companion being a near perfect imitation of Medkit... It paints a picture that Zuka doesn't understand. At least he can get some field test information on the newer gear he made, the chances of it being damaged or not returned are high but it doesn't matter...
...
If you told Shuriken that Medkit and Subspace—two demons who obviously don't pair well together—cooked like chefs, suspiciously close to each other, made food that tasted like nothing he ever tasted before, and was broke. He would have told you to get glasses and maybe get help.
But it happened just moments before and he was craving for the soup again... At least Slingshot has the recipe, Vine Staff could ask if he could cook it for tonight's dinner.
Maybe he should ask Medkit on what happened between him and Subspace. The next time he sees him, of course.
---
Over the next few days, they learned basic knowledge.
The world was called the inpherno, populated by demons called Inphernals. Everyone manifested a "gear" at birth, or rather spawn—a weapon tied to their soul. Modern societal culture revolved around "Phighting," a combination of sport, combat, and personal expression. There were factions: Blackrock (snowy continent), Lost Temple (desert continent), Thieves' Den (jungle continent), Playground (floating continent), and more.
Subspace was delighted. "Blackrock! That's literally us! We're from Blackrock Labs!"
"We're from a different Blackrock, technically."
"Details! We can fit in there! Scientists, researchers, mad geniuses—"
"You're a mad genius. I'm a doctor."
"Semantics!"
They found the files detailing their lodging—a small apartment in the Crossroads, the central hub connecting all factions. Subspace registered for unofficial Phights immediately, while Meddinal focused on establishing a cover: a traveling healer looking for work, carrying a Healing Pistol that could patch up demons in injury.
It worked.
Nah I'm joking, it didn't work.
Their appearance is too similar to two official Phighters, and that brings confusion and unwanted attention to both of them. So they started to not wear their unique accessories, and instead swap with each other.
Meddinal interchangeably had Subspace's Air Filter Mask, and covered his left eye with a black cloth tied on his forehead like a bandana.
And Subspace interchangeably had Meddinal's Crystal Eye patch, and wore a chain that connects both of his lower horns
they bought those accessories from the shop Meddinal found earlier named "Shimmers and Sparkles: Extension"
---
At night, they sat on their apartment roof, staring at the unfamiliar stars.
"I miss my hair." Subspace broke the silence.
Meddinal snorted. "Same."
"I miss the lab. My projects. The chaos."
"I miss Barbara's cooking."
A pause.
"Do you think they're okay? Back home?" Subspace faces Meddinal.
Meddinal considered this. "Einreyn probably noticed we're gone by now. Barbara's probably worried. Digi's probably hacked into every security feed trying to find us."
"And Viast?"
"...Viast is probably plotting revenge on whoever took us, even if he doesn't know who."
Subspace laughed—a real laugh, not his usual maniacal cackle. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right." He leaned back, looking up. "We'll find a way back, right?"
"We always do."
"Even when we don't know how?"
"Especially then."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the twin moons rise over a world that wasn't theirs.
"We should probably figure out how to explain why we look eerily similar to two official Phighters," Meddinal said eventually.
"...I've been telling everyone it's a fashion choice."
"It's not a fashion choice, Subspace, we're identical to them."
"And? Own it. We are beautiful."
"You're insufferable."
"Thank you, i try."
-----
Subspace woke to Meddinal shaking him aggressively.
"Wake up. Wake up now."
"Mmrf—five more minutes—"
"There's an unofficial Phight today. A big one. And you're on the list."
Subspace's eye snapped open. "WHAT."
He was out of bed before he fully processed it, scrambling for his gear. "Who? When? Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"
"I'm telling you now. Get dressed. We have an hour."
"An HOUR—", Subspace jumps out of bed and Meddinal helps him dress up out of habit, he also gives details on what the unofficial is aimed for (its ranged gears), it's size and reputation (it's hosted by a known unofficial Phights announcer), and the rules (no artificial gears, no fatal injuries if preventable, and absolutely no sabotage of the environment before a match).
They bickered all the way to the Coliseum, Subspace vibrating with nervous energy, and Meddinal calmly listing everything that could go wrong in a Phight (which was a lot, and he took perverse joy in detailing every possibility).
At the registration desk, a tired-looking Inphernal checked Subspace's name, took a second glance at him and back at the clipboard.
"Subspace T. Tripmine?"
"That's me!"
"Not at all the Blackrock Mad Scientist?" At Subspace's nod, they sighed. "Try not to die, we have enough paperwork as is."
Subspace grinned behind his mask. "No promises!"
Meddinal grabbed his arm before he could run off. "Subspace."
"What?"
"Kick ass."
"That's... weirdly sweet?"
"It's practical. Now go."
Subspace went. tripping slightly, but still went.
From the stands, Meddinal watched his friend—his coworker, his sometimes-rival, his person—step into the arena. Watched him face down an opponent twice his size and with a shotgun. Watched him fight with a grace and ferocity that didn't match the clumsy scientist he knew.
Subspace was fast on his feet and used his crystal mines to wear the demon down, often using the vapors of the mines to conceal himself and attack from a different angle.
He ducked behind a mound in the ground as the demon shot out rounds, and produced pink gas by crushing a handful of his crystals, then, threw it in the air.
the demon waits as she vigilantly watches any movement from the gas, once she does, she shoots at the direction and reveals a dummy of Subspace.
The real Subspace was behind her and threw 3 crystal mines directly above as it exploded exploded, making a toxic cloud of pink gas, her health points draining to 2 digits.
Subspace grins as he runs again and dodges more shots from her, using the vapor as cover again and again until the demon unleashed her Phinisher and fired 3 buckshots that revealed a wide area—finding Subspace—then shoots out a final concentrated buck shot that one shots Subspace.
Meddinal in the stands winces as Subspace is launched at the wall on the other side of the arena. comically dropping like a sack of potatoes and coincidentally posed like that one Peter Griffin meme
Meddinal chuckles and doesn't pay attention to the announcer as she roars out the sudden victory, marking the first win of the day in this arena.
Subspace groans as he gets up, the demon walks up to him and extends a hand. Subspace takes it and immediately regrets it as she lifts him effortlessly, making him dizzy. she chuckles as she steadies him and pats his shoulder with controlled strength.
"That was a good phight!" She grins
"I'm feel like throwing up..." Subspace hoarsely says
"meh it'll fade away, names Pump Shotgun by the way!" she offers her hand for a handshake, her arms being way bigger than Subspace's
"I'm Subspace Tripmine" Subspace said dizzily
She raises an eyebrow but shrugs it off, "Well, I'll be off now, good luck to me cause I'm planning to win this tournament!" she walks away as she said that and disappears as she turns to the halls.
Subspace stares at the empty space and gets hit by another nauseating wave.
....
Meddinal waits as Subspace walks outside the arena looking glum. Meddinal gives a sympathetic smile, "at least you nearly beat her."
"But I lost at the first match!!" Subspace said despairingly.
"However, it did give us a clue on how an average inphernal fight in these settings. you lost because of an aspect that you weren't aware of."
"Oh yeah... that move she did when she completely waved off the smoke and one shotted me..." Subspace said quietly
"I overheard the other demons beside me whispering about her Phinisher being quite powerful, so we have a name for it now."
---
meanwhile..
---
Einreyn was finishing up on the maintenance of the glorified convenience stores in the dimensional bridge until he got a call, when answering it he heard a frantic voice—Priscilla—that Subspace and Meddinal are gone.
"After i heard an explosion, I came inside with a medkit as usual, but no one was inside even though i heard Dad and Mister Meddinal were researching!" Priscilla Cries, "there were also faint rift elements—Digi told me to tell you..."
Einreyn clutched his phone hard, he forced himself to relax and assures the child experiment, "We'll find them, no matter where they are—they always leave a trace of their signature luck. Notify the TBD of an unknown rift kidnapping, Salvia will need to look into this"