revivalproject | Make your Statement, face your fear.

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Make your Statement, face your fear.

WHO: Jonathan Sims & YOU
WHERE: Jon's Calibration Room
WHAT: Explore the Archivist's mind
WHEN: During the Calibration Event [ June 3rd - July 10th ]
WARNINGS: EYES - Body horror, possible mentions of unsettling events including kidnapping, death and dreadful monsters

The Archivist's office is a mess. Most offices are. Especially offices located in basements. Offices that belong to equally chaotic archives. And the archives of the Magnus Institute are incredibly chaotic. Gertrude Robinson has seen to that. And yet the mess in this office isn't hers. It's the mess of the current Archivist, right now seated behind his cluttered desk, appearing even smaller than he actually is, the small lamp on the table serving as the only actual source of light in this room. In front of the Archivist sits a small pile of statement files on a dining plate, but his attention isn't on the files, it's on his visitor.

There are more of these files spread all over the room. Cardboard boxes full of them stacked high and pushed into whatever free corner has once existed in it. Further boxes are stacked less high or are plain lying around, some closed, some opened, some rummaged through. Other, smaller boxes that aren't filled with files join the previous ones. There are also a few metal shelves covering part of the walls. And file cabinets. There are more files in these as well as more boxes and books. Most of them scientific in nature, some deal with the arcane, myths and legends. Various types of tape recorders and boxes of tapes are also widely strewn about as well as loose pages of paper, the occasional tea mug and cobwebs. For some reason or another there are at least a dozen fire extinguishers to be spotted throughout the room, and it likely isn't due to the clearly used ashtray or the golden lighter with a cobweb design engraved onto it on the desk near the Archivist's dust-covered laptop, untouched cup of tea and the sole human rib. Aside from more stray sheets of paper and some writing equipment, a single book also resides on the desk, its title introducing it as A Guest for Mr. Spider.

Though there is more to be found in the various shelves as well. A knife as well as a cleaver, an unsuspecting whistle that seems to be surrounded by an odd fog and will vanish should one try to reach for it. Underneath one of the shelves, there even is a plain cardboard box filled with C-4 plastic explosives. Further up, a roughly football-sized dark sun dares the visitor to look at it to plunge them into utter and complete darkness. The frisbee some may recognize as a certain someone's shield seems a little out of place as it lays unassuming on one of the higher shelves, covering an odd little action figure from view.

But maybe one feels more compelled to look out of the window, suspiciously present in this basement office. Outside lies the vastness of space, set to incite the feeling of falling right into it unless one pulls away from the sight in time. Or the human-sized mannequin standing motionless in one of the corners, wearing an ancient gorilla skin along with its top hat and a wide, leery, painted-on grin. It has no eyes. The pulsing, black and red veins creeping along the walls of the office and present themselves in varying sizes and thicknesses may also draw the visitor's attention. Or the seemingly harmless and somewhat misplaced looking yellow door draws them in, just there on the wall behind that coffin lying on the floor as if it belongs there. Thick chains are wrapped around it with a padlock holding them close, key stuck inside and inviting the visitor to unlock it. Just ignore the large letters carved into its wood imploring you to 'DO NOT OPEN' the casket. It'll be fine.

Yet... How tempting all of these things may be, the visitor may be unable to entirely ignore the MASSIVE EYE taking up the entire ceiling of the room, glowing an eerie green and watching their every move. Or any of the other eyes scattered around the room. The walls, the cabinets, the shelves, the side of the Archivist's desk, the corners, the floor, the Archivist's forehead. All shapes and sizes and colors and all of them watching the visitor unblinking, unjudging. Just following their every move around the room - Just as the Archivist himself does.

Maybe you want to look around, and maybe you just want to take a seat in that single empty chair before the Archivist's desk. There is just enough room between it and the casket to not feel too cramped in. As for the trap door next to the Archivist's desk... Now that one won't open just yet.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Cloud gives a nod at that. He's trying to settle his emotions a bit because that was a lot at once. It'll probably end up getting rougher for him but he can manage it.

"Anyone the Lifestream touched when it came up from within the Planet infected the people. When you die you go to the Lifestream, and things can be created from the Lifestream. Shinra used it to build reactors to power a whole city, but truthfully they were killing the Planet as well." He still feels like sharing because he's doing it willingly.

So it is something similar to oil. A little on the supernatural side maybe, but in theory understandable.

"I see. Your people used the energy that fueled your planet. Sounds like your disease is a defense mechanism of your planet." Which may be something to take to a magical healer, really. Not a man carrying bandages and painkillers.

"I've tried everything I can think of back at home. It very well could be but if we die so does the Planet." Cloud wondered how the cycle would truthfully go after they were gone. "The other side effects is that it does ooze, you have it somewhere on your body and you're weak. So even though I can take on about anything. As soon as I get hit with the pain I can go down."

Jon simply looks at Cloud for a long time, then finally decides to ask a simple question.

"Why are you telling me of this anyway?" In his own mind, no less. Jon is by no means a healer. He doesn't know any powerful healing magic or any particularly helpful magic at all. Doe his mind inspire that idea, by chance?

"Reeve said you might be able to help." Cloud carefully lets his arms drift to his sides as he becomes a bit more relaxed. Even if the true answer is no, he'll have to keep searching here too. He looks at Jon. "He said you were a doctor. But, after the talk you and I had, you're more into books and information."

He shakes his head. "What's with the coffin?"

Now why would Reeve say that? Yes, Jon has helped in the hospital, but he is anything but a healer.

"I'm the Archivist, yes. I did work at the hospital because it is understaffed - That is all." More or less. That Jon is largely responsible for the various drugs used in the hospital isn't a detail he tends to share. "If you seek people with magical abilities that might be of use to you, I suggest either Billy or Altair. The world I come from is one that doesn't have cures for many deadly diseases, I'm afraid. And as for that-" He interrupts himself to point towards the casket "It leads to the Buried. A place that exists outside reality. The manifestation of the fear of being trapped, claustrophobia, being unable to breathe... I don't recommend going in there."

Cloud nods at Jon in understanding. He didn't really have to explain himself. "Since we're going over what we are. I'm a skilled swordsman but here without a sword. I started a delivery service because it was needed where I'm from. People without abilities have a terrible time traveling to other locations due to monsters roaming after the Lifestream. I delivered their mail or whatever they needed no matter the obstacles. I'll owe you for this information about Billy and Altair."

He'll have to seek them out. But he not on a first time meeting basis. It's a heavy topic to bring up to other people. Cloud's going to make sure to not touch the coffin so he crosses his arms in a way to keep his hands from things as he starts to walk about the cluttered office. "What about the mannequin?"

"If you wish to thank me, leave a written report about your world at the library at some point. I would like to learn more about this lifestream and your planet - So far I have nothing on a planet that matches this description." The Archivist says with a simple nod of acknowledgement before his attention is drawn to the mannequin in the corner and his expression darkens notably.

"The Stranger, or I Do Not Know You. It is the manifestation of the fear of the unknown and the creeping sense that something isn’t right. I assume it might be tied to a memory concerning the Unknowing. An attempt at a ritual that could have ended my world." He pauses there. "We... Blew it up along with a wax museum. Very disorienting."

"All right. I should be able to do that." Cloud knows it would take him a bit to write out in a way that would make sense. He might add in a few extra things if necessary. The library would get extra information once they're all free from this place.

There's a small puff to his lips as he realizes that the Archivist kept bringing up a fear. Cloud looks over at the Archivist. "Is there a reason for all the eyes?"

The Archivist simply nods again in appreciative approval before permitting Cloud to direct his attention to the eyes. He folds his arms across his desk and settles with a small smile.

"Do you want to guess? A little hint: They are all watching you."

Cloud shudders at the thought of them all watching. "I'll get over it the longer I'm in this room. It's creepy and unnerving with them everywhere."

He looks at the mannequin biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Are you watching with them?"

"I see everything they see, yes. Every single one of them. At the same time." The Archivist answers this in a way that makes it obvious that Cloud isn't the first to answer. Which is also why he adds: "I can point out the ones that are currently trained on your backside as well, yes."

Then there is a pause before he gives the actual answer "It's Beholding. Or The Ceaseless Watcher. The fear of being watched, judged or having your secrets known."

"I..." Cloud raises an eyebrow at the mention of watching his backside. "At least someone has my back if something could go wrong." Why else would that matter?

"Is there a reason for all the fears?" There has to be a connection now. Cloud had brought up his hand and started to count on his fingers how many times the Archivist had spoke of a fear and the meaning.

The Archivist makes a short, almost a little bemused sound "...huh. You are the first to actually ask about that." He has mentioned some of the fears to people, but so far no one truly asked about them.

"There is. There are... Fourteen Entities. Dread Powers... You may... Call them Evil Gods. And they all seek to manifest in my world and reshape it to their liking. The Unknowing had been one such attempt to bring an end to the Earth I know."

Cloud thought of it like a puzzle. There could be a way to unlock a way out. He does not really know. He's at least making another attempt in getting to know the other man.

"F-fourteen entities. That is a lot of Evil Gods. You don't mind if I continue to touch? Unless you rather I didn't."

Giving the question some thought, the Archivist looks around for a moment, then points up towards the frisbee "Just stay away from that one, please. It's... Personal." And embarrassing. Not that many of the others aren't, but Tony is... Well. He is here as well.

Cloud turns so he could see what exactly the Archivist had pointed towards. A frisbee. "I'll be extra careful on my hand placements in that area. I don't pry into personal business." Usually, this place was different but out there he doesn't even ask. He'll be asking them if they need to tell him something.

He reaches out then towards the mannequin to touch it with the tips of his fingers.

The moment Cloud's fingers touch the mannequin, everything becomes ɓuoɹʍ.

The room spins in colors that haven't been there before, a dreadfully off-tune type of circus music begins to play relentlessly and Cloud may spot glimpses of a grotesque monster, part machine, part human limbs and bones and skin along with a group of equally patchworked-together dancers. Each put together of miss-matched bodyparts and each clad in the skin of a human being.

And amidst it all, the Archivist. Lost and confused and face to face with the mannequin. Similar to the one standing in the room, but clad equally as a ringmistress as in human skin. And she is delighted.

"It isn’t - it isn’t real." Utters the Archivist, clearly distressed.

"𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁, 𝒥𝑜𝓃?" Nikola, the mannequin replies as the world around spins and shifts out of focus, leaving only the strange, uncomfortable music.

"I-I-I don’t know. None of this is real."

"𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈! 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝑒."

"Who are you?"

"𝒲𝒽𝓎, 𝐼’𝓂…. 𝒯𝒾𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒! 𝒲𝒽𝑜 𝑒𝓁𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝐼 𝒷𝑒?"

"You’re not. You’re not Tim."

"𝒪𝒽, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓂𝑒! 𝐼’𝓂 𝒮𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒶!"

"Shut up!"

"𝑅𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓂𝑒! 𝒮𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒶… 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇-𝒽𝑒𝓇-𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒-𝓌𝒶𝓈! 𝐵𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹!"

"Get away from me or I swear, or I’ll -"

"𝒪𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉? 𝐻𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝑒? 𝒢𝑜 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝒾𝓉 - 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓈𝓉."

"I… I…"

"𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈?"

"Stop… stop, stand still."

"𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓈?"

The mannequin's appearance shifts as one of the human skins she is wearing shifts its face over that of the puppet and its voice shifts into that of an elderly woman - Gertrude Robinson, the previous Archivist. She doesn't sound pleased as she speaks, her voice slightly distorted.

"ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ."

"Wait. Wait, I - I know you."

"ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ."

"How are you here?"

"ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴏʙᴛᴜꜱᴇ, ᴊᴏɴ. ɪ’ᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴀɪʟᴇᴅ."

"I-I tried. I tried, I almost–"

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ? ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴅᴏᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ? ɴᴏ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟᴀᴢʏ, ꜰᴏᴏʟɪꜱʜ ʟɪᴀʀ."

"No, no - I would - I could have stopped them."

"ʜᴏᴡ? ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ. ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ɪ ᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɪɴ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ? ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇꜱ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ."

"N-no, I didn’t -"

"ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴏꜰ ɴᴏ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇQᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ꜰᴀʀ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴀᴛᴇ."

"What can I do?"

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ, ɪ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ. ᴡᴇᴇᴘ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ. ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴄᴜʀʟɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴀʟʟ?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ɪ’ᴍ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ɪ’ᴅ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴜᴍʙʟᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ? ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ."

"I’m sorry, I didn’t even -"

"ɪ ꜰᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ɪɴ ɪᴛꜱ ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋꜱ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴇꜱᴇᴄʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏʀᴘꜱᴇ. ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ."

"It is not. It’s not, I didn’t know. It’s not my fault you died."

And as the Archivist despairs, the puppet shifts to its other skin, this time an elderly man. He looks equally unimpressed by the Archivist's performance.

"ℕ𝕠, 𝕀 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕥. 𝕄𝕖, 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕… 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕦𝕝𝕥."

"No, not - not you as well…"

"𝕆𝕙, 𝕪𝕖𝕤."

"He told… why - why didn’t you warn me it would be like this?"

"𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖, 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕀? 𝔹𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕖𝕗𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟. 𝕀 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕, 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕒 𝕔𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖? 𝕀 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕞𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤." Jurgen Leitner gives a dark chuckle.

"That’s not – I don’t know…"

"ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝔸𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕤𝕥. 𝕊𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕒 𝕔𝕚𝕘𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖 𝕚𝕤. 𝕆𝕣 𝕒 𝕡𝕚𝕡𝕖?"

"It’s hard to think."

"𝕀𝕗 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕠 𝕓𝕪, 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕒𝕝. 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕞𝕤 𝕘𝕠 𝕗𝕒𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥."

"Just – give me a moment, please."

"𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕡? ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕪, 𝕚𝕗 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕤𝕠 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀’𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕. 𝕀 𝕒𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕙𝕦𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕨𝕠 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕀 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕪 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥."

"What do you want?"

The mannequin shifts back to her first form, grinning wildly at the Archivist.

"𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉, 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓈𝓉! 𝒩𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒿𝑜𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒!"

As Nikola grabs Jon and pulls him into a maddening spin, the entire memory spins along - And fades.

Edited 2020-06-08 00:13 (UTC)

As the scene plays out, he's not sure what he's staring at in the beginning. The monster had been gross and it set him on edge. It made him tense but sparked a need to fight in him. Not having a weapon meant he would need to find something close to a sword, a baseball bat is a good alternative. There were no weapons, only memories. Cloud's own mind started to have doubts begin to pull in.

Cloud drops his arm away after that standing absolutely quiet as he processes all of that in. It felt incredibly wrong. The sensation of the unknown had started to come at the strange scene. His head tilted curiously as he looks at the mannequin. He knows how that feeling is but that topic wouldn't be brought up here.

The many faces coming forth to tell the Archivist how disappointed they where in him. Some of them even mentioned their deaths. He knows what's its like to have a whole town get mad at you. Cloud shakes his head while stepping away from the mannequin looking at its blank face. Would it take the form of Sephiroth if it had been in his world? Or would it take form of many others? He puts squeezes his left arm trying to keep himself from running.

"What was the outcome?" Because Cloud would have wanted to get away from that kind of dancing. He looks over at the Archivist trying to figure out what all of it meant.

The Archivist hasn't moved from his place at the desk. He has, however, closed his eyes and clasped his hands before his face. The eyes in the room remain open.

When it is over, he sighs, letting his shoulders drop.

"...I believe I already mentioned that we blew it up. The entire thing. One of my assistants- One of my... Friends... He died. Another ended up in the coffin. I... Was in a coma for six months. But we... Won." He still likes to think of it as a victory. "We saved the world, I suppose."

He stops by the cardboard boxes that he knocked into earlier. Cloud frowned as he looked about the room. There seemed to be so much to actually touch within it.

"If you're saving the world and you have to do what you need to, that's all that matters." It counts towards something even if it may not seem that way at the time. Cloud looks to a shelf that has a cleaver resting there. "Have you ever been out for a longer period of time than six months?"

"You mean out as in a coma, I suppose." Jon assumes, still frowning a little from Cloud's initial comment, then he shakes his head.

"No. That was the first time. I don't... I don't commonly get involved in such... Risky endeavors." Which may not be entirely true any longer, but... Who pays attention, right?

Edited 2020-06-09 17:52 (UTC)

"Yes, that's exactly what I meant." Cloud's been out cold plenty of times in his life.

"I'm always getting caught up saving the Planet." He sighs at that while going to touch the cleaver.

The casualty of that last part gets a little smirk from the Archivist "Just like every Saturday morning, of course."

The cleaver isn't tied to any specific memory, but if Cloud has just been talking about saving the planet as if it is little more than a menial task, he now gets flooded with a much more existential dread: The deep and utter awareness that he only exists to get slaughtered for his meat. It overwrites any of his more logical reasoning, leaving him only with the reassurance that the only reason he exists is to serve as food.

And as long as his fingers linger on the cleaver, that feeling will prevail and drown out everything else.

There's a lot that Jon didn't know about Cloud. The young man could share but this wasn't his mind space or dream. It didn't really matter which it was to him. He knew by looking around what it could be.

The sudden feeling that washed over him of only being a basic meal item. He felt his gut twist in the pit of his stomach. It felt odd being in that moment of terror that's about to slaughter you. Cloud's whole body would tense, muscles would tighten making him seem as if he might very well push this shelf over. He's strong enough to make a bigger mess in this office.

How strong is his mind's will? Cloud finds that resistance to pull away before he could go deeper into that dark pit of feeling like a helpless animal. It felt muddy as he pulled his fingers and hand away.

Cloud does a rather large leap back but keeps his feet close to the floor. He stops himself by firmly planting his boots to keep from hitting into something else. That's not all but when he lifts his hand up to look at it there's legit mud. He looks heavily confused.

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Oh well. Guess the Unknowing gets a body horror warning

akira mixed with silent hill/evil within vibes

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