Two twin boys were born one stormy night, while flying through the Bermuda Triangle.
One didn't belong to this universe, the other did.
An easier entrance was made in Washington, D. C.
Just a test appearance. Because this man wanted to find his own doppelganger. Somewhere in Congress.
Around his finger was a thin dark ring with two stones on it - one red, and one blue. The ring was carved into the shape of a serpent eating its own tail. An ancient legend that foretold death before rebirth.
That ring had found the man.
Like the twin boys had found each other.
Regardless of the universes they belonged to.
These sets of twins had different goals for being here. One to save both universes, the other sought to master and control everything possible. Regardless of what they had to destroy in the process.
Only one set could win - while the fate of both universes hung in the balance...
The small twin-engine plane rocked in the sudden thunder storm, lightning flashed outside. Cabin lights flickered on and off. Along with the sky flashes exposing the passenger's drawn faces to alternate pitch black and brilliant white.
Besides the pilot and the stewardess, the only occupants in the rocking craft were a man, his very pregnant wife, and an attending doctor.
In the midst of the thunder and whining engines, A cry rang out, then another.
Two young children entered this world inside that small airplane.
In the next minute, that craft pitched forward, pushing all the occupants against their seats. The husband and wife each holding tight onto one child each, while the doctor grasped his black medical bag to his chest with one hand, and the arm of his chair with the other – both hands white from a straining grip.
Seconds turned into eternity as the plane plummeted through the flashing clouds.
In the cockpit, the pilot was furiously working to level out the plane at least into a gliding pattern. All by brute force of his straining arms, legs, and back. At his side, strapped into the co-pilot seat, the stewardess was working through the re-start sequence to get the engines powered again, to get the hydraulics and electrical working once more.
With her practiced moves, any observer could see they had been through similar scenes before. Their quick, sure actions coming from repetitive training and sheer muscle-memory – despite the steep angle of descent and the continual rocking that shook the craft.
At last, the engines caught again, and lights flickered back on in the cabin. Thrusting the throttle full forward, the young woman in the co-pilot seat then helped the straining pilot pull back on the shared yoke of that plane, using the controls on her half of the small cockpit.
They got their too-rapid descent back under control only a few thousand feet above the storm-whipped waves. There the clouds left them as a retreating ceiling, and they were now below the cloud-to-cloud lightning. The rain had also quit – which gave the pilot and stewardess a clearer view. As the craft leveled out, the engines bit into head and side-winds – pulling them toward their nearest safe landing, still hundreds of miles away.
As the pilot pulled the throttle back to a more normal speed for the new conditions, the stewardess patted his shoulder. “I'd give you a kiss, lover, but I need to check on our guests.”
At that she unbuckled her seatbelt and made her way aft...