He double-clicked the launcher. Instead of a title screen, the monitor bled into a deep, abyssal violet. There were no settings, no "New Game" button. Just a single prompt in a font that looked uncomfortably like his own handwriting: WHICH VERSION OF YOU Elias typed "The successful one" with a cynical smirk.

The room didn’t change, but the air grew heavy with the scent of expensive cedarwood and espresso—smells that didn't belong in his cramped, ramen-scented apartment. Suddenly, his webcam light turned red. On the screen, a video feed opened. It looked like his room, but the peeling wallpaper was gone, replaced by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a view of a city skyline he didn’t recognize.

"You shouldn't have downloaded this, Elias," the screen-version said. His voice was richer, echoing not from the speakers, but from the hallway behind Elias’s real-world chair.

"The crack isn't for the game," the twin whispered, his breath fogging the inside of Elias’s monitor. "It’s for the barrier."