Chapter Text
The meeting was a terrible idea.
Wemmbu knew that before he even walked through the doors.
He knew it the moment he saw the crowd.
There were too many people.
Far too many.
The room had been built for large gatherings, but whoever had designed it had apparently never considered what would happen if you put practically every person who had ever held power in the same place.
There were people standing along the walls.
People sitting on tables.
People leaning against pillars.
People talking across the room instead of to the person directly in front of them.
Someone had dragged a chair into the middle of the aisle and was using it as though it had been placed there specifically for them.
It hadn't.
Someone else had already tried to move it.
They had failed.
Wemmbu stood near the back of the room with his arms folded, watching the chaos unfold.
"Why are we here again?"
Nobody answered.
He looked to his left.
Nothing.
He looked to his right.
Still nothing.
Then someone across the room shouted:
"BECAUSE NOBODY CAN AGREE ON ANYTHING."
Wemmbu nodded.
"Right."
That sounded about correct.
The meeting was supposed to be important.
That was the official explanation, anyway.
Everyone who had ever held power had been called in.
Old rulers.
Current rulers.
People who had controlled entire regions.
People who had controlled entire servers.
People who had briefly held power and then immediately lost it.
People who had technically never been in charge but had somehow been invited anyway.
Nobody seemed entirely sure what category they belonged to.
Wemmbu had been told there would be a serious discussion.
He had believed that for approximately four minutes.
Then Spoke had arrived.
That had been the beginning of the problem.
Wemmbu spotted him on the opposite side of the room.
Spoke was leaning against a table.
He wasn't listening to the conversation happening around him.
He wasn't paying attention to the speaker at the front.
He wasn't even pretending to.
Instead, he was fiddling with something in his hands.
Wemmbu narrowed his eyes.
He couldn't see what it was.
"Spoke."
Spoke looked up.
Their eyes met.
Spoke smiled.
That smile immediately made Wemmbu suspicious.
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
Wemmbu stared at him.
Spoke continued smiling.
Wemmbu looked at the object in his hands.
Then at Spoke.
Then back at the object.
"That's definitely not nothing."
"It's nothing."
"You're holding something."
"Yes."
"So it's something."
Spoke thought about this.
"...Technically."
Wemmbu sighed.
The person standing beside him glanced over.
"Don't bother."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I was trying to figure out what he's doing."
"That's your first mistake."
Wemmbu looked back at Spoke.
Spoke had gone back to whatever he was doing.
The meeting continued.
Or at least, someone continued speaking.
Nobody was listening.
A voice echoed through the room.
"We need to establish a clear system of authority—"
Someone interrupted.
"Why?"
"Because otherwise there is no structure."
"We've never had structure."
"Exactly."
"Then why start now?"
Wemmbu rubbed his forehead.
This was going well.
Very well.
He glanced toward Spoke again.
Spoke was still messing with the object.
Wemmbu couldn't see what it was.
He decided not to care.
That lasted approximately thirty seconds.
A loud metallic click came from across the room.
Wemmbu's head snapped up.
Spoke froze.
Several people looked over.
"Was that you?"
Spoke shook his head.
"No."
Wemmbu stared at him.
Spoke looked innocent.
Too innocent.
Someone near the front continued talking.
"Anyway, as I was saying—"
Another click.
Then another.
Wemmbu stood straighter.
"What is that?"
Spoke looked down.
"I don't know."
"You literally have it."
"I know."
"So you do know."
Spoke frowned.
"I know that I have it. I don't know what it does."
Wemmbu stared at him.
There was a long silence.
"...You don't know what it does?"
"No."
"Then why are you holding it?"
"Because I found it."
"Where?"
Spoke pointed vaguely.
"Over there."
Wemmbu followed the direction.
There was an old table covered in various objects.
Most of them were things Wemmbu recognized.
Weapons.
Artifacts.
Old pieces of equipment.
Things that had been collected over years.
Things that should probably not be touched.
Wemmbu's eyes widened.
"Spoke."
"What?"
"Put it down."
Spoke looked at the object.
Then at Wemmbu.
"Why?"
"Because you found it on an artifact table."
"So?"
"So you don't know what it does."
"Maybe it does nothing."
"Then put it down."
Spoke considered this.
"No."
Wemmbu closed his eyes.
Of course.
Of course Spoke had found the one unidentified object in the entire room and decided that the best possible response was to start experimenting with it during a meeting involving every powerful person they knew.
"Spoke."
"What?"
"Seriously."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You've already pressed it twice."
"I was checking."
"Checking what?"
"Whether it did something."
Wemmbu opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
He couldn't even argue with that.
Spoke smiled.
Then pressed it again.
The room went silent.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Every voice disappeared at once.
Wemmbu felt it before he understood it.
Something changed.
The air became heavy.
The lights flickered.
Every artifact in the room seemed to hum at exactly the same time.
A low vibration spread through the floor.
Wemmbu's smile disappeared.
"Spoke."
Spoke looked down at the object.
"...Uh."
"Put it down."
"I think I broke it."
"PUT IT DOWN."
Spoke dropped it.
The moment it hit the floor, the entire room shook.
Someone shouted.
A table overturned.
Several people stumbled backward.
Wemmbu grabbed the nearest solid surface.
The walls seemed to bend.
Not physically.
Not exactly.
For a fraction of a second, the room looked wrong.
The corners stretched.
The floor seemed impossibly far away.
The ceiling moved closer.
Then farther.
Reality itself appeared to glitch.
Wemmbu's instincts screamed at him.
He knew that sensation.
Something was trying to move them.
He looked toward the center of the room.
A point of light had appeared there.
It was tiny.
No larger than a coin.
Then it expanded.
A circle.
A hole.
A distortion.
Wemmbu stared.
"Nobody move."
That was the worst possible thing he could have said.
Everyone moved.
The room erupted.
People shouted.
Someone tried to run.
Someone else grabbed the nearest person.
Another person reached for a weapon.
Wemmbu barely noticed.
He was watching the distortion.
It wasn't teleportation.
At least, not normal teleportation.
There was something else inside it.
Something deeper.
Something that made his stomach twist.
Time.
He didn't know how he knew.
He just did.
The distortion wasn't moving them somewhere.
It was moving them when.
"Wemmbu!"
He turned.
Someone was yelling his name.
He couldn't hear who.
The room had become deafening.
The distortion expanded again.
A force pulled outward.
Wemmbu's feet slid across the floor.
He dug his heels in.
"No."
He grabbed the edge of the table.
His fingers tightened around it.
The force increased.
People were being dragged across the room.
Some disappeared into the distortion.
Others managed to hold on.
Wemmbu looked toward Spoke.
Spoke was standing near the artifact.
He looked terrified.
For once, genuinely terrified.
"Wemmbu!"
"I'm trying!"
Wemmbu pulled himself upright.
He reached for his weapons.
They surged through him.
He tried to anchor himself.
The force pushed back.
Harder.
The table began sliding.
Wemmbu's hands slipped.
He grabbed it again.
The room distorted around him.
For one second, he saw something that wasn't there.
A city.
Buildings.
Cars.
People.
A world without Minecraft.
Then it vanished.
Wemmbu's eyes widened.
"No."
He knew what was happening now.
The distortion wasn't simply moving people.
It was separating them.
Sending them somewhere else.
Maybe somewhere random.
Maybe somewhere specific.
Maybe somewhere that hadn't even happened yet.
"Wemmbu!"
He looked toward Spoke again.
Spoke had reached the edge of the distortion.
His hand was stretched toward Wemmbu.
"Grab my hand!"
Wemmbu stared at him.
"Why?!"
"I DON'T KNOW!"
That was possibly the most honest thing Spoke had ever said.
Wemmbu lunged.
Their hands met.
For half a second, Wemmbu thought they had it.
Then the distortion surged.
Spoke's grip slipped.
Wemmbu grabbed harder.
"Don't let go!"
"I'm TRYING!"
The force between them became unbearable.
Wemmbu's fingers slipped.
Their hands separated.
Spoke disappeared from sight.
"Spoke!"
The room vanished.
Everything vanished.
Sound.
Light.
Gravity.
For a moment, Wemmbu didn't know which direction was up.
He couldn't feel the floor.
Couldn't feel his own body.
He was falling.
But there was no wind.
No air.
Nothing.
Just darkness.
Then came a sound.
A voice.
Far away.
Impossible to understand.
Wemmbu tried to move.
Nothing happened.
He tried to use his abilities.
They responded weakly.
He tried again.
The darkness cracked.
Light poured through.
Wemmbu raised an arm to shield his eyes.
Then he fell.
Wemmbu hit the ground hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.
For several seconds, he couldn't move.
He lay flat on his back, staring at a sky so painfully blue that his eyes hurt.
There were clouds.
Actual clouds.
Soft, white things drifting lazily across an otherwise empty stretch of blue.
Wemmbu stared at them.
His breathing slowly steadied.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
No system message appeared.
No familiar voice came through his communicator.
No blocks shifted.
No one shouted his name.
There wasn't even the distant sound of a player moving through the world.
Just wind.
A light breeze passed over him, carrying the smell of grass and something faintly sweet from somewhere nearby.
Wemmbu blinked.
He pushed himself upright.
His head spun.
He stayed sitting for a moment, one hand pressed against the concrete beneath him.
Concrete.
Not stone.
Not cobblestone.
Not some Minecraft block that happened to resemble concrete.
Actual concrete.
He looked down at his hands.
They looked normal.
No injuries.
No strange effects.
He flexed his fingers.
Then he reached instinctively for the abilities he had spent so long learning to control.
Something answered.
The familiar sensation was there.
His powers hadn't disappeared.
That was...
Something.
At least.
Wemmbu stood.
He looked around.
He was sitting beside a sidewalk.
A road stretched across the other side of the street, packed with cars that moved much too quickly for his liking. Tall buildings rose in the distance, their glass windows reflecting the afternoon sunlight. People walked past him without paying much attention.
A woman was talking into a phone.
A man carried two paper cups of coffee.
Someone was walking a dog.
A cyclist nearly ran into a mailbox.
Everything was ordinary.
Painfully ordinary.
Wemmbu slowly turned in a full circle.
There was a park behind him.
Children were playing on a jungle gym.
A couple sat beneath a tree.
Someone had brought a picnic.
A group of teenagers were throwing a ball back and forth.
Nothing looked familiar.
Not the street.
Not the buildings.
Not the people.
Not even the way the city was arranged.
Wemmbu reached into his pocket.
His phone was still there.
He pulled it out.
The screen lit up.
No signal.
He tried anyway.
Nothing.
He opened his contacts.
Empty.
Messages.
Empty.
Maps.
The application loaded for a few seconds before informing him that it couldn't determine his location.
Wemmbu stared at the message.
"...Helpful."
He tried searching for his own name.
Nothing useful.
He tried searching for the server.
Nothing.
He tried several other things.
Still nothing.
His phone knew the internet existed.
It simply had no idea who he was.
Wemmbu lowered the phone.
That was when the first real thought finally settled into his head.
He was alone.
Not metaphorically.
Not emotionally.
Literally.
There was no one here who knew him.
No one who was waiting for him.
No one who knew where he'd gone.
No one who would notice that he was missing.
He looked across the street.
People continued walking.
Nobody cared.
Of course they didn't.
To them, he was just another person standing beside a park.
Wemmbu shoved his phone back into his pocket.
He wasn't going to panic.
Panic didn't solve anything.
He had survived worse.
Probably.
Wemmbu walked.
He didn't have anywhere else to go.
That was the first problem.
The second was that he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do next.
He had spent years surviving situations where the solution was obvious.
Build something.
Fight something.
Run.
Hide.
Find food.
Find shelter.
Find a way to get stronger.
The rules might have been complicated, but at least there had always been rules.
This place didn't seem to have any.
There was no health bar.
No inventory.
No server border.
No coordinates.
No familiar landmarks.
Just streets.
Endless streets.
Wemmbu kept his hands in his pockets as he walked, watching the world around him.
He passed a coffee shop.
A bus stop.
A bookstore.
A grocery store.
A group of students walking together, laughing about something.
He slowed slightly.
Students.
That was useful.
He followed them for a little while, not close enough to be suspicious, just enough to see where they went.
A university campus.
Wemmbu stopped outside the gates.
He stared.
The campus was enormous.
Old stone buildings stood beside newer glass structures. Students crossed the pathways carrying backpacks, laptops, coffee cups, and an impressive variety of things Wemmbu couldn't identify.
A banner hung above one of the entrances.
He read it.
Then looked around.
People were everywhere.
This was useful.
Universities had libraries.
Libraries had computers.
Computers had information.
Information solved problems.
Wemmbu entered.
Nobody stopped him.
That was becoming an increasingly important discovery.
Apparently, looking like a college student was enough to get into several places where nobody knew who he was.
He found a library.
Sat down.
And began researching.
The first thing Wemmbu learned was that this universe had a history that looked familiar from far away and completely alien up close.
Countries were where he expected them to be.
Major historical events had happened.
Technology had developed similarly.
Minecraft had become popular.
But whenever he searched for specific people, the differences started appearing.
Names existed where they shouldn't.
Names were missing where they shouldn't be.
People had different careers.
Different ages.
Different families.
Different lives.
Wemmbu found one familiar name.
He stared at it.
Then clicked.
The person existed.
But their career was completely different.
Another familiar name.
Different.
Another.
Different again.
He leaned back.
"So everyone exists..."
He rubbed his chin.
"...but not really."
It was unsettling.
It was like someone had taken his world, thrown it into a blender, and then tried to put it back together while using the wrong instructions.
He searched for the server.
Nothing.
He searched for the organizations he knew.
Nothing.
He searched for events that had happened in his world.
Sometimes something vaguely similar appeared.
Usually it didn't.
Eventually, Wemmbu stopped searching.
There was no point.
This wasn't his universe.
He couldn't use his memories to predict what would happen here.
That realization was important.
It also meant he had to be careful.
He knew these people.
Or at least, he knew versions of them.
But that didn't mean the people here would behave the same way.
They might have different childhoods.
Different families.
Different personalities.
Different lives.
Wemmbu couldn't assume anything.
He closed the laptop.
Then opened another tab.
How to get a legal identity after being displaced.
He stared at the search results.
"...Right."
That was going to be difficult.
The next few days were spent learning.
Wemmbu discovered that the city had a surprisingly efficient public transportation system.
He discovered which grocery stores were cheapest.
He discovered that sleeping in a library was frowned upon.
He discovered that people asked questions when you tried to sleep in a library.
He discovered that answering those questions with "I'm from another universe" did not help.
So he stopped doing that.
He found cheap food.
He found a place where he could charge his phone.
He found a laundromat.
He even managed to earn a little money doing odd jobs.
Nothing substantial.
Enough for food.
Barely.
But it was something.
His biggest problem was still housing.
He needed somewhere to stay.
And housing required money.
Which required a job.
Which required identification.
Which required paperwork.
Which required money.
Wemmbu stared at the loop.
"...That's stupid."
Apparently, society had built an entire system designed to prevent people without money from acquiring money.
He didn't like it.
He decided to cheat the system.
Not illegally.
Just creatively.
He had skills.
He needed to find someone willing to pay for them.
He searched for tutoring jobs.
That went surprisingly well.
Within two days, he had three students.
One needed help with mathematics.
One needed help with physics.
The third needed help with computer science.
Wemmbu taught all three.
The parents were impressed.
One asked how he had learned so much.
Wemmbu gave a vague answer.
"Lots of studying."
It was technically true.
He earned enough money to stop worrying about food for a few days.
Then he got his first official email from Harvard.
He stared at it.
He had almost forgotten.
The acceptance had been real.
They wanted documents.
Wemmbu stared at the list.
Proof of identity.
Academic records.
Proof of residence.
Financial information.
He slowly leaned back.
"...You have got to be kidding me."
He looked at the first requirement.
Then the second.
Then the third.
He had none of them.
He opened a new tab.
Can you attend university without proof of identity?
The answer was complicated.
Of course it was.
Wemmbu closed the laptop.
He needed money.
A lot of it.
Fast.
That's how he found babysitting.
Not because he liked children.
Not because he'd ever planned to do it.
Because the pay was absurd.
Wemmbu was sitting at a public computer, comparing tutoring rates, when he noticed a childcare listing.
He clicked it.
Then another.
Then another.
His eyebrows climbed higher with every page.
Babysitting wasn't supposed to pay this much.
At least, he didn't think it was.
Some of these families were offering hourly rates that were higher than what he'd been making tutoring.
Others offered weekly salaries.
One had a bonus.
Another offered transportation.
Wemmbu stared at the screen.
He checked the website.
It was legitimate.
He checked again.
Still legitimate.
He searched the average babysitting wage.
Then looked back at the listings.
"...Why?"
He didn't understand.
There had to be some catch.
Maybe the hours were terrible.
Maybe the children were difficult.
Maybe the parents were unbearable.
Maybe all three.
Wemmbu considered this.
Then looked at the money again.
He shrugged.
He'd survived people trying to kill him.
He could probably survive a difficult child.
He clicked the first listing.
The application was surprisingly simple.
Name.
Age.
Experience.
Availability.
References.
He reached the experience section.
He typed:
None.
He stared at it.
Deleted it.
He wrote:
Experience working independently in high-pressure environments.
That sounded better.
He filled out the rest.
Then reached the references.
He had none.
He left the section blank.
The site warned him that incomplete applications might be rejected.
Wemmbu submitted it anyway.
Then he found another.
This one paid even more.
He applied.
Then another.
Then another.
Eventually he noticed something strange.
The best-paying jobs were also the ones with the fewest applicants.
Some had been posted weeks ago.
Others had been reposted multiple times.
One listing had a note at the bottom:
Previous applicants have not worked out.
Wemmbu read it.
Then shrugged.
Not his problem.
He applied.
One listing caught his attention.
The pay was ridiculous.
Not just good.
Ridiculous.
The position was for childcare in a wealthy private household.
Two children.
Different ages.
Flexible schedule.
Transportation available.
Excellent pay.
No formal childcare certification required.
Wemmbu read it twice.
2 000 $
"..."
Applied.
The next day, Wemmbu stood in the ridiculously rich neighborhood.
The parents wanted an interview.
Wemmbu looked at the house.
"...Only two?"
He checked the listing again.
Two children.
Good.
That was better than ten.
Probably.
He pressed the doorbell.
Nothing happened.
He waited.
Pressed it again.
Still nothing.
Wemmbu looked at the address on his phone.
Correct house.
Correct number.
He pressed the doorbell a third time.
This time, footsteps approached.
The door opened.
A man stood on the other side.
He looked exhausted.
Not tired.
Exhausted.
The kind of exhausted Wemmbu recognized immediately, although for very different reasons.
The man looked at him for a moment before his expression changed.
"Wemmbu?"
"Yeah."
"The babysitter?"
"Yeah."
The man stepped aside.
"Come in."
Wemmbu entered.
The first thing he noticed was the size of the house.
The second was the silence.
It was enormous.
Not merely expensive.
Enormous.
The entryway alone was larger than some apartments Wemmbu had seen during his search for somewhere to stay.
There was a staircase curving upward along one wall. Huge windows filled the far side of the room, letting afternoon sunlight spill across polished floors. A chandelier hung above them, large enough that Wemmbu briefly wondered whether someone had designed the entire thing specifically to make cleaning difficult.
Everything was spotless.
Almost unnaturally so.
But there was no sound.
No television.
No music.
No voices.
No children.
Wemmbu glanced toward the hallway.
"Are they home?"
The man gave him a tired smile.
"They're here."
That answer somehow made the house feel even quieter.
Wemmbu followed him inside.
There were photographs everywhere.
Family photographs.
Vacations.
Birthdays.
Formal events.
The children at different ages.
Wemmbu slowed as he passed one.
Two boys stood beside their parents.
One was older.
Probably around eight or nine.
The other was noticeably younger.
Maybe six or seven.
The older boy had a serious expression.
The younger one was smiling.
Wemmbu looked at the photograph for a second longer.
Something about their faces caught his attention.
He couldn't explain why.
He kept walking.
The man noticed.
"My sons."
Wemmbu looked over.
"How old are they?"
"Mane is nine."
He gestured toward the older boy in the photograph.
"Flame is seven."
Wemmbu's eyes returned to the picture.
Mane.
Flame.
The names hit him strangely.
Not because they meant anything in this universe.
Because they meant everything in his.
Wemmbu looked back at the man.
"Nine and seven?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
The man nodded.
They continued toward the sitting room.
"You should probably know something before we start."
Wemmbu sat down.
"What's that?"
The man remained standing.
"The position has been difficult to fill."
Wemmbu raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
The man hesitated.
It was a long hesitation.
"The boys have had several babysitters."
"How many?"
"Seven."
Wemmbu blinked.
"Seven?"
"Seven."
"Why?"
The man looked toward the hallway.
"They leave."
"Why?"
Another pause.
"They don't like the schedule."
Wemmbu waited.
The man sighed.
"Or the house."
"Why wouldn't they like the house?"
"It's not the house."
Wemmbu frowned.
The man sat across from him.
"The boys aren't difficult."
That answer came too quickly.
Wemmbu noticed.
"Okay."
"They're good kids."
"Okay."
"They just..."
The man stopped.
He looked toward the photographs.
"...don't have much consistency."
Wemmbu said nothing.
The man rubbed his hands together.
"We travel a lot."
There it was.
Wemmbu glanced around the enormous, silent house.
"How often?"
"Often."
"How often are you actually home?"
The man didn't answer immediately.
"Not enough."
Wemmbu looked toward the hallway again.
He understood.
The man wasn't saying the children were difficult.
He was saying the children had been left alone too often.
"Where's their mother?"
"Working."
"Here?"
"No."
Wemmbu nodded slowly.
"And you're leaving again?"
"Tomorrow."
"How long?"
"A few weeks."
Wemmbu stared at him.
The man gave a helpless shrug.
"I know how it sounds."
"It sounds expensive."
The man laughed once.
It wasn't really a laugh.
"That's one way to put it."
Wemmbu leaned back.
He didn't know what to say.
He had expected difficult children.
Brats.
Kids who screamed.
Kids who broke things.
Kids who made babysitters quit.
He hadn't expected this.
Two children whose parents apparently spent so little time at home that hiring a babysitter had become their normal.
The man stood.
"I should probably let you meet them."
Wemmbu nodded.
"Sure."
They left the sitting room.
The hallway seemed even longer than before.
They passed another series of photographs.
Mane and Flame at birthdays.
Mane and Flame at school.
Mane and Flame at the beach.
Mane and Flame beside their parents.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Almost every photograph had the same pattern.
The boys were together.
Their parents were somewhere nearby.
But in several of the newer pictures, the parents were missing entirely.
Wemmbu noticed.
He didn't say anything.
They reached a door at the end of the hallway.
The man stopped.
His hand rested on the handle.
"They're usually quiet when strangers come over."
Wemmbu nodded.
"Okay."
"And they might not talk to you."
"That's fine."
"They're not trying to be rude."
"I didn't think they were."
The man looked at him.
For the first time, Wemmbu noticed something in his expression.
Guilt.
Not anger.
Not annoyance.
Guilt.
"Just give them some time."
Wemmbu nodded.
"Okay."
The door opened.
Wemmbu looked inside.
Two children were sitting on the floor.
The older one was building something out of blocks.
The younger one was lying on his stomach beside him, drawing on a piece of paper.
Neither looked up immediately.
Then the younger boy noticed the door.
He lifted his head.
His eyes met Wemmbu's.
Wemmbu froze.
Something inside his chest dropped.
He knew that face.
Not the exact face.
The child was younger.
Much younger.
But the eyes were unmistakable.
The shape of his expression.
The way he looked at people.
The quiet curiosity.
Wemmbu had seen it before.
Not here.
Somewhere else.
In another world.
Another life.
He looked at the older boy.
The same feeling hit him.
Mane.
Flame.
Two people he knew.
Two people who, in his world, were not children.
Wemmbu stood completely still.
The younger boy stared at him.
The older boy finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
Mane's expression was cautious.
Not hostile.
Just wary.
Wemmbu understood why.
Some stranger had walked into their house.
Again.
Probably another babysitter.
Probably another person who would eventually leave.
Wemmbu looked at them.
For a moment, he forgot about the job.
Forgot about the money.
Forgot about Harvard.
He was staring at two people he had known in another universe.
Except here, Mane was nine.
Flame was seven.
And neither of them knew him.
The man smiled faintly.
"Mane. Flame."
Both boys looked toward him.
"This is Wemmbu."
Flame stared.
Mane said nothing.
Wemmbu swallowed.
"Hi."
Flame looked at him for another few seconds.
Then quietly asked:
"Are you our new babysitter?"
Wemmbu glanced toward their father.
Then back at Flame.
"Maybe."
Mane's eyebrows pulled together.
"Maybe?"
Wemmbu shrugged.
"I haven't decided yet."
The two boys looked at each other.
For the first time, something changed in Mane's expression.
It was almost curiosity.
The man laughed softly.
"I'll leave you three to talk."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"Wait."
The man stopped.
"You're leaving?"
"I have a call."
"Right now?"
"Unfortunately."
Wemmbu stared at him.
The man gave him an apologetic smile.
"I'll be back later."
Then he walked away.
Wemmbu listened to his footsteps disappear down the hallway.
Silence returned.
He looked at the two boys.
Mane was still watching him.
Flame had gone back to drawing.
Wemmbu glanced at the door.
Then at the kids.
Then at the enormous house.
He had been here less than five minutes.
Already, he understood why the position paid so much.
Not because the children were difficult.
Because someone had to stay.
Wemmbu looked at Mane.
Then Flame.
"...So."
Neither answered.
Wemmbu sat down on the floor.
"What's the rule here?"
Mane frowned.
"What?"
"The babysitter rules."
"There aren't any."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"None?"
Mane shook his head.
Flame continued drawing.
Wemmbu stared at them for a moment.
Then leaned back against the couch.
"Okay."
He had no idea what he was doing.
But apparently, neither did anyone else.
Wemmbu sat on the floor.
He wasn't entirely sure why.
There was a perfectly good couch behind him, several expensive chairs nearby, and what appeared to be an entire sitting area specifically designed for people who didn't want to sit on the floor.
Yet here he was.
On the carpet.
Across from two children he knew from another universe.
Mane was still watching him.
Flame was still drawing.
Nobody spoke.
Wemmbu waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
He eventually looked at Flame's paper.
"What's that?"
Flame immediately covered it with his arm.
Wemmbu blinked.
"Secret?"
Flame nodded.
"Okay."
Wemmbu leaned back.
Mane glanced at him.
"You're not going to ask?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you obviously don't want me to know."
Mane stared at him.
That seemed to confuse him.
Most adults apparently asked anyway.
Flame slowly uncovered the drawing.
Wemmbu caught a glimpse.
It was a house.
A very large house.
Two smaller figures stood outside it.
Flame had drawn himself beside Mane.
Their parents weren't in the picture.
Wemmbu looked at it for only a second before looking away.
He didn't comment.
Flame noticed.
His pencil started moving again.
Mane returned to his blocks.
For a while, that was enough.
Wemmbu watched them.
He tried to reconcile what he knew with what he was seeing.
Mane was quieter than the person Wemmbu remembered.
Obviously.
He was nine.
But there were still little things.
The way he arranged his blocks.
The way he kept checking on Flame without making it obvious.
The way he watched Wemmbu whenever he thought Wemmbu wasn't looking.
That was Mane.
Definitely.
Flame was easier.
He was restless.
He shifted constantly.
Tapped his pencil.
Drew something.
Erased it.
Drew something else.
Then suddenly shoved the paper toward Wemmbu.
"Look."
Wemmbu looked down.
The drawing had changed.
There was now a person standing beside the house.
A very badly drawn person.
Wemmbu pointed.
"Who's that?"
"You."
Wemmbu stared.
"...Why am I so tall?"
Flame shrugged.
"You're tall."
"I'm not that tall."
"You are."
Mane glanced over.
"He's right."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"You're taking his side?"
Mane nodded.
"Yes."
Wemmbu narrowed his eyes.
"Already?"
Mane's mouth twitched.
It wasn't quite a smile.
But it was close.
Wemmbu smiled back.
"Okay."
Flame looked between them.
Then suddenly asked:
"Do you know how to play Minecraft?"
Wemmbu went still.
There it was.
The question he'd been waiting for.
"Yes."
"Are you good?"
Wemmbu considered lying.
"No."
Mane looked skeptical.
"You said yes."
"I can play."
"That's not what he asked."
Wemmbu looked at Mane.
The kid had a point.
"...I'm pretty good."
Flame's eyes widened.
"Can you beat the Ender Dragon?"
"Yes."
"Can you find diamonds?"
"Yes."
"Can you make a house?"
"Yes."
"Can you beat someone in PvP?"
Wemmbu paused.
"Yes."
Flame looked impressed.
Mane looked suspicious.
"How good?"
Wemmbu shrugged.
"Good enough."
"Can you show us?"
Wemmbu glanced around the room.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I don't have Minecraft."
Flame looked horrified.
"You don't have Minecraft?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Long story."
Mane tilted his head.
"Do you like Minecraft?"
Wemmbu stared at him.
"...Yes."
That was an understatement.
Flame immediately started asking questions.
What version did he play?
Did he like survival?
Could he speedrun?
Did he build?
Did he know redstone?
Could he make farms?
Did he watch YouTube?
Wemmbu answered most of them.
Some answers led to more questions.
Others led to arguments between the brothers.
At some point, Mane challenged Wemmbu's claim that he could build a good house.
Wemmbu accepted.
They found a piece of paper.
Flame decided to be the judge.
Mane drew a house.
Wemmbu drew a house.
Flame looked at both.
He pointed at Wemmbu's.
"Yours."
Mane frowned.
"Why?"
"Because it's better."
Mane looked offended.
Wemmbu tried not to laugh.
"You asked."
"I didn't ask you."
"Technically, you did."
Mane stared at him.
Then laughed.
It was small.
Quiet.
But real.
Wemmbu stopped.
For a moment, he simply listened.
He hadn't heard that laugh before.
Not from this version of Mane.
Something about it made his chest feel strangely tight.
He looked away.
"Okay."
Flame grinned.
"Do another."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not drawing houses all day."
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
Wemmbu sighed.
"...Fine."
By the time the hour was over, Wemmbu had learned several things.
Mane liked building things.
Flame liked drawing.
They both liked Minecraft.
Mane was cautious.
Flame was much more willing to trust people.
Neither liked talking about their parents.
Neither asked when their parents were coming home.
That last one bothered Wemmbu the most.
It was obvious they were used to not asking.
When their father finally returned, he stopped in the doorway.
He looked at the boys.
Then at Wemmbu.
Then back at the boys.
They were sitting on the floor beside him.
Flame was showing Wemmbu a drawing.
Mane was explaining something about a Minecraft build.
Nobody was crying.
Nothing was broken.
Nobody had tried to escape.
The father looked genuinely surprised.
"How did it go?"
Wemmbu looked around.
"Fine."
Mane immediately corrected him.
"Good."
Wemmbu looked at him.
Mane shrugged.
"It was good."
The father smiled.
"That's... good."
He looked relieved.
Wemmbu stood.
"I'll take the job."
The father blinked.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"You haven't even asked about the pay."
"You already told me."
"Or the hours."
"I can work them."
"Or the responsibilities."
Wemmbu shrugged.
"I've got a pretty good idea."
The man laughed.
"You're sure?"
Wemmbu glanced at the boys.
Mane was watching him.
Flame was still holding the drawing.
"Yeah."
He was.
The money mattered.
Obviously.
But that wasn't the only reason anymore.
Something about the two kids had gotten under his skin.
He didn't know how.
He didn't want to think about it yet.
The father extended his hand.
"Then we have a deal."
Wemmbu shook it.
"Deal."
He left with his first real job.
His first stable income.
And a strange feeling he couldn't explain.
He was halfway down the street when his phone buzzed.
Wemmbu pulled it out.
Another email.
Interview Request.
He stopped walking.
Another babysitting position.
He opened it.
The pay was even higher.
Wemmbu's eyebrows rose.
"Seriously?"
He read the details.
Private household.
One child.
Flexible schedule.
Excellent compensation.
The location was on the other side of the city.
He checked the time.
He had nothing scheduled tomorrow.
He accepted.
Then he noticed the household information.
Two parents.
One child.
He didn't recognize the names.
Good.
That meant nothing weird.
Probably.
Wemmbu continued walking.
Then stopped.
Something in the application caught his eye.
A photograph.
The family had included one.
Wemmbu stared at the screen.
A man.
A second man.
And between them...
A child.
Dark hair.
A familiar grin.
Wemmbu's entire body went still.
He zoomed in.
His heart seemed to stop.
He knew that face.
No.
No, no, no.
He read the child's name.
Spoke.
Wemmbu stared at the screen.
Then looked back at the photograph.
The little boy was smiling.
That exact smile.
That exact expression.
The same face he'd seen moments before the distortion had swallowed him.
The same person who had pressed the button.
The same person who had caused him to end up here.
Wemmbu slowly lowered the phone.
"...You're kidding me."
He looked at the parents' names again.
Then back at Spoke.
The universe had apparently decided that sending him through time wasn't enough.
Now it wanted to see how long he could survive babysitting the person responsible.
Wemmbu rubbed both hands over his face.
"Of course."
His phone buzzed again.
The interview confirmation appeared.
Tomorrow, 10:00 AM.
Wemmbu stared at it.
Then at the photograph.
"...I'm going."
He had no idea why.
Maybe because the pay was ridiculous.
Maybe because he needed the money.
Maybe because he needed answers.
Or maybe because, somewhere underneath all of that, he desperately wanted to know what kind of child Spoke had been before Wemmbu ever knew him.
He put the phone away.
Then started walking again.
"Eight years old," he muttered.
He stopped.
"Actually..."
He thought about Spoke.
The artifact.
The meeting.
The smile.
"...Yeah. That checks out."
And for the first time since arriving in this universe, Wemmbu laughed.
Wemmbu arrived eleven minutes early.
He considered that a good sign.
It meant he was responsible.
It meant he was punctual.
It meant he was taking the job seriously.
It absolutely did not mean he was nervous.
He stood outside the enormous house and stared at the address on his phone.
Then at the house.
Then back at the phone.
Same address.
Same house.
Same absurdly expensive neighborhood.
Wemmbu looked up at the building again.
It was somehow even larger than the photographs had made it look.
The front lawn was perfectly maintained. There were trees lining the driveway, flowerbeds that probably required an employee just to keep alive, and windows so clean they barely reflected the sunlight.
There was a basketball hoop near the side of the driveway.
A bicycle lay abandoned in the grass.
One of the windows upstairs had a curtain hanging slightly crooked.
Wemmbu stared at that last detail.
It was the only thing about the entire property that looked remotely normal.
He checked the interview message again.
Childcare position.
One child.
Excellent compensation.
Previous babysitters have not remained in the position.
That last sentence had been included almost casually.
Wemmbu had noticed it.
He simply hadn't cared.
The pay was ridiculous.
He needed money.
And, more importantly, he already knew the child.
How bad could an eight-year-old possibly be?
Wemmbu pressed the doorbell.
He heard it echo somewhere deep inside the house.
A few seconds passed.
Then came footsteps.
Fast footsteps.
Someone shouted from inside.
"Don't open it!"
Another voice answered.
"I know!"
"NO, YOU DON'T!"
The footsteps got closer.
Wemmbu raised an eyebrow.
The door opened.
A man stood there.
Wemmbu recognized him from the photographs.
BadBoyHalo.
He heard about him.
He looked exhausted.
Not ordinary tired.
The same kind of exhausted expression Wemmbu had seen on Mane and Flame's father.
Except this time, there was something else underneath it.
Fear.
Not fear of Wemmbu.
Fear of what might happen after he walked through the door.
BadBoyHalo smiled politely.
"You're Wemmbu?"
"Yeah."
"Come in."
Wemmbu stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
The house was beautiful.
It was also loud.
Very loud.
Somewhere upstairs, something rolled across the floor.
Then came a thump.
Then silence.
BadBoyHalo's smile twitched.
Wemmbu looked toward the ceiling.
"...That normal?"
"No."
A second man appeared from the hallway.
Skeppy.
He was holding what looked like a mug of coffee.
He looked at Wemmbu.
Then at Bad.
Then at the ceiling.
"Is he here?"
"Yes."
"Already?"
"He's eleven minutes early."
Skeppy looked at Wemmbu.
"You're brave."
Wemmbu frowned.
"I just got here."
Skeppy took a sip of coffee.
"Exactly."
Wemmbu looked between them.
Something about this was beginning to feel familiar.
Not the house.
Not the situation.
The plan.
It seemed like they were planning something.
Them.
They behaved differently here, obviously.
They were adults.
Parents.
But there was still something recognizable in the way they spoke to each other.
Wemmbu decided not to think about it.
"Where's Spoke?"
Both adults went silent.
Wemmbu noticed.
That was interesting.
Skeppy slowly lowered his mug.
"Why?"
"You said I was here to babysit him."
"Yes."
"So where is he?"
BadBoyHalo looked toward the staircase.
"Somewhere."
Wemmbu stared.
"Somewhere?"
"He's in the house."
"That's reassuring."
"He was upstairs a minute ago."
Skeppy nodded.
"Then he wasn't."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"What?"
Skeppy sighed.
"He moves."
"Where?"
"We don't know."
Wemmbu blinked.
"You don't know where your child is?"
"Not currently."
"He's eight."
"We're aware."
Wemmbu looked around the room.
Everything was suspiciously normal.
No broken furniture.
No smoke.
No alarms.
No obvious signs of destruction.
That made him more suspicious, not less.
He looked at the staircase.
"Has he done anything today?"
BadBoyHalo hesitated.
"No."
Wemmbu's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing?"
"No."
"At all?"
"No."
Wemmbu nodded slowly.
"That's worse."
Both parents looked at him.
Skeppy pointed at him.
"See? He gets it."
BadBoyHalo sighed.
"You haven't even met him."
"I know."
Wemmbu folded his arms.
"Where's the kitchen?"
Skeppy immediately pointed.
"That way."
Wemmbu walked.
BadBoyHalo followed.
The kitchen looked completely untouched.
Wemmbu stopped in the doorway.
He inspected the counters.
The cabinets.
The floor.
The appliances.
Everything was intact.
He frowned.
Skeppy stood behind him.
"What?"
"When did you last check this room?"
"About an hour ago."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"An hour?"
"Yes."
Wemmbu walked inside.
He opened a cabinet.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
He opened the refrigerator.
Nothing strange.
He closed it.
Then looked at the floor.
There.
A tiny smear of chocolate.
Wemmbu crouched.
He touched it.
Fresh.
He looked toward the hallway.
Then upward.
Then back at the parents.
"He's been here."
BadBoyHalo sighed.
"Yes."
"Recently."
"Probably."
Wemmbu stood.
"Where did he go?"
Skeppy shrugged.
"That's the question."
Wemmbu looked at the kitchen again.
His eyes moved slowly across the room.
Then stopped.
A chair.
It was slightly pulled away from the counter.
Wemmbu walked toward it.
He looked underneath.
Nothing.
He looked behind it.
Nothing.
Then he noticed the counter.
A cabinet above it was open.
Only slightly.
Wemmbu stared.
He reached up and opened it.
Empty.
He frowned.
"What's normally in here?"
"Snacks."
Wemmbu closed the cabinet.
Then looked at the parents.
"He's hiding."
"Probably."
"No."
Wemmbu shook his head.
"He's waiting."
Skeppy raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
Wemmbu looked toward the doorway.
"Me."
Silence.
BadBoyHalo frowned.
"Why?"
Wemmbu didn't answer.
Because he knew.
He remembered Spoke.
Not this child.
The Spoke he knew was older.
Stronger.
More experienced.
More dangerous.
But the personality?
That was already here.
Wemmbu had seen it before.
That curiosity.
That need to test things.
That complete lack of respect for the concept of leave it alone.
And the smile.
Especially the smile.
Wemmbu turned toward the stairs.
"Spoke."
Nothing.
He waited.
"Spoke."
Silence.
Wemmbu sighed.
"Okay."
He started upstairs.
Behind him, Skeppy whispered:
"Is he going to find him?"
BadBoyHalo whispered back:
"I hope so."
Wemmbu heard both.
He ignored them.
The second floor was much quieter.
There were several bedrooms.
A bathroom.
A small study.
A playroom.
Wemmbu walked slowly.
He checked the first room.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Empty.
He reached the end of the hallway.
Nothing.
Wemmbu stopped.
He looked around.
Then smiled.
"...Really?"
He walked back.
Stopped beside a closet.
He opened the door.
Nothing.
He closed it.
Then crouched.
There was a tiny gap beneath the bed beside him.
Two eyes stared back.
Wemmbu stared.
The eyes blinked.
Wemmbu smiled.
"Hi."
Silence.
"I can see you."
"No, you can't."
Wemmbu stared at the bed.
"...You're right."
A pause.
"I can't see you."
The eyes remained completely still.
Wemmbu stood.
"Okay."
He started walking away.
Behind him, there was a rustle.
Wemmbu immediately turned.
The bed shifted.
A tiny figure shot out from underneath it.
Wemmbu caught him by the back of his shirt before he could make it past.
The child froze.
Wemmbu froze.
They stared at each other.
Up close, there was absolutely no doubt.
Spoke.
Eight years old.
Smaller than Wemmbu remembered him.
Rounder face.
Messier hair.
And that same unmistakable expression.
Spoke looked up at him.
Wemmbu looked down.
Neither moved.
Then Spoke narrowed his eyes.
"Who are you?"
Wemmbu's grip loosened slightly.
"I'm your babysitter."
Spoke stared.
"No."
Wemmbu blinked.
"No?"
"You're lying."
"Why?"
"Because babysitters are old."
Wemmbu stared at him.
"...I'm nineteen."
Spoke considered that.
"That's old."
Wemmbu looked personally offended.
"I'm nineteen."
"Old."
"I'm literally a college student."
"Old college student."
Wemmbu sighed.
"Okay."
Spoke smiled.
There it was.
That smile.
Wemmbu knew it.
He had seen it before.
He had spent years learning to recognize exactly what that smile meant.
Spoke was planning something.
Wemmbu looked at him.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing."
Wemmbu stared.
Spoke smiled wider.
"Nothing."
Wemmbu slowly released his shirt.
"Right."
Spoke immediately bolted.
Wemmbu caught him by the arm.
"No."
"Let go!"
"No."
"I have to go!"
"Where?"
"Somewhere."
"Where?"
Spoke pointed toward the staircase.
"Down."
"Why?"
"Because."
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
"No, it isn't."
Spoke twisted.
Wemmbu didn't let go.
Spoke stared at him.
Wemmbu stared back.
A battle of wills began.
It lasted approximately four seconds.
Spoke suddenly smiled.
Wemmbu's stomach dropped.
"What?"
Spoke pointed behind him.
"Look!"
Wemmbu didn't.
"No."
"There's a spider!"
"No."
"Big spider!"
"No."
"Really big spider!"
Wemmbu stared at him.
"Spoke."
"Yes?"
"You are terrible at lying."
Spoke looked offended.
"I'm not lying."
"You are."
"No."
"You literally tried this on me before."
Spoke froze.
Wemmbu froze.
For one tiny second, neither understood what had just happened.
Wemmbu recovered first.
"I mean..."
He cleared his throat.
"...I've seen kids do it."
Spoke narrowed his eyes.
"That's weird."
"Yeah."
Wemmbu released him.
Spoke immediately stepped back.
Then smiled.
"You're weird."
Wemmbu smiled back.
"You're worse."
Spoke laughed.
And somewhere downstairs, both parents heard it.
Skeppy slowly looked at BadBoyHalo.
"He's laughing."
BadBoyHalo stared toward the ceiling.
"That's new."
Skeppy nodded.
"Very new."
Upstairs, Wemmbu crouched so he was closer to Spoke's height.
"Okay."
Spoke tilted his head.
"What?"
"We're going to establish some rules."
Spoke immediately looked suspicious.
"No."
"You haven't heard them."
"I don't like them."
"You don't even know what they are."
"They're rules."
Wemmbu sighed.
This was going to be a long day.
A very, very long day.
Wemmbu had quickly discovered something important.
Spoke was not a difficult child.
Spoke was a problem-solving child.
There was a difference.
A difficult child might refuse to do something.
Spoke would refuse to do it, figure out why he was being asked to do it, identify the exact wording of the instruction, and then find a way to obey it while accomplishing the opposite.
Wemmbu respected that.
He hated it.
But he respected it.
"Sit down."
Spoke sat down.
Wemmbu waited.
Spoke looked at him.
Wemmbu looked back.
"...That's it?"
"Yes."
"You didn't tell me where."
"Here."
Spoke pointed at the floor.
"I sat."
Wemmbu stared at him.
"You know what I meant."
"You didn't say that."
Wemmbu sighed.
"Chair."
Spoke sat in the chair.
"See?"
"Yeah."
Wemmbu nodded.
"You're annoying."
Spoke grinned.
"Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
Wemmbu couldn't help it.
He laughed.
Spoke immediately smiled wider.
That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed.
Within the next ten minutes, the two of them were sitting on the living room floor surrounded by Minecraft books, building blocks, and an assortment of toys Wemmbu couldn't identify.
Spoke had apparently decided that the new babysitter was interesting.
That was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"So you're actually good at Minecraft?"
Spoke held up two blocks.
"Yes."
"How good?"
"Good."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the answer you're getting."
Spoke narrowed his eyes.
"Can you speedrun?"
"Yes."
"How fast?"
Wemmbu gave him a number.
Spoke's jaw dropped.
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
Spoke stared at him.
Then immediately grabbed a piece of paper.
"Prove it."
"How?"
"Draw it."
"Draw what?"
"A speedrun."
Wemmbu stared at him.
"...That doesn't make any sense."
"Prove it."
"That's not how speedrunning works."
"Then you're lying."
Wemmbu sighed.
He took the paper.
He drew a rough map.
Spoke leaned closer.
Wemmbu explained.
The route.
The resources.
The strategy.
The risks.
Spoke listened with complete concentration.
When Wemmbu finished, Spoke stared at the drawing.
Then at Wemmbu.
"...That's actually smart."
"I know."
"You sound like you think you're smart."
"I am."
Spoke grinned.
"I like you."
Wemmbu paused.
That had come unexpectedly.
He looked at the child.
Spoke had already gone back to examining the drawing.
Wemmbu smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
He wasn't sure why, but he liked Spoke too.
Which was probably a terrible sign.
The parents eventually came downstairs.
They had apparently been watching from the doorway for several minutes.
BadBoyHalo looked surprised.
Skeppy looked amused.
Wemmbu looked up.
"What?"
Bad smiled.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I've never seen him sit still this long."
Wemmbu looked at Spoke.
Spoke was currently lying on the floor, drawing a Minecraft house.
"He hasn't been still."
Bad looked at him.
"What?"
"He climbed the couch twice."
Skeppy laughed.
"That's more like him."
Wemmbu pointed at Spoke.
"He also tried to convince me that a chair was a vehicle."
"It can be."
Spoke didn't even look up.
Wemmbu stared.
"See?"
Bad covered his mouth.
Skeppy was openly laughing now.
Then Bad's expression softened.
"We actually have somewhere we need to be."
Wemmbu nodded.
"Okay."
"We'll be gone for a few hours."
"That's fine."
Bad looked toward Spoke.
Then back at Wemmbu.
"You'd be okay staying with him?"
Wemmbu glanced at the child.
Spoke looked up.
"Can he stay?"
Bad blinked.
Spoke turned toward him.
"Please?"
There was a pause.
Bad looked at Wemmbu.
Wemmbu shrugged.
"I don't mind."
Skeppy looked relieved.
"Then we'll trust you."
Wemmbu nodded.
The two adults gathered their things.
Spoke followed them to the door.
He looked annoyed.
"You're leaving?"
"We'll be back later."
"When?"
"Tonight."
Spoke frowned.
"That's long."
"I know."
Wemmbu watched him.
There was something about the way Spoke said it.
Not angry.
Not dramatic.
Just disappointed.
Bad noticed too.
He crouched down.
"We'll be back."
Spoke nodded.
"Okay."
The door closed.
Silence.
Spoke stood there for several seconds.
Then turned around.
"...So."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"What?"
"What are we doing?"
Wemmbu thought.
"Anything you want."
Spoke's eyes lit up.
Wemmbu immediately regretted the sentence.
Three hours later, Wemmbu understood why the previous babysitters had quit.
They had built a blanket fort.
They had played Minecraft.
They had played board games.
They had eaten lunch.
Spoke had attempted to convince Wemmbu that eating dessert before lunch was technically not against the rules because dessert wasn't a meal.
Wemmbu had rejected the argument.
Spoke had attempted to appeal.
Wemmbu rejected the appeal.
Spoke had attempted to bribe him.
Wemmbu had accepted the bribe and then eaten the candy himself.
Spoke had been furious.
Wemmbu considered that a victory.
Later, they played outside.
Spoke climbed everything.
The fence.
The tree.
The playground.
A structure Wemmbu was reasonably certain wasn't designed to be climbed.
Every time Wemmbu told him to get down, Spoke would ask why.
Every time Wemmbu explained, Spoke would find a loophole.
Eventually, Wemmbu stopped giving explanations.
"Get down."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Spoke stared at him.
"...Fine."
He climbed down.
Wemmbu blinked.
"That worked?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Spoke shrugged.
"I like you."
Wemmbu smiled.
"Good."
Spoke looked away.
Then quietly said:
"Most babysitters don't."
Wemmbu's smile disappeared.
"What?"
Spoke shrugged again.
"They leave."
Wemmbu looked at him.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Wemmbu did.
Or at least, he had a pretty good idea.
Spoke was exhausting.
But he was also eight.
And eight-year-olds weren't supposed to be responsible for keeping adults around.
Wemmbu sat beside him.
"Well."
Spoke looked over.
"I'm not leaving because you're annoying."
Spoke blinked.
"Really?"
"Really."
"You promise?"
Wemmbu hesitated.
He didn't like promises.
But this one felt different.
"Yeah."
Spoke smiled.
"Okay."
They sat there for a while.
No chaos.
No arguments.
Just quiet.
Wemmbu looked at the sky.
He still didn't know how he'd ended up here.
He still didn't know how to get back.
But for the first time since arriving, he wasn't thinking about it.
The parents came home after sunset.
The house was still standing.
That was apparently enough to impress them.
BadBoyHalo stepped through the front door.
He stopped.
Spoke was asleep on the couch.
Wemmbu was sitting on the floor nearby, scrolling through his phone.
Bad stared.
Then looked at Skeppy.
Skeppy stared too.
"He's asleep?"
"Yeah."
"Voluntarily?"
Wemmbu looked up.
"I read him a book."
Skeppy looked deeply impressed.
"What book?"
"Something about dinosaurs."
"That usually doesn't work."
"It did today."
Bad walked closer.
He looked at Spoke.
Then at Wemmbu.
"How was he?"
Wemmbu thought about it.
"Terrible."
Skeppy laughed.
"Yeah."
"But manageable."
Bad smiled.
"Would you come back?"
Wemmbu nodded.
"Sure."
"Good."
Bad pulled out his phone.
"I'll send you the schedule."
Wemmbu stood.
"Okay."
He looked toward Spoke.
The kid was still asleep.
Wemmbu quietly walked toward the door.
He put his jacket on.
Then reached for his shoes.
Nothing.
He looked down.
His shoes were gone.
Wemmbu stared.
"...No."
He checked beneath the bench.
Nothing.
Behind the door.
Nothing.
Under the couch.
Nothing.
He slowly turned around.
Spoke was still asleep.
Or pretending to be.
Wemmbu narrowed his eyes.
"Skeppy."
"Yeah?"
"Where are my shoes?"
Skeppy blinked.
"I don't know."
Wemmbu looked around.
Bad started laughing.
"What?"
Bad pointed toward the stairs.
Wemmbu followed his gaze.
A tiny shoe was sitting halfway up.
Wemmbu stared.
Then another.
Then another.
A trail.
He looked back at Spoke.
Spoke's eyes were closed.
Wemmbu walked upstairs.
He followed the trail.
One shoe.
Two.
Then both of his shoes were sitting outside Spoke's bedroom.
Wemmbu stood there.
"...You little bastard."
From downstairs came a sleepy voice.
"I can't hear you."
Wemmbu laughed.
He collected his shoes.
Put them on.
Then headed downstairs.
Spoke was still lying on the couch.
Wemmbu leaned over him.
"Goodnight."
One eye opened.
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"When are you coming back?"
"Tomorrow."
Spoke smiled.
"Okay."
His eye closed again.
Wemmbu straightened.
He looked toward the parents.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you."
Wemmbu walked outside.
The door closed behind him.
He stood on the sidewalk.
He looked up at the house.
Then down at his phone.
A notification appeared.
Another babysitting request.
Wemmbu opened it.
He read the details.
Another household.
Another child.
Another ridiculous salary.
He stared at the screen.
Then laughed quietly.
"...What are the odds?"
He accepted the interview.
His phone buzzed again.
Interview scheduled.
Wemmbu slipped the phone into his pocket.
He started walking down the street.
He had come to this universe with nothing.
No money.
No home.
No identity.
Now he had a university acceptance.
Two babysitting jobs.
And one rapidly growing suspicion that babysitting was going to become considerably more complicated than he had expected.
He had absolutely no idea who the next child was.
And, judging by the salary, that was probably a very bad sign.