Make your Statement, face your fear.

[beholding_archivist]

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.

Comments

[doubled_speed]

He curls in on himself. Sure, he can't leave the chair, but he's still... able to react. And it's a lot.

"My speed manifested simply. No harm. A lot of mutants, when we manifest, something happens, big and showy. Me? I blew up my school. Instant fucking risk to the public. Sometimes the X-Men show up, take you somewhere safe, take care of you. Me? Jail. A juvenile detention center for kids with powers. Except it wasn't that. It wasn't corrections. It was government funded and all about, well... Figuring us out."

It will cure you they said. But he didn't want cured.

"Think about how useful it would be. A guy that moves faster than sound, many TIMES faster than sound. That can phase through walls. That can make things explode. I could be a weapon for them. That's what they wanted of me."

[beholding_archivist]

"I- I must admit that I don't understand the need of some people to weaponize everything." This is said with an underlying sigh from the Archivist, his expression having turned into one of sadness, his own two eyes dropped onto his hands while he listened.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that. Jail and... Everything they did to you. I will not insist on the details." Even though those especially may turn out to be dreadful.

"Do you know why the people in your world are so afraid of... uh... Natural mutations? Is that- Is that a way to call it?

[doubled_speed]

Thank god for the lack of details. Because there were so many, and Tommy would tell him. Every. Dark. Moment. Too many. He still had nightmares about it, probably always would.

“Mutants. People that aren’t born like me but still get altered to get powers are mutates. They like mutates. Anyone could become a mutate and get super powers. But mutants? We don’t deserve powers. We’re genetic freaks. We’re a threat to human kind. We’re a curse that god wishes wiped off the face of the Earth.”

Each thing a quote.

[beholding_archivist]

"Christ, that's messed up." And shows that this isn't something new to Tommy's world either.

And then out of mere curiosity: "Were you currently in prison when the Agrii took you?" Since that part hasn't been entirely clear. Would Tommy return to imprisonment if the Agrii sent him back...?

[doubled_speed]

"No. Billy and his team busted me out when Teddy got kidnapped and argued over by his people. I don't even know if I can go back to that part of Jersey or have them arrest me or something. I'm just..."

He spent time captured by another power.

"I'm just going to have to be rebuilding my life after apparently being missing for a while."

[beholding_archivist]

"I see... And I'm sorry." It sounds terrible. Even if Jon still can't paint a full picture of Tommy's world.

"So you might as well rebuild your life on Agra 10. Without the risk of being hunted and put into jail. Even though..." He trails off and gestures around them. Obviously they are pretty locked up at the moment, right?

[doubled_speed]

Rebuild here? Tommy's eyes narrow.

"This place keeps trapping me. When you're in jail long enough, you get claustrophobia, whether you want to or not. This place is fucking MISERABLE."

And they keep taking his powers, and they keep forcing him into situations where people he loves gets hurt. No, he doesn't want to settle here.

[beholding_archivist]

"Claustrophobia?" Jon repeats, then points past Tommy at the coffin "If that's something you're worried about, I suggest staying clear of the casket." Just a friendly advice. Which is followed by a short shrug.

"And I- I think I quite like it here?" Sure, the food situation may be a little awkward, but he at least isn't scared all the time.

[doubled_speed]

"Yeah, of course you do, creepy," Tommy grumbles as he starts to squirm. Can he go now?

Please, he just wants out of here.

[beholding_archivist]

"Do you really think it's worse than being hated and hunted down only for what you are?" Jon has no way to influence the chair, though. Or simply point Tommy to the way out. Maybe that's up to the watching eyes.

He's not going to argue the creepy, however.

[doubled_speed]

It's a good point, but he still thinks Jon is creepy.

"You've never been hated for what you are. You're human. You're... accepted."

[beholding_archivist]

Jon opens his mouth for a moment to say something, then closes it again, his eyes dropping down to the statement files before him "Am I, though? Still... human?" It's a returning question for him. One he still isn't sure how to answer even only to himself.

[doubled_speed]

"Do you feel human, at the end of the day?"

Isn't that what matters? Sure, Tommy's not human by genetics, but he's still human in that he's from earth and has emotions and all of that.

[beholding_archivist]

The short laugh Tommy gets in response is a harsh one. "Jesus, if that's your criteria, then I haven't been human far longer than I thought."

[doubled_speed]

"But do... you care about people? And your home, and all that stuff?"

Come on, man, make SOME sort of connection.

[beholding_archivist]

The Archivist gives a lengthy pause. Then gives a little nod "I care about a few people. Others I want to kill." A pause. "And some feel more like... Prey." He almost uses the term food, which paired with the rather direct look he is giving Tommy may have been easy to misinterpret.

Or to interpret just the correct way.

[doubled_speed]

"Yeah, I'm not your prey. Try that shit on me again, and you will end up in the ocean, tied to a rock>"

Tommy doesn't care. To protect others, he'll do it.

[beholding_archivist]

For a moment Jon is inclined to argue that no, Tommy hasn't been prey. Since prey at least has a chance to run. Tommy may rather fit the term victim. But... That may not be appropriate to put out there.

"I don't think I have to, to be honest. You are already doing a good job at working yourself up."

[doubled_speed]

"I'm out of here," Tommy sighs, heading for the door. "I'm definitely not interested in being here."

[beholding_archivist]

At least Tommy seems to be able to leave the chair now. Though the fact that he is heading for Helen's door... And now here's the dilemma of wanting to see what would happen and not necessarily wishing to share another memory.

Of course he can't let his curiosity win, can he?

"Tommy, stop! That door is not an exit."

[doubled_speed]

Okay, good thing he has great reaction times and just freezes.

"What, is the door a trap? Do you have a trap door? That's not fair."

[beholding_archivist]

"Actually the trap door is over here." Jon replies and points down at the floor where the trap door is barely visible.

"That door- It's the... Distortion. Part of the Spiral. It's the... The fear of madness, that your world isn’t right, that your mind is lying to you... If it leads to the usual corridors, you could get trapped for weeks." Endlessly wandering in circles.

[doubled_speed]

This place is the worst. Tommy moves to a bare bit of floor and just sits on it, not touching anything.

"Your brain is hell. Got it."

[beholding_archivist]

"And does that surprise you?" Jon asks, leaning an arm on the desk and tilting his head at Tommy.

"You already decided that I'm a monster and- It's not wrong? What else would the mind of a monster be filled with than remnants and artifacts of terror." It's hardly a question, just a comment trailing off. "Do you want to learn the truth?"

[doubled_speed]

"I guess I shouldn't," Tommy sighs, curling his legs up toward his chest.

"Truth, about you? Hell no."