The Architects Chapter Six: Clicking Bricks

Clicking white bricks together is way too satisfying. Easy, almost. I move fast. Ever so often, I summon a new pile of bricks.

This is actually... kind of... fun.

Before I know it, I’ve got a massive white skyscraper. It’s futuristic but not too futuristic, modern but with a bit of classical charm.

I wanted to be an architecture major, but... college didn’t really work out for me. How ironic that now I’m using my architecture skills to blend in with a race of gods.

“Very nice, Mr. Kerpetski.”

I had honestly forgotten that Alexei was still in the room with me. Everything faded away. Just me and the bricks.

For a moment, I even forgot about Amanda.

God, that’s so horrible. Any elation I had at a finished project is replaced by guilt. What am I doing? I should be focusing on getting back, not some stupid lego project. I need to get back. Amanda could wake up any time now.

Focus, Nick, focus. You don’t have time to get sucked into side projects.

“Mr. Kerpetski?”

“Yeah? Sorry. Zoned out for a minute.”

Alexei laughs. “You always do that,” he says. “Good to know you haven’t lost your personality along with your memories.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

I guess my personality lines up with Mr. Kerpetski’s.

Does that mean that Alexei’s personality lines up with Amanda’s?

I don’t find that comforting. If anything, it only disturbs me more.

“The thing you might want to remember, Mr. Kerpetski, is that we only have to build a building a day. The only exception is with big projects. Then we work nine to five. Even small projects count. So, if you’d like, we can be done for the day. It seems like even without your memories, you are an efficient worker.”

“Wait... we’re done?”

“Makes for a good work environment. They go easy on us. The last time workers went on strike, nuclear bombs were dropped. Without us, it took decades for humans to recover. World War Two was a nasty conflict.”

I decided again not to comment. Millions of humans died. Cities were leveled. Bombs were dropped. Icons destroyed. And all it gets is “nasty?” Seems like it’s a lot more than nasty.

“Where do we go after we’re done working?”

“Oh, the apartments.”

“The apartments? Shouldn’t you guys get to live in, like, mansions?”

“Oh, Mr. Kerpetski. Mansions are a strictly human invention. They are... ostentatious. Unnecessary. Here, everyone lives in apartments. It means we all get along much better.”

“So... like communism. Gods are communists.”

“Similar, but no. Communism is everyone getting the same thing. We all get the same space, but how we use that space is a different matter entirely. We still have ‘status symbols’. It’s just not about size.”

“It’s about design.”

“Precisely. Now, try not to do anything incriminating. Like I said, your... condition—”

“Yeah. I got it. Secretive. Or else I die.”

“Worse than death,” Alexei says, his genial voice not matching his dark words.

“Right.” Like I needed reminding of the phrase that will haunt my nightmares forever. Thanks, Alexei.

The two of us walk towards the door— the one I arrived through— and for a moment, I feel a thrill of hope. Maybe he’ll take me back to the mortal world.

Maybe I won’t have to claw my way out of here after all.

But it’s stupid to hope.

The place we walk into is definitely not our apartment. It’s not like any earth apartment I’ve ever seen. Similar, but... off, somehow.

I guess I still have to claw my way out of here.

That’s fine, I guess. I wasn’t really expecting an easy way out. Hoping, sure, but not expecting. One thing I’ve learned in my less than two decades on this earth is to hope for the best and expect the worst.

And usually, the worst is what you get.

But something about the apartments is comforting. It’s something in the air, in the lighting, in the colorful furniture.

I file away a list of shit to look for next time I’m at IKEA. My mom always told me that furniture mattered, that every detail would contribute to a home.

I always thought she was full of shit. It’s about the people... right?

But being here... maybe she was right.

Maybe when I get back to Amanda, I should make our apartment a home.

Maybe it’s about the things and the people.

Maybe if I had focused more on us, none of this would have happened.

Shut up, Nick. Don’t think about that. This isn’t your fault. Nothing could have predicted this.

Just focus. Focus on getting home. You can make things right once you’re mortal again.

You can make things right once you’re human again.