#from the original i guess

[puppyeared]

filipina miku!! my mom helped me with her outfit ^_^

[self-spaghettification]

michael the distortion notes

^Every voice line from him

(all mentions of/talk from michael)

[MAG 26]

SASHA

So, I was starting to regret not getting a coffee and talking to tall, blond and monster, since it didn’t seem like I’d have missed much.

-

The street was empty, but as I looked, a car drove past. In the curving glass of its tinted windows, I saw him there, the weird distorted body, rail-thin and limp, the hands huge and sharp. And then the car passed on and I turned back to see a normal-looking man. But now, for the first time, he was looking at me. He gestured to the chair across from him, clearly inviting me inside. I don’t know why I wasn’t more scared going in there, but I wasn’t. My curiosity apparently conquered my nervousness.

He didn’t speak when I sat down, and I saw his coffee cup was empty. Whatever was inside had dried up hours ago. He seemed to be waiting for me to ask him a question. So I asked him what he was. He laughed at this, the first sound I’d heard him make, and it sounded… unnatural. Like he was laughing very quietly, but someone had turned up the volume up so I could hear it. He said it didn’t matter what he was, that he couldn’t describe it even if he wanted to. What was the phrase he used… “How would a melody describe itself when asked?”

This put my back up a bit to be honest, and I told him if he was going to talk in cheap riddles I was just going to leave. He actually apologised, told me I could call him Michael. I didn’t want to call him Michael; it didn’t seem to fit somehow, and the way he said it made me think that it definitely was not his name. Still, it wasn’t like I had any other name for him. – no, not for him. For it.

It sat there, clearly waiting for me to ask another question – so I did. I asked it what it wanted, and was told that it wanted to help.

ARCHIVIST

Help? With… what?

SASHA

That’s what I said. Did it want to stop Jane Prentiss? It laughed that weird laugh again and told me that I had no idea what was really going on. It didn’t sound like it had any intention of telling me, though, it just seemed like it was amused by my attempts to understand. Then it said it didn’t care if I or my companions lived or died, but that “the flesh-hive was always rash”. It said it wanted to be friends. When it said this it put its hand in mine, and it may have looked like a human hand, but it was heavy. It felt like a… wet leather bag full of heavy stones. Sharp stones.

I pulled my hand away quickly and got up to leave. By this point I was just about sick of this weird thing that looked like a person but was not a person and talked in riddles. It made no move to stop me as I headed towards the door. As I was about to exit, though, it called after me, and said if I was interested in saving your life it would be waiting at Hanwell Cemetery.

ARCHIVIST

Sorry, saving my life?

SASHA

Yeah. It called you by name. You. And Martin. And Tim.

ARCHIVIST

That’s… unsettling.

-

SASHA

Staggering to my feet, I felt my hand come to rest on something cold and metal – the fire extinguisher. Without thinking, I pulled the pin out and squeezed the handle. A cloud of gas shot out and, to my surprise, the silver worms began to shudder and recoil, shrivelling and dying. I began to walk forward, catching every last one in the jet of gas. Finally, I found myself standing over the mass of pitted and hollow skin that was once a man. He shuddered violently as the gas engulfed him, and then lay still.

As I stood there, staring at the wallet, I felt a sharp pain in my right arm. I looked up to see Michael, reaching into my shoulder. Its fingers were long and distorted as they reached through my skin, cutting it like paper. I screamed. After a few seconds, it withdrew its hand. Held there was a single silver worm, wriggling pathetically in its grip. I hadn’t even felt the thing burrowing into my arm.

After that it’s all a bit of blur.

-•-

[MAG 40]

NOT!SASHA

Yes, not anymore. It was safe enough. The worms didn’t get in, and I stayed there until the fire system deployed, then I ran out to get to a window. I saw the worms in the main Institute. They shrivelled and died. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that scream, though. I could hear Prentiss screaming even from there.

ARCHIVIST

Well, it’s thanks to you, to be honest. If you hadn’t met that ‘Michael’ thing…

NOT!SASHA

Yes, Michael… With the bones in his hands. We still don’t know much about him, do we?

-•-

[MAG 47]

HELEN

He was tall, maybe six and a half feet? And he had long, straw-coloured hair that fell onto his shoulders in loose ringlets. His face was round and unthreatening, although he stood so still when I answered the door that it did rather unnerve me.

I held up my arm for a handshake, but he just looked at it, and laughed, keeping his hands firmly by his side. That was when I first started to think that something might be wrong, because his laugh didn’t… sound right? I, I don’t know how to describe it, but it wasn’t, it wasn’t a human laugh.

-

He followed me. His, his eyes were always looking where I pointed, but he never seemed to take anything in, and he didn’t ask any questions at all. At least, not ‘till we reached the second floor.

I stepped back out onto the landing to find him looking at a new door. He asked me what was behind it, and I just stood there, staring.

-

[MICHAEL SPEAKS OVER DOOR CLOSING SQUEAKLESSLY AND RISING SQUEALING STATIC]

MICHAEL

Do you even know they’re lying to you?

ARCHIVIST

[overlapping] I, I, I’m sorry, I didn’t – can I help you? This place is off-limits.

MICHAEL

I disagree.

ARCHIVIST

Who let you in here?

MICHAEL

“Let?”

[MICHAEL LAUGHS. THE SOUND IS NEARLY-IMPERCEPTIBLY DOUBLED, AS IF HE IS LAUGHING FROM MORE THAN ONE THROAT, A FRACTION OF A SECOND OUT-OF-SYNC WITH HIMSELF.]

MICHAEL

I’m afraid that isn’t how this works.

ARCHIVIST

You’re him.

MICHAEL

Yes.

ARCHIVIST

Michael.

MICHAEL

…

That is a real name.

ARCHIVIST

Are you here to kill me?

MICHAEL

No.

ARCHIVIST

Oh…

Why are, why are you here? Wh–

MICHAEL

I am simply collecting what is mine, Archivist. The one who entered my domain.

ARCHIVIST

…Miss Rich-ard-son? You own those hallways?

MICHAEL

What a fffascinating question. Does your hand in any way own your stomach?

ARCHIVIST

[overlapping] [muted] Ah –

MICHAEL

In any case, it doesn’t matter: the Wanderer had a brief respite, but it’s over now.

ARCHIVIST

Well, you’re too late, sh-she’s gone!

MICHAEL

[laugh] …yes… ah… did you notice which door she left through? [continues laughing quietly]

ARCHIVIST

[overlapping] Yes… wait… no, there was, there –

MICHAEL

[overlapping] There has never been a door there, Archivist, your mind plays tricks on you…

ARCHIVIST

Let her go!

MICHAEL

[laugh] No?

ARCHIVIST

Get her back here!

MICHAEL

[laugh] Are you going to attack me?

[ARCHIVIST YELLS IN PAIN AS MICHAEL CONTINUES LAUGHING QUIETLY]

ARCHIVIST

– who the hell are you!?

MICHAEL

I am not a “who,” Archivist, I am a “what.” A “who” requires a degree of identity I can’t ever retain.

ARCHIVIST

So… Michael isn’t your real name, what?

MICHAEL

There is no such thing as a real name.

ARCHIVIST

What are you talking about?

MICHAEL

I am talking about myself. It’s not something I’m used to doing, so I’m sorry if I’m not very good at it.

ARCHIVIST

You decided to appear down here and… stab me anyway!

MICHAEL

I wanted to talk to you. I intervened, to save you before. I, I’m interested in what happens now.

ARCHIVIST

Yes, well, thank you for that, I suppose… And you still haven’t told me why you “intervened” at all. [huff]

MICHAEL

I’m normally neutral, yes. But the loss of this place would have unbalanced the struggle too early. I’m keen to see how it progresses.

ARCHIVIST

You make it sound like there’s a… war.

MICHAEL

[heh] Then I will say nothing further. I wouldn’t wish to tarnish your ignorance prematurely. [giggle] Goodbye, Archivist.

-•-

[MAG 48]

ARCHIVIST

Michael’s visit last week has been playing on my mind. What struggle is he talking about, and if there is one, what’s his stake in it? What even is he?

Listening back over his visit, I am also struck by something that in the confusion of his arrival completely passed me by the first time. His words were a warning that I cannot trust Sasha. That she was lying about something. Of course it has become rapidly apparent in my investigation that I can trust nobody.

But of all of them, Sasha seemed the least suspicious. I can’t find any evidence she ever even met Gertrude. And her working here seems the natural progression of a lifelong interest in the paranormal. She’s been doing her work with the same diligence as before the Prentiss incident, and indeed, of all of them, seemed to have been the least affected.

That said, she did lose the tape documenting her experience. Or is she lying about her meeting with Michael, leaving things out? Or is Michael simply messing with my head, as indeed seemed to be the entire purpose of his visit?

On another note, I need to be subtler in my inquiries. Here follows a recording I managed to make of a short meeting Elias requested –

ELIAS (RECORDED)

I don’t enjoy having to have these meetings, John, you know I don’t.

ARCHIVIST (RECORDED)

Well, I’m sorry you’re compelled to. I assume you’ve had another complaint.

ELIAS (RECORDED)

Yes.

ARCHIVIST (RECORDED)

Who from this time? Was Dr. Elliot offended I declined to take his apple? Was I too rude to Michael?

ELIAS (RECORDED)

Who’s Michael? No, it’s from your team.

ARCHIVIST (RECORDED)

What?

-•-

[MAG 74]

LYDIA

There is a man in my living room. He is tall, with sandy blond hair that twists into unruly curls. I must have invited him in. He sits in my armchair, drumming his fingers together. They make an odd, clacking sound when they touch. I know him, though I have no idea where we might have met. His smile is friendly but I don’t like it. I apologise, tell him I’ve forgotten his name and he waves it away, saying that names are overrated, then asks how my day has been. I tell him I don’t know which day he means, and he laughs and laughs and laughs until my nose begins to bleed. I see the blood dripping onto the patterns I have been drawing. How long have I been drawing? It isn’t my pen.

-

Your vision goes strange when you don’t sleep for a long time. I think it’s something to do with changing pressure on your eyeballs. You start to detect faint movements on the edges, on the periphery, and if you stare too long at a flat surface it starts to gently pulse and move.

-

But maybe it’s just the mind becoming too tired to properly process the signals your eyes send. So much of what we see and hear are just useful lies that our brain tells us, filtering out the useless bits and adding in what it expects to see. No-one ever knows what they’re really seeing or hearing.

-

The man is back. This time I am on a bench in the park. The clouds roll and curl gently in the pale sky of dawn. He is twisting long blades of grass into strange spirals, but his fingers keep cutting through them instead. Is this when we met? He looks at me, his face impassive… if I even see a face. He tells me that I look terrible. I try to focus, but his body shifts and undulates like so much else when I try to focus. I tell him I haven’t slept, and he nods and tells me that’s ok. He is lying, and it makes me very afraid.

-

I am running through the city. The alleyways are narrow and winding and do not turn all the directions that they should.

-

I feel sleep begin to overtake me, but I am wrong. It is dawn, and all that comes over me is faint and sickly sunlight. I can hear his laugh again, and my mouth tastes like burnt coffee.

-

I know this place and what you want, but I have no proof to give you. I have nothing that cannot be waved away as a bad dream. By you, at least. I cannot wave, for my arms are too heavy and my hands are busy drawing those strange, familiar curves. What do you want? To find a child’s tooth and hold it up triumphant, a talisman to conjure those things that you should fear. To photograph and analyse a billboard that has never once advertised coffee. To talk to a person who is not a person and whose strange laugh you should be fleeing? I am here, and I give you my words. They are all I have, and all you want, and perhaps when I am free of them then I will be allowed to sleep.

-

ARCHIVIST

I now recognise the description of a tall man with curly blond hair and an unnerving laugh all too well. Michael, did you drive her to this? Another victim of your warped games? Or were you simply drawn like a vulture? Or maybe a shark sensing blood. What do you want from your victims?

-•-

[MAG 78]

ARCHIVIST

[Whispered] It is remarkably easy to buy an axe in Central London. Harder to sneak it into Artefact Storage, but not impossible. I don’t know if destroying this is going to kill that thing… but I am damn sure it’s going to hurt.

[NOISE OF AXE HITTING & SPLINTERING WOOD AND THE GRUNTS OF THE ARCHIVIST AS A STRANGE MUSIC BEGINS TO BUILD AND INTENSIFY]

[SOUND OF SHATTERING WOOD AND THE STRANGE MUSIC DISAPPEARS]

Hollow. Just cobwebs and dust.

[FAMILIAR EERIE LAUGHTER]

MICHAEL

That was very stupid.

ARCHIVIST

What do you want?

MICHAEL

There’s no other way out of this room, you know.

ARCHIVIST

What?

MICHAEL

You don’t have time to escape before they get here.

ARCHIVIST

The… the… the “Not Sasha”? No, but the table…

MICHAEL

Was binding it quite effectively.

ARCHIVIST

Oh. Oh no.

MICHAEL

Even with all the protections you have on, I doubt you can survive them now.

[IN THE BACKGROUND, THE ARCHIVIST IS WORRIEDLY MUTTERING ‘NO’ OVER AND OVER]

NOT!SASHA

[Heavily distorted, distant] Jooooohhhnnnn….

ARCHIVIST

Er… I…

[SOUND OF A CREAKY DOOR OPENING]

MICHAEL

You. Need. A door.

ARCHIVIST

NO. No, I… I just… I need…

[DISTORTED VOICE FROM THE NOT!SASHA CALLING OUT HIS NAME AGAIN]

ARCHIVIST

Shit!

[MICHAEL LAUGHS AND LAUGHS]

[STRANGE SOUND ALMOST LIKE SOMETHING ROARING OPEN AS MICHAEL’S LAUGH ECHOES]

[CLICK]

-•-

[MAG 79]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Damn. Damn damn damn damn DAMN!

[HAND SLAPS STONE]

I… I took Michael’s door. It was that or face Sa… the thing that was pretending to be Sasha. It opened into the tunnels. The tunnels. Not exactly the escape I was hoping for. I’m hardly surprised, must be its idea of a joke. Still, it is… it is a head start I suppose. I have no idea where in the tunnels I am. Or how far down.

At least it didn’t leave me trapped in some corridor hellmaze… a different corridor hellmaze, at least.

So I suppose I just… I just wait for now.

-

MARTIN

No, no it’s not “fine”. You’ve been going on and on and on about how alone you feel because John’s not taking your feelings into account while he’s having his breakdown, but you’re just doing the same thing. We’ve all been going through this, Tim, but you’re the only one who’s been running away.

TIM

Okay, okay. Look, let’s keep going. There’s nobody here.

MICHAEL

Yes there is.

TIM

Stay back!

MICHAEL

No.

MARTIN

Who are you?

MICHAEL

I’m Michael. Did the Archivist not tell you about me?

MARTIN

No?

MICHAEL

Good. Surprises are better.

TIM

What are you doing down here?

MICHAEL

Probably watching the Archivist die. Maybe not. Either way is amusing. I… I think it’s called ‘a sport’.

TIM

What?

MICHAEL

I think I might also kill you. It would be easier than killing the Archivist. None of you are protected down here.

MARTIN

No, no, now hang on…

MICHAEL

You are going to try and help him. And I want to see what happens without you there.

TIM

Martin…

MARTIN

No, no, okay, because there’s two of us and there’s one of you, okay. He’s not killing anyone!

TIM

Martin, look at his hands!

MARTIN

Oh.

TIM

Go!

[SINISTER DOOR OPENS]

[FOOTSTEPS]

[MICHAEL LAUGHS]

[SINISTER DOOR SHUTS]

[HEAVY BREATHING]

[Distorted] Where the hell are we?

[CLICK]

-

[CLICK]

[DIALOGUE IS VERY DISTORTED UNTIL NEXT CLICK]

TIM

Where the hell are we?

MARTIN

I don’t know. I thought… I thought the door led further down.

TIM

I don’t think we’re under the Institute anymore.

MARTIN

What was that thing?

TIM

I’m trying not to think about it. It makes my head feel weird.

MARTIN

Well? Wh… which way do you think?

TIM

Er… Right. Let’s go right.

MARTIN

[SIGH] Fine. I don’t think this thing’s working properly. It k-keeps making this weird noise.

[CLICK]

-•-

[MAG 80]

LEITNER

The books are, I think, their essences in a purer form. The other things that stalk us, from what I know of them, they have varying wills of their own. All in service of the thing they’re a part of, but not directly controlled by the mind beneath them. At least, inasmuch as these entities have something we could recognise as a mind.

ARCHIVIST

Like a… a, a muscle, spasming on reflex?

LEITNER

Yes, that’s actually rather good.

ARCHIVIST

It would explain Michael’s identity issues.

LEITNER

Michael? Oh… that, that’s what the Distortion calls itself these days, isn’t it? That one is part of a power that my assistant Domingo used to call “Esmentiaras”, which I believe translates as ‘it is lies’ or ‘it is lying’. At the time, of course, we just used it as a way to classify books. I call it the Spiral. It deals in fooling the senses, in making you see and hear things that are not there, in drawing you into mazes and making you doubt your own sanity.

ARCHIVIST

Fractals.

LEITNER

Yes. It seems to have a particular fondness for them.

ARCHIVIST

What about bones? Does one of them manifest with, with bones?

LEITNER

[HEAVY SIGH]

You’re thinking too literally. Examining the physical categorisation, but ignoring the meaning of the thing. What are the bones? In the Distortion, your “Michael”, the structure of a skeleton, an established reality in your mind, is twisted and warped into an impossible form. But in other cases? Are they a symbol of slaughter and butchery? Are they the familiar made wrong? Or are they simply part of the messy, physicality of flesh?

-

[CLICK]

TIM

I think it’s working again.

MARTIN

Tim, where were we?

TIM

…yeah, yeah it’s recording.

MARTIN

Forget the bloody tapes, Tim! Are we sure this is… this is here?

TIM

Yes. Because the tape works now.

MARTIN

How long was it?

TIM

I don’t know. And I don’t care.

MARTIN

Sorry? Sorry, what? How can you not care!?

TIM

Because this is us now. Worms. Monsters. Corridors. They’ll keep happening until one of them kills us, and we’ve just got to deal with it.

[SIGH]

Any sign of the woman?

MARTIN

I don’t think so. We should have helped her.

TIM

No.

MARTIN

But we could have tried!

TIM

How?

MARTIN

…

TIM

Look. There’s no point talking about it. It happened. I hope it doesn’t happen again. Statement fucking ends.

[SILENCE]

MARTIN

We… we should look for John. Maybe we can still help.

TIM

It’s been days. At least.

MARTIN

We can’t just sit here moping!

TIM

It’s probably already killed him.

MARTIN

Don’t joke about that, okay?

TIM

Fine.

MARTIN

Tim!

TIM

Try his office.

MARTIN

Yeah. Right.

[DOOR OPENS TO THE SOUND OF DRIPPING]

John?

Oh. Oh no.

-•-

[MAG 82]

MARTIN

No. No it doesn’t! Nothing about this makes sense!

I don’t know who that old man was, but John would never hurt Sasha.

TIM

Fine. If it wasn’t him, it must have been that thing we saw.

MARTIN

It was only for a second. And what with that weird finger guy, and the door… I mean, it d-didn’t look like her.

TIM

It did. You know it did. Maybe it ate her. Maybe it was her. Maybe she was always some messed up mutant and we just never noticed. Could have been ‘Michael’. I mean, it basically told us it was working with John. When you disappear and there are more than three different ways you might be dea–

-•-

[MAG 85]

(Upon the Stair)

ARCHIVIST

There is, of course, a different reading, which is that this is a targeted warning about trusting Michael, given the obvious parallels: swap out stairways for corridors and spirals for fractals, and there you go. The Nowhere Man thing is new, though. What was it Leitner said about the Spiral? It deals with fooling your senses, drawing your mind into difficult paths, making you doubt the reality you live in.

Well, if this is a warning about Michael, then it is, as before, somewhat superfluous. If I never see him – if I never see it again, it’s too soon.

Maybe that’s it. It. Maybe whoever sent this wants me to consider how many of these creatures used to be people. How many seem to have taken the mantle from the ones that came before them, and how none of them have been able to overcome their new natures. How most of them don’t even seem to think like people anymore. Given that there is every possibility I’ve taken one of these mantles myself, this is not an interpretation I’m keen on.

-•-

[MAG 89]

ARCHIVIST

I don’t suppose I could talk to anyone else in your, um…

JUDE

It’s fine, you can call it a cult. And no, they wouldn’t hesitate. They’re not as friendly as I am.

ARCHIVIST

Well, thank you for the… advice. And the dead end.

JUDE

Wait.

ARCHIVIST

Hmm?

JUDE

If you’re really keen to keep chatting to things that could kill you, I might know someone. We’re not on great terms, he’s closer to your lot than mine, but I know where he… exists.

ARCHIVIST

Who… What is he?

JUDE

Calls himself Mike.

ARCHIVIST

Michael?

JUDE

I guess Mike is normally short for Michael, yeah?

ARCHIVIST

Corridors, weird limbs, laughs like a… headache?

JUDE

What? No. He’s pale, got a big, weird scar. Smells of, um…

ARCHIVIST

Oh, ozone!

JUDE

Yeah, that’s the one. Hangs around with the Fairchilds sometimes.

ARCHIVIST

Michael Crew.

JUDE

That’s him. I know where you can find him.

-•-

[MAG 92]

MARTIN

So that thing we saw…?

ELIAS

Precisely. It finally tried to kill John. Then Leitner killed it. Then I killed Leitner. And I believe that brings us up to date. More or less.

ARCHIVIST

What about Michael?

ELIAS

What about him? An irritant. Interfering because he’s bored, and he resents us. He has no purpose –

DAISY

Right. That’s enough for me. Even got it on tape.

-

ARCHIVIST

[Signs heavily] So what now?

ELIAS

You were doing fine before you forced this little scene. I suggest you continue.

ARCHIVIST

So it was you sending me statements.

ELIAS

A little bit of direction never hurt anybody. So to speak.

ARCHIVIST

[Chuckles] Directed towards what?

ELIAS

The Unknowing. I need you to stop it.

-•-

[MAG 99]

KNOCKING ON DOOR]

[GERTRUDE GROANS]

[Adopts a somewhat frailer voice] Hello?

[DOOR OPENS]

MICHAEL

Ah, Miss Robinson, I, um, I found Mr. Vargas’ statement that you asked for. Well, uh, I found the translation. I, I already had the original but, y’know, I, I, I didn’t think you’d want it in Spanish. [Nervous chuckles] U-u-unless you speak Spanish?

GERTRUDE

[Somewhat sharply] I do not. And thank you Michael.

MICHAEL

Sure. Um, well, was, was there anything else you needed?

GERTRUDE

Um… No, no. Not at the moment.

Thank you.

MICHAEL

Right, well, if you need me, uh, they’re installing that climate-controlled storage… that thing o-o-over the weekend, so I’m, I’m, y’know, I’m just getting all that together.

GERTRUDE

Yes! Yes, I remember.

MICHAEL

Right.

Well, call me if you need anything.

GERTRUDE

Thank you, Michael, I will.

[DOOR CLOSES]

-

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

I, um… I… Right. Right, I –

My head is… That was Michael. It – it was… It was Michael. H-how… How was it Michael? He – It… It never…

Gertrude knew Michael. He was one of her assistants, but, but, but that doesn’t make any sense. The thing that calls itself Michael, it – it – it doesn’t seem like it was ever human. So what happened to the real Michael? Did –

I mean that’s not really a question, is it? He’s dead, and it’s probably because of Gertrude. I still can’t figure out whose side she was actually on. Or even if she was playing the same game.

Doesn’t matter. Everyone who came close to her… seems like it… it went badly. Her assistants, Gerard, Leitner, Elias, though I don’t think Gertrude had anything to do with his going rotten. But Michael… Did it take that form just to mock me? Knowing that at – at some point I’d look deeper into Gertrude? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?

…

No. No, never when you call.

Just one door. So many of these stories, these, these people touched by… Once you’re on the path to becoming a monst- an avatar, it looks like it gets more and more unhealthy to be around you. [Heavy sigh] I think… I think I need to lea–

-•-

[MAG 101]

[CLICK]

[STILL RAINING]

[THE ARCHIVIST IS STILL BREATHING]

[STATICKY LAUGHTER FADES INTO HEARING]

[A DIFFERENT DOOR OPENS]

MICHAEL

Oh… Oh… Oh, Archivist. What have you done now? It’s almost sad to see you like this.

ARCHIVIST

[LOW IRRITATED GROAN]

MICHAEL

Almost.

I’ve come to a decision, Archivist. I’m going to kill you.

ARCHIVIST

[FRUSTRATED GROAN]

MICHAEL

It’s earlier than I had hoped, but that’s life… I suppose. Your life. [Giggles] Before I do, however, I want you to understand… even if it does go against my nature. So.

[THE GAG IS REMOVED; THE ARCHIVIST GASPS]

[Enunciating each word carefully] Ask your questions.

ARCHIVIST

What?

MICHAEL

Ask me.

ARCHIVIST

H-How did you find me?

MICHAEL

[Giggles] The Eye watches, and the Stranger conceals, but me… I lie, Archivist. I am the throat of delusion incarnate. They can’t hide you from me.

[GASPS AS THE ARCHIVIST CONTINUES TO RECOVER]

ARCHIVIST

What do you have to do with the Unknowing?

MICHAEL

Nothing. [Giggles] Nothing whatsoever. Except perhaps that I would like it to fail.

ARCHIVIST

So… wh-why are you here?

MICHAEL

I already said. To kill you.

ARCHIVIST

But – but why?

MICHAEL

Because I don’t want the Circus to win. And I don’t want the Archives to, either. Killing you myself… it’s the best of both. And, of course, there’s revenge.

ARCHIVIST

Revenge? I still don’t even know who you are!

MICHAEL

I am Michael. I was not always Michael. I do not want to be Michael. Being Michael stole the only purpose I have ever known.

ARCHIVIST

You were Gertrude’s assistant, weren’t you?

MICHAEL

No.

ARCHIVIST

But, but the tape – I heard you.

MICHAEL

[Slowly] No. You heard Michael.

[FRUSTRATED SOUNDS FROM THE ARCHIVIST]

ARCHIVIST

I… What the hell are you talking about?!

MICHAEL

Quiet, Archivist. The cramped casket sings loud, but not loud enough to drown out screaming. The Michael on that tape was not me. When that person was Michael, I was something else, and now I am Michael, and that person is gone.

ARCHIVIST

So, what… You… you became him?

MICHAEL

No more than he became me. It is rare that someone I take finds their way into being me, but it does happen. And Michael had help.

ARCHIVIST

What happened?

MICHAEL

Hm…

Ahhh, a statement. Of course. Is your recorder running?

Yes. Say it, Archivist.

ARCHIVIST

Statement of… Michael. Taken from subject. Date…

MICHAEL

The last day of the Archivist’s life.

ARCHIVIST

Statement begins.

MICHAEL (STATEMENT)

How far back should it go? To the beginning of me? Centuries? Millennia? How do you define the start of your being when in some ways you have always been? Time is difficult to form. Michael Shelley, though, he is easier to keep track of. He was born. He was pointless. And he should have died. But before that could happen, he went to work for the Magnus Institute – that ivory tower, keeping its prisoners ignorant in pursuit of… knowledge. [Giggles] A dungeon full of idiot watchers. And Michael Shelley was no exception.

When he was in school, he lost a friend to something like me. His friend was named Ryan, but those in power simply called him schizophrenic. I don’t know if he was, but it doesn’t matter. He was so dreadfully afraid his world wasn’t real that to make it so was almost nothing. Michael was there when he was taken; he never got over what he saw. Or didn’t see. After much searching and despair, it drove him into the waiting arms of the Institute, where he met Gertrude Robinson. The Archivist.

Even being what I am, I have rarely seen anyone so adept at distorting the truth as Gertrude Robinson. Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her. And she fed him to me. She made him me to destroy our transcendence. And she did not hesitate.

Poor Michael. He had been on trips for the Institute before. Conferences, investigations, Gertrude had made sure that all her assistants were ready. That none of them would be suspicious if they were told they were going abroad for work. So there was no doubt in his mind, no concern, when she told him that they were travelling to Russia. Perhaps if he’d have stopped to look up their destination, he might have discovered there was no such place as Zemlya Sannikova, but he did not. He trusted her.

Even when they arrived in Dikson, at the edge of the Kara Sea, and they were picked up by a quiet sea captain called Peter Lukas… Even then he trusted her. They travelled north, through cold far more bitter than any Michael had even conceived possible. And do you know what he worried about? [Giggles] He… worried about Gertrude Robinson. About how this poor old woman might cope with the chill. But now she was like iron, and walked with a purpose that Michael had never before seen in her. The water turned to ice as the Arctic approached, and Gertrude’s eyes turned cold.

Then, at last, he began to be afraid. He asked her where they were going and was told again: Zemlya Sannikova. Sannikov Land. There was a great evil, she said, and Michael was going to help her fight it. Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it? Perhaps Gertrude believed so. Michael certainly did. He believed everything she told him.

And it was me they sought to stop. Me and the others of It-Is-Not-What-It-Is. Our Great Twisting. The-Worker-of-Clay had laboured for decades on that contorted, impossible edifice of doors… and stairs… and falsehoods… and smiles. A thousand staring morsels stood, and not one of them believed themselves sane to look upon it. And in the centre, the door that would open to all the places that were never there, was me. I use the word ‘apotheosis’ not because it is correct, but because I can only show you its truth when we are within the passages themselves.

And this is what Michael and Gertrude found when they set foot on Sannikov Land, which does not exist and never has. It was warm, and feeling its reassurance beneath his feet was the last time poor, doomed Michael knew comfort. They walked through the green jungle of that forever-elusive polar island, and up the gentle mountains that can never have a name. And at the top, they found us through our spiralling laughter. And they saw us in all of our glory.

Michael did not go mad, though no words you could have said would have convinced him otherwise. The mind does not shatter, Archivist. It is soft and malleable. It bends and twists and returns to what it was, though what you see and feel may leave their mark upon it. If Michael thought he had lost his mind, it was only because what he saw with crystal clarity was simply not something that could be real.

But Gertrude Robinson did not waver. She did not… hesitate. She gave no indication that she saw anything more or less than was expected. Hers was not a mind that left room for doubt. She stared into us carefully, her eyes scanning for something that was my heart. Looking for my door. And she found it.

Perhaps I should have realised what was happening; seen those two lonely figures approaching me, but I cannot tell you the existential joys of truly… becoming. Of an entireness finally crossing the threshold into your self. So ecstatic was my completeness, I did not even hear my own door creak open. Because Gertrude had told Michael how he could stop us. She told him to walk through a door. And even then, with so much of his mind shut down in panic and terror, he trusted her. And he went inside, closing the door behind him.

But Gertrude Robinson had given poor, disposable Michael one more thing before sending him to me. She had given him a map. I couldn’t say how she would have gotten such a thing, or if she somehow made it. And yet it was a map. A map to me. It made no sense, lines overlapping and inverting, but once within, Michael knew which turns to make, which doors to open, which mirrors to shatter. Until he became me.

Even sharper than the joy of becoming is the agony of being opened and remade. To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place. To become Michael. And to do so at such a crucial point in our Twisting, in our becoming, well of course it destroyed it. The impossible altar collapsed. The-Worker-of-Clay tore out his veins to dissolve himself in crimson mud. The others of us were cast to all the places that aren’t; some have still not found their way out again. And somehow, Gertrude Robinson was back on that boat before Sannikov Land once again never existed.

And all that was left was me. Michael. [Giggles] My very existence tied to my pointlessness. Wearing my failure as the very fabric of my being. Reduced once again to feeding on the unsuspecting and confused. That is who I am.

[DEEP GASP FROM THE ARCHIVIST]

ARCHIVIST

But you… You never tried to take revenge on Gertrude?

MICHAEL

She knew how to protect herself. She knew what she was creating. And killing her was not as important. She wasn’t as good an Archivist as you are.

ARCHIVIST

So why not kill me before?

MICHAEL

I had hoped that you would stop the Unknowing first, destroy the workings of I-Do-Not-Know-You. But instead you are here, and may bring it about faster. So better your death happens now.

ARCHIVIST

I-is there anything I can do to stop you from killing me?

MICHAEL

[Laughs] If you scream loud enough the Circus may take notice of me, but… I promise you will die far more pleasantly with me than with them.

[MORE LAUGHTER]

Ah…

[RAIN CONTINUES TO FALL]

ARCHIVIST

…

[Defeated] Okay.

MICHAEL

Good. Right this way.

[A DOOR CREAKS]

Open it. Open it, and all this will be over.

[THE ARCHIVIST TURNS THE HANDLE AND HEARS AN ENGAGED LOCK]

ARCHIVIST

Er, it’s…

[HANDLE IS TRIED TWICE MORE]

MICHAEL

What?

ARCHIVIST

It’s locked.

MICHAEL

It’s not. [Giggles]

ARCHIVIST

Why is it locked?

MICHAEL

It can’t be!

ARCHIVIST

Well, you try it!

[FRANTIC HANDLE TURNING – THE LOCK CONTINUES TO CLICK]

MICHAEL

[Worried] Th-Tha-That-That’s… not –

[Realisation dawns] Oh. Oh no.

[DISTORTED SCREAMS OF PAINFUL AND TERMINAL OPENING]

[THE NEW DOOR CREAKS OPEN]

[End of Michael]

^Every voice line from him

[nenoname]

hunting down a specific image but finding miscellaneous storyboards/some cut panels from the stan comic story instead

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

🪤

[stars-obsession-pit]

A cult has been causing trouble for the Infinite Realms in their search for power and eternal life. And to make things worse, the Observants suspect that they have at least one actual ghost—or possibly even a traitorous Observant—working with them and interfering with their view. This could become a major problem…

However, as Observants, they’ve sworn not to intervene directly, so they have to pick someone else to look deeper into the situation for them. And, if necessary, to deal with it.

They choose Phantom for this role, since his half-human nature means he’ll have an easier time operating in the living world. Danny’s not entirely happy with the assignment, but the situation does seem like a genuine issue so he’s willing to look into it (if in his own way).

Since he doesn’t know how prepared the cult is for ghosts, he decides that infiltration would be the best way to gather info. Thus, he takes on a new identity in his human form and approaches the cult, expressing interest in the publicly known part of their group. Then, a bit later, he manages to successfully gain admittance into some of the more private meetings. Everything is progressing as planned!

…Though he didn’t expect to like one of his fellow initiates so much. He hopes he can change their mind on things and bring them out of the cult with him when he’s done.

Meanwhile, a hero from the Justice League has also been sent to infiltrate the cult and investigate the rumors about it. It’s gone off without a hitch so far, but they’ve gained a potential entanglement in the form of one of the other new members whom they’re developing a crush on…

[spielzeugkaiser]

I come back for a hot second (and go into hiding pretty much right again) with some redrawn screencaps of what I'm watching currently!! 👀 All I have in me are the sillies-

[bixels]

tarpit site.

[goldensunset]

when people refer to canon story-relevant kingdom hearts games as ‘spinoffs’ it makes me sad not only for the obvious reasons i always say but also bc like man i WISH this series had spinoffs. imagine what they could do if they had permission from nomura to truly go off the rails and ignore the greater canon for a second and just do some fun whimsical plotless thing in an alternate universe. imagine a fishing/boating game on destiny islands. kh fighting game. it is an injustice that we have been deprived of kingdom karts. can anyone hear me

[thespianwordnerd]

The key to understanding Leonard McCoy is that he only ACTS like he hates everyone and everything. Underneath that sarcastic abrasive middle aged man is a fundamental love for living creatures, desire to help others so strong that he made a career of it and a respect for the simple joys, which occasionally show their face when he's turning on the southern charm for a woman or offering to sacrifice himself to save a patient. I mean, you'd probably be a bit grumpy too if your marriage ended and you were stuck in space (a place you hate) trying to stop your best friends getting themselves killed when you could be spending time with your daughter. He's not surly and outspoken because he doesn't care, he's surly and outspoken precisely because he cares so much and yes, that has got him hurt before and probably will again but dammit, he's not going to let that stop him being what he is - an old country doctor who will do anything he can to help people. I love his sardonic witty banter as much as anyone but I think the real reason we take him into our hearts is because despite his complaining he's arguably the most down-to-earth, no-nonsense character in TOS and deep down we all admire his simple selfless dedication to caring for others. Never change, Bones.

[californiatowhee]

old fashioneds and tipsy daydreaming

bonus: the subsequent drunk texting

extra bonus, if you made it this far: what happens next, in fic form (spoiler: Phoenix and Miles kiss)

Behavioral Phenomenon | Phoenix/Edgeworth | 2.5k

[hot-diggity-shit]

homestucks get ur strife specibus

[secretsimpleness]

Sometimes I want to bring Morrigan but then I remember I play as a face-tanking rogue and I bring Wynne. Warden Cousland, Morrigan, Wynne / Dragon Age Origins (c) Bioware

[themaarika]

morning

[muirmarie]

i think columbo and mccoy would get along so well. i think columbo would drive spock up the fucking wall. the way he pretends not to know something and tries to have the other person explain it? spock would loathe that lmao. i think kirk would both be amused by and wary of columbo. like he'd like him well enough and they'd get along well enough, but kirk would be extremely aware of how smart columbo is, and so he'd be cautious of him and his intentions.

after columbo solves the murder, he invites mccoy over to his place, and mccoy brings along a fantastic bottle of something or other, and gets to charm the elusive mrs. columbo, and pet dog behind his big basset hound ears, and has a lovely time.

they keep in contact, and mccoy brings him up casually sometimes just to watch spock bristle. he also likes to occasionally "just one more thing" kirk, just to watch him narrow his eyes with a little amusement and a little concern.

columbo consults with mccoy off the books occasionally for medical stuff. eventually tho there's a case that's a little more scientifically involved, and mccoy makes spock help, and it turns out when spock's on the other side of things he actually has a fascinating time. he follows columbo around like a puppy watching his techniques and asking him questions. it's extremely cute, although mccoy knows better than to say that.

kirk's always a little wary of columbo, but they still get along well enough.

(when kirk is framed for murder, columbo comes in and solves the case and finds the real murderer, and when mccoy has a little celebration afterwards, mrs. columbo teaches kirk to make the best apple pie ever made, and that does more to win him over than columbo saving the day.

columbo just smiles, and says mrs. columbo always has been his better half.)

(kirk just smiles back, and looks at mccoy and spock, and says he knows the feeling.)

[98chao]

i cant even draw actual art anymore

[our-sin]

Stiles is a wildlife biologist and one day stumbles upon a wolf pack during a hike through the national forest he works for. They weren’t gray wolves so at first he figures another species has finally made its was back to california but after an hour or so of studying them from a far he realizes they aren’t typical wolves and appear to follow many of the theorized versions of dire wolves.

Thinking he might have discovered a new species and a possible descendant of dire wolves he stays for the rest of the day and studies them further. He only leaves when the sun starts to set and keeps coming back to study them. He grows rather attached to the pack, especially when a particularly curious wolf comes up and introduces itself and eventually drags him by his sleeve over to meet the rest of the pack. He talks to them, tells them about how important they are and how lucky he is to be the one to have found them.

He keeps trying to publish his findings but no one else seems to be able to find them and whenever he brings a photographer out they’re always hiding. One day he brings his own camera, thinking the wolves are used to him and just scared of everyone else and he finds one of the pack dead. He doesn’t take a picture of course, feels it would be disrespectful to the creatures that so readily welcomed him. Instead he goes back to his jeep grabs a shovel and a knife before coming back to dig the poor thing a proper grave and putting down a marker with a big rock and doing his best to add an engraving. While placing the wolf in its grave he notices bullet wounds and cuts on the body and figures out someone had killed one of HIS wolves.

The next week he spends looking for a tracker that can help him find who hurt his pack -figures if they went after one they might have been going after the others too and are still possibly camped out somewhere. That leads him to Derek who agrees oddly quick considering Stiles can’t offer him much in the way of payment.

Day one Stiles leads Derek to the grave and where he found the wolf. The man does his tracker thing and starts leading them even deeper into the forest. It takes a couple of days before they find the hunter’s now deserted camp that has some bullets and gear left behind, even a gun. Derek seems even angrier than Stiles that they had only missed them by a day or so given the remains of a campfire. They stay there for the night before moving on first thing in the morning. Takes another few days before they find an active campsite with several hunters.

They try to lay low but at some point Derek loses his cool and gets them caught and subsequently captured (he had heard them talking about the pack mate they killed, not that Stiles knows that). The hunters tie them up and do their typical hunter thing which is how Stiles not only finds out about werewolves but that the dire wolf descendants he thought he discovered were really the pack fully shifted.

Anyway turns out the pack had been following their entire journey from a far and the night after Stiles and Derek are captured they attack the hunters camp. Both Stiles and Derek are seriously injured but Stiles being human is the more pressing issue. Stiles wakes up like days later in a super fancy house next to a wall of heat. The wolf that had introduced him to the pack initially which is, of course, Derek. The man had refused to leave his side since they left the camp. And once everyone is sure Stiles is alive and mostly well the pack introduce themselves as humans.

Then happily ever after and all that jazz.