Awsten pounds on the screen. “Can you get us out of here?”

Otto turns the laptop towards himself. “Dunno. I barely even know what the Awsten downstairs does. I just got holy water in my pocket because Travis figured he was a soulless being and it could ward him off. How did you even get in there?”

His fists unclench and Awsten rests his palms against the screen. “I don’t know. Geoff got lured in by the fake and now we’re both here.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Holy water? Soulless being?” Geoff backtracks. “Is Not-Awsten some kind of freaky vampire or something?” 

“He’s more of a demon,” Otto explains.

“Secondblood,” Nawtsten corrects off screen. He comes into frame bearing the drink. “It’s a more fitting term than—”

“Reflection,” Otto finishes. Nawtsten’s hand tightens around the cup.

“You,” Nawtsten says with an accusing finger, slamming the cup on a nightstand, “have a reflection. Those two have a secondblood. Karma and all that.” When no one reacts, he scoffs. “Need me to spell it out? A reflection is a barely-aware copycat. A secondblood, by the magic of the Internet, is a curated personality; a permanent mirror image.”

“Internet? Magic?” Otto asks.

Nawtsten sneers. “Of course. How do you expect a bunch of rock husks to harness that much power?” He flicks the laptop screen, shaking Geoff and Awsten’s balance. "I'm conscious because of that magic. Every post, every dumb video, everything you cast online creates a separate being."

“Even if you look like me or whatever, you’ll never be the real thing,” Awsten snarls.

“You made me, dumbass. You’re as guilty as I am for this.” Nawtsten smiles saccharinely. “And I know I’m not you. I’m better. I’m everything you pretend to be.”

Otto drops the laptop on the bed and wrestles Nawtsten to the carpet.