It had been one of those days. You know the ones. Banana Delvey and Miss October were behind the counter at the gas station in East Van, pretending to work. Banana leaned against the cash register, staring at the half-stocked shelves like they were a tragic art installation. Miss October scrolled her phone behind a sad rack of lighters, occasionally flipping a chip bag for dramatic effect. Customers wandered in, demanding solutions to things that weren’t their fault.

"Pump 5's broken!" one man barked. Banana blinked at him, unfazed.

"Wow, tragic," she said, offering exactly zero help.

Hours passed in a fog of apathy and smoke breaks. The store fell further into chaos. Neither of them cared. The gas station was their stage, and slacking off was the performance.

Finally—finally—their shift ended. Banana shoved open the gas station door like she’d been freed from solitary confinement. Miss October shuffled behind, clutching an energy drink like a lifeline.

“Home, sweet garbage heap,” Banana muttered as they trudged to their rickety rental on the edge of East Van. It was held together by luck and mold. The rats had squatters’ rights.

But as soon as Banana opened the front door, they both froze.

The house was clean. No flickering lights. No smell of stale pizza. The air smelled… nice.

“Miss October,” Banana whispered, wide-eyed. “Did you leave this house… fancy?”

“Absolutely not,” Miss October snapped. “Who’s here?!”

They tiptoed inside—and froze again. On their couch sat Banana Delvey. Identical. Same face, same wig… except slightly shinier.

“WHAT IS THAT?!” Banana shrieked, pointing.

“Calm down,” said Banana Delvey 2, sipping tea like royalty. “I live here now.”

“NO, YOU DON’T!”

Before Banana could throw a shoe, another Miss October walked out of the kitchen. She had a better wig and a tray of cookies.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Miss October 2 casually. “We cleaned.”

“WE?!” Banana screeched.

That’s when they noticed it: a glowing portal in the corner of the room. Another Banana Delvey—Banana Delvey 3—stepped out holding a succulent plant.

“Is that a dimension portal?!” Miss October asked, jaw dropping.

“Yeah, it’s cute,” said Banana 3.

Over the next few hours, the house filled with more versions of them. Banana Delvey 4 vacuumed. Miss October 3 alphabetized their wigs. Banana 5 baked muffins. The originals yelled, but they were ignored. These newcomers were cooler, cleaner, and somehow more productive.

“I can’t live like this!” Banana yelled, as Banana 6 redecorated.

“I kinda like it,” Miss October admitted, as Miss October 4 fixed the broken window.

By the end of the night, nobody could tell which Banana or Miss October was the original… and honestly? No one cared. The house looked fabulous. The portal stayed. And East Van became the multi-dimensional headquarters of slaying.

Because if one of us is good, more of us is better.