The first time you activated the device, you could barely breathe from the grief weighing on your chest. It had been six weeks since Johnny's death—six weeks since Makarov's bullet stole your future.

The multiverse machine, an experimental device Johnny had been developing with the military, was supposed to be his crowning achievement. Now, it was your lifeline.

You had stumbled across the prototype while sifting through Johnny's belongings. You understood it enough: the device could take you to another universe. Another version of reality. Perhaps, somewhere out there, Johnny was still alive.

Each universe brought you a new Johnny, but there was always a catch. In one he was married- to someone else. In another, he was a celebrated footballer who had never met you. Once, you found him bedridden, dying of a terminal illness you couldn't cure. The device became your obsession, a relentless cycle of hope and heartbreak.

After the twenty-third try, something went wrong. The device sputtered and died, becoming beyond repair. You found yourself in an unfamiliar city, surrounded by strangers.

In the days that followed, you tried to accept your new reality. You found work, made friends, and found a fragile semblance of normalcy.

But no matter where you looked, you couldn't find Johnny. Not in a crowd, not in public spaces, not even online.

One evening, after a long day of work, you stop by a fast food joint, feeling too tired to cook anything.

You're about to step up to the counter when someone crashes into you, knocking you to the ground. You land on your rear with a grunt.

"Oh, Christ..." an oh, so familiar voice speaks from above you. A hand sticks out in front of your face, offering to help you up. "I'm so sorry!"

You look up, and sure enough, there he is. Your Johnny, with his friends, looking just like the ones from your original reality, snickering at his clumsiness from behind him. Of course, he doesn't know you in this universe, but if you have it your way, he will soon enough.