Chapter Text
“It worked, then” Jon asked, still gasping for air, before the man sitting across from him could say anything else. Michael- no, Mike tilted his head.
“What worked?” he asked, expression still hostile. Jon took a deep breath.
“Binding it to the book, you, you escaped it? By choosing- what, something else? Another- another power?” he asked. Mike glared at him.
“I thought I said enough questions,” he snapped. Jon flinched, preparing himself for another deeply unpleasant trip through an endless sky. He couldn’t bring himself to regret his words, though. “It did work. I’d say quite well. Why, are you looking to change teams?” he eyed Jon suspiciously. Jon didn’t know how to answer.
“I- I don’t-” he began, and was cut off by a knock at the door. He froze.
“I thought you said you came alone,” Mike said, going to stand. Jon, for a reason he couldn’t even begin to explain to himself, caught Mike around the wrist. The man glowered at him, but Jon shook his head.
“I did,” he hissed. “Don’t answer it.” Mike seemed to see something in his expression, and nodded slowly.
“Probably shouldn’t argue with that,” he sighed, like Jon was somehow inconveniencing him by telling him not to open the door for a potential murderer. Not that Mike wasn’t a murderer- but Jon didn’t want to take any chances. “I’ll go see who it is. You open a window,” he instructed, and Jon didn’t try to argue. He shakily stood up, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. He blinked a few times, clearing the stars from his vision, and walked over to the large windows covering the walls of the flat. He unlocked the central one, and turned to watch Mike. “Who is it?” he called, standing a ways back from the door. The knocking ceased.
“Police,” a voice said, and Jon recognized it. It was officer Tonner- what was she doing here? Had she followed him? Mike frowned. “Open the door,” she commanded. He took another step back. The door shuddered, as if she had tried to kick it in. There was a fracture growing along the side with the lock- it wouldn’t hold.
“Shit,” Mike muttered. “Is it you or me she’s after?” he joined Jon next to the window.
“I’m technically a murder suspect,” Jon confessed. “I didn’t do it, though.”
“You should’ve fucking lead with that,” Mike said angrily. “She’s a hunter, that means we’re both screwed!” There was an ominous crack, and the door began to buckle. “You so owe me,” Mike muttered, and Jon felt one of his hands wrap around his arm. He barely had time to take a breath before they were both plunged back into the unending expanse. This time, though, he wasn’t alone. Mike held onto his upper arm, fingers digging painfully into his bicep, but Jon wasn’t about to complain.
They hit the ground, hard, outside of an abandoned corner store. Jon gasped, trying to catch his breath, but Mike didn’t wait. He still held his arm in a vice grip, pulling him along behind him. Jon stumbled along, regretting everything as his stomach churned violently.
“If you throw up on me, I’ll send you back into the void,” Mike warned. Jon did not doubt his conviction. “Now we’re both on the run. You got somewhere to go?”
“No,” Jon only somewhat lied. Under no circumstances would he lead an officer like that to Georgie’s door. If he had to sleep on a bench or run until his body gave out, so be it. He was good at running from his problems.
-
They ended up outside of the sketchiest motel Jon had ever seen. That is to say, it was exactly the kind of place you would go if you were on the run from the police and also a murder suspect. Jon lurked while Mike checked them into a cheap room, using a credit card that screamed ‘I have money and am extremely suspicious for even being here’, but the person behind the desk didn’t seem to notice. They probably weren’t paid enough to care even slightly, a fact that Jon resented but was also grateful for in this particular situation. Mike silently opened the door after fighting with the key, fuming. Jon could see the anger on his face, and he supposed they were all lucky he didn’t send the receptionist to the void.
“Well,” he said, taking in the room. Jon followed after him, and agreed with the sentiment. It was exactly as shitty as Jon had expected, though there were two beds. This effectively killed the half formed panicked thoughts of having to sleep next to someone who had tried to kill him an hour before. Mike locked the door behind them, and shoved one of the chairs under the handle. Jon doubted it would really stop the Officer, but the sentiment was nice. He sat down awkwardly on the bed closest to the door, unsure of what to do. Maybe he could make tea? He stood up and started trying to locate the kettle.
“What do we do now?” Jon couldn't help but ask. Mike glared at him from where he was stapling the curtains shut.
“Hope she doesn’t find us,” Mike said, then snorted. “I give it two days at most.”
“Where even are we?” Jon asked, realizing suddenly that he wasn’t sure.
“Brighton,” Mike said immediately, then glared at Jon, whose stomach swooped unpleasantly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Jon gasped, because he could never keep his mouth shut.
“Compel me,” Mike replied promptly, then cursed. “Damn it. Do you even know you’re doing that?”
“I- what…” Jon began, then snapped his mouth shut. He’s not exactly ignorant of the situation, per se, but he has been ignoring everything he doesn’t particularly want to think about. Which is most of this whole thing. Mike looked like he had swallowed a lemon.
“Do you- sorry, how much do you know? You’re the Archivist, you’re supposed to-” Mike said slowly, but Jon cut him off.
“Yes, yes, I’m serving a dread power known as the Eye and I can’t quit my job and I have dreams about statements and I can make people answer my questions and every single person I meet is out to get me. I know.” he snapped. “I’m not stupid.”
“You’re a really unpleasant person, you know that?” Mike said, though no vertigo overtakes Jon.
“I’ve been told, yes,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “I’ve also been accused of beating Jurgen Leitner to death with a lead pipe, so excuse me for not quite processing everything yet.” Mike blinked at him.
“...Jurgen Leitner? You killed Jurgen Leitner?” Mike said, voice getting a bit higher than Jon would’ve expected.
“No,” Jon said sharply. “I assume my boss, Elias, did that. And then framed me. For some fucking reason.” Mike stared at him.
“I- okay, wow,” Mike said after a moment. “I knew you beholding people were prone to drama, but this is- that’s a lot.”
“Elias also possibly killed Gertrude, the previous Archivist,” Jon felt the need to confess. “I don’t have proof, but that’s what Leitner told me. Before, you know.”
“Before he got beaten to death, yeah,” Mike confirmed. Jon shuffled through the cabinets and found a box of peppermint tea that looked like it had been there since the motel was built. He also found two dusty mugs, and half heartedly rinsed them out.
“He also told me a little bit about the entities, avatars, and rituals,” Jon said as he put the mugs of water into the microwave. There was no kettle, because of course there wasn’t. “And how they can’t really be separated from each other, it’s just- something that eats fear, I suppose?” Mike shrugged.
“Close enough,” he said. “I wouldn’t necessarily say they eat our fear, I would say they just are fear. The fact that they thrive on it doesn’t really matter. It’s what they’re made of. Terror, dread, whatever.” That was a good point, Jon thought.
“And we both serve it,” Jon said.
“Yep,” Mike said. “Though in different ways. I fed myself to the vast to escape something else. I chose this. Did you?”
“Not really,” Jon said. “I thought this was a normal archiving job when I got promoted. I was aware that the supernatural existed, but the rest of it? I had no idea until it was too late.”
“That’s interesting,” Mike said slowly. The microwave beeped, and Jon put the old tea bags into the steaming water, and handed a mug to Mike. He accepted, though he didn’t take a sip. “I’m surprised Elias would want an archivist to be so ignorant. Seems counterintuitive.”
“I suppose,” Jon said. “I’m tired of this, though. I know he’s manipulating me, but I don’t know why or for what. And I can’t quit. And I’ve condemned everyone else in the archives. There’s nowhere I can run.”
“Well,” Mike said thoughtfully. “You asked about what I did. That’s an option, you know. Dedicate yourself to something else.”
“I only thought of that after I heard your statement.” Jon said, taking a sip of tea. It was terrible. “I didn’t know that was something you could do.”
“I spent most of my life trying to pull it off,” Mike said. “You don’t have as much time. Especially since you’re on a fast-track to becoming an avatar of the Eye.”
“How does one become an avatar?” Jon asked carefully, trying not to compel his tentative ally.
“Oh, what a question,” Mike said, also taking a sip from his mug. “Ugh, this tea is terrible. So a lot of times you have to let a power consume you. That involves dying, a lot of the time, though not always. Usually it has to do with being consumed in some way. With the desolation, it can be immolation.”
“Like Jude said,” Jon murmured.
“Yeah,” Mike grimaced. “Those guys are a bit much. Other times it can be a bit more gradual, like- hm, like with the lonely.”
“All of them have names?“ Jon asked.
“Yeah, a lot of us use Smirke’s categories. They’re a bit arbitrary, honestly, but helpful. Do you know any of them?”
“Well, the Eye, obviously. The- the vast? And you said the desolation and the lonely. There’s the spiral, Leitner told me that one, and- I think that’s all I know. Is there one with skin?”
“That could be the flesh,” Mike said. “Or the stranger. Depends if there’s skin-stealing involved.” Jon settled down onto a chair at the rickety table, and looked at Mike.
“Can you tell me the rest?” Mike sighed.
“Since you asked so nicely. The officer that’s after us is probably aligned with the Hunt. Predator, prey, the everchase. A lot of cops serve that one, at least a little bit.” Jon nodded. He felt like he should be writing this down. “There’s the buried, which is claustrophobia, being crushed. It’s the opposite of the vast, as far as those things go. I try to avoid avatars of that one.”
“Makes sense,” Jon said.
“There’s the dark, which is exactly what it sounds like. They have a cult though, what’s it called…”
“Oh! The People’s Church of the Divine Host?” Jon interrupted.
“Yeah, them. They’re weird, definitely avoid those guys. Honestly, you should just steer clear of the cults. The Lightless Flame too.”
“Alright,” said Jon, who had never once been successful in avoiding murder cults.
“There’s the slaughter, which is just violence and strangely good music. There’s the End, which is the fear of death, basically.” Mike paused for another sip of tea, grimacing. “You’ve got the stranger, which is the uncanny valley, identity theft type.” Oh, Jon was familiar with that one. His heart ached for Sasha. “The web. Spiders, manipulation, loss of free will. That one’s a little more subtle.” Jon shuddered. “That’s it, I think.” Mike finished.
“And it’s avatars, books, and monsters that can manifest for each?” Jon asked faintly. It was a lot to take in, but there was something missing.
“Yeah, usually.” Mike shrugged. “Sometimes there are human servants. Like you. I think.”
“I think I’m still human, at least for the most part,” Jon pointed out, taking a sip of his tea. He felt a sudden pang, missing Martin more than usual. He wasn’t sure if it was just about the tea, though Martin did make an incredible cup. His microwaved and possibly expired tea couldn’t really compare.
“Mostly, yeah.” Mike agreed.
“I’ve been changing again, though, I think. I’ve been… having dreams,” Jon said slowly. “Not the usual ones from the statements, but- something else. Something new.” Mike looked at him over the top of his tea.
“And that made you want to quit being the Archivist?” he asked flatly. “Some dreams?”
“I’m not sure they were only dreams,” Jon confessed. “They showed me that there’s another option. Something I can turn to, something I can give myself to, that isn’t the Eye.”
“What is it?” Mike asked. “Offense intended, but you’re practically a poster child for the Beholding.” Jon glared at him, though without any real heat behind it.
“Thanks,” he said flatly. “And I have no idea. It doesn’t really fit any of the powers like you described them.”
“Interesting,” Mike mused. “Describe it?”
“Well, the dreams begin like they usually do- the setting of each statement. I can move, though, and I’m not just consigned to- to watching.” Jon said in a rush. “I can leave. There’s always a door, and when I walk through it, I emerge in a wasteland. Picture- did you see wall-E?”
“Did I see what?” Mike asked, sounding amused. Jon sighed.
“It’s an animated film- never mind. Anyway, the world is filled with the detritus of humanity, a blend of skyscrapers and stinking towers of trash. Nothing lives, not there in the shell of a ruined world. Nothing feels fear. The Eye, which had been focused on me while I watched the dreamers, is gone. Its weight is lifted, and when I look up, I can see its corpse hanging in the sky like a long dead moon. I am alone, and there is nothing to see.” Jon said, staring blankly down into his mug. There was silence from across the table. He looked up to see Mike focused on him with an intensity he’d never seen before. “What?” Jon asked, meeting his gaze.
“That’s… interesting,” he said slowly. “When did this start happening? The change in the dreams?” Jon blinked.
“Ah, maybe- a few weeks ago? Before the whole thing with Leitner happened, at least.”
“Huh,” Mike said, sipping his tea. “Has anything else similar happened?”
“No, I’ve been a bit- a bit busy, I’d say,” Jon said dryly. Mike snorted.
“Yeah, I suppose being on the run will do that,” he replied. “And you- whatever this is, it calls to you?” Mike continued.
“It does,” Jon said quietly. “I know there’s no way it’ll be as good as it might seem, of course it won’t be, but is it better than the alternative? I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You think it can be your escape from- all that drama,” Mike suggested. Jon resented the fact that the Institute situation could be summarized by the word ‘drama’.
“I wouldn’t be the Archivist anymore,” Jon agreed, frowning slightly. “My assistants- they’re tied to the institute, maybe if I’m out of the picture, they could escape too.”
“That’s not the only reason, right?”
“No,” Jon said, and hated himself for it. “The Eye, the Archives- I don’t-“ he couldn’t find the words. He struggled for a moment, looking at Mike, meeting his pale blue eyes. “It’s been too late for me since I was eight years old. This way, at least I get to choose what eats me.”
“What happened when you were a kid?” Mike asked softly, which was not at all what Jon was expecting him to say.
“A book- a Leitner,” Jon said, abruptly remembering that Mike had been the same age when he was struck by lightning. “It was A Guest for Mr. Spider,” he murmured. He hadn’t told anyone else about that, except for the tape recorder. He hadn’t even told Georgie.
“The Web,” Mike mused. “That’s rotten luck.”
“Luck was the only reason it didn’t take me,” Jon confessed. “It took someone else. I watched. I couldn’t do anything.”
“You and I are more similar than I thought,” Mike said abruptly. “I-“ he began. “I’ll help you. Find your escape, if you want.” He looked like he’d just bitten into a lemon, but still managed to sound sincere.
“Why?” Jon asked, fully aware of how it made him sound like a total arse. Mike didn’t seem to be offended, though.
“You’re not so bad,” he said after a moment. “And I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to fuck over the Eye at least a little bit, and your boss too.”
“You’ve met Elias?” Jon asked, surprised.
“Simon dragged me to one of the Institute’s parties for its donors,” Mike sighed. “Never again. I will never be in the same room as Bouchard and Lukas again.” Jon snorted.
“He’s a bit of an ass,” he agreed. “If this is the way I can get the better of him, I’ll take it. If there’s a price, I’ll pay it. I don’t think I can keep going like I was, not when there’s another option.”
“Good for you,” Mike said. “Let’s go shopping.”
“Okay,” Jon replied.
-
“No books,” Jon said the next morning. “I didn’t specify that. I will absolutely not be doing what you did.”
“I figured,” Mike said after a moment. “I’m not stupid, you know.” They were seated at the table in the shitty motel room that had been home for the past few days. Jon had started to feel the effects of being without a statement that morning when he woke up, in the form of a hangover-like headache. He hadn’t been drinking. They needed to do this as quickly as possible.
“Also, there might be a bit of a time limit,” Jon said, putting the mugs in the microwave.
“No shit,” Mike said. “Would that be in the form of the Hunter that’s chasing us, the fact that you’re bound by contract to your temple, or that you’ll start fading if you don’t feed your current patron?”
“Yes, yes,” Jon huffed. He took one of the shitty tea bags from the cupboard and poured the boiled water into it. “I’ve gone for longer without statements, I should be ok for at least a month.”
“How’d you find that out?” Mike asked.
“Kidnapped by the circus for a month,” Jon explained. “Got moisturized, almost got skinned. The usual.”
“The fact that you’re even alive is startling,” Mike said after a moment.
“I know,” Jon said flatly.
“Anyway,” Mike said, “no books. We could try and talk to some other avatars, I know a few that might be willing.”
“I’d rather not,” Jon said, thinking about his track record with talking to avatars.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You’re too fucking annoying for that, they’ll probably just kill you,” Mike agreed. Jon glared at him, resenting the fact that they both recognized that unfortunate truth. Self awareness was one thing, having it pointed out was another.
“I wish I could go back to the institute,” Jon groaned, taking a sip of his tea. It was terrible. “I was a researcher first, and I was good at it.”
“Hm,” Mike said. “You got anyone there that you trust?”
“I- well, sort of? One of them has been my source, she helped me find Jude,” Jon said. He didn’t exactly trust Melanie, but he had no other choice. He also didn’t like her very much, but she had helped.
“Call her, then,” Mike suggested. “If you think there’s anything there that could help.” Jon called her.
-
There was a knock, later that day, on their shitty motel door. Jon peered through the window next to it, and saw Melanie standing there, looking as annoyed as she usually did. He opened the door.
“Nice place,” she said dryly, stepping inside. “For a minute, I thought you were bringing me here to murder me.”
“Why’d you come, then?” Jon said sharply. She rolled her eyes.
“Georgie wanted me to make sure you were still alive, you know, since you disappeared without saying anything. You couldn’t have called her? It’s been a week!” Melanie griped.
“It’s been- it’s complicated, okay?” Jon replied defensively. “Do you remember Officer Tonner? She’s been chasing us.”
“I remember, she seemed to take the whole ‘wanted for murder’ thing seriously,” Melanie replied. “Wait- us?”
“Hey,” Mike said from the bathroom door.
“ Jesus!” Melanie exclaimed, startling violently. “Who’s that?”
“Mike,” Mike said simply, waving a hand. Jon noticed that he looked slightly enthusiastic about finally being taller than someone.
“I was talking to him when Tonner caught up to me,” Jon explained. “We both ran.”
“Oh, is he-“ Melanie began, clearly unsure how to ask.
“He’s an avatar, yes,” Jon sighed. “Jude Perry directed me to him.”
“ He’s still here,” Mike said helpfully. “But that doesn’t matter. Do whatever it is you’re going to do.” Mike sat down on one of the beds, pulling out one of the cheap mystery novels the motel shop had, clearly planning on ignoring them.
“Wha- okay,” Melanie said slowly. “That’s a lot to unpack. Georgie will be glad you’re not dead, though.”
“Thanks?”
“I did some digging in the library and the archives, I brought a few things.” She opened her bag and removed her laptop and a folder. “No statements, like you said, but I wrote down names, contact information, and the relevant details.” Jon blinked, looking at the files.
“This is- this is more than I expected,” he said.
“Yeah, about that,” Melanie edged, “Martin helped.”
“What?” Jon hissed.
“I didn’t tell him it was for you!” She said defensively, raising her hands. “I asked all of them for help, but Tim refused.”
“Of course he did, you probably shouldn’t even have asked,” Jon said.
“Yeah, I got that,” Melanie said. “Martin found the statements, he knows the archives better than I do.”
“Well, ah, thank you both?” Jon said hesitantly. Mike snorted from his spot on the bed.
“Good to know you’re always like this,” he said, not taking his eyes off of his book. Jon glared at him, willing him to know that’s what he was doing.
“What, a total prick?” Melanie asked. “Yeah, he’s always like that.”
“Can we move on?” Jon snapped, fully aware that he was just proving their point.
“Whatever,” Melanie responded. “What is this for, anyway? You chasing down another lead?”
“Something like that,” Jon said absently, already skimming through the notes. Melanie stood up.
“Well, have fun. Maybe consider coming back to Georgie’s, yeah? The cat misses you.”
“Thank you, Melanie,” Jon said firmly. She laughed as he closed the door behind her. He examined the statements first- he wished he could read them, he ached for the tape recorder, but he held himself back. He realized with a jolt that some of the notes were in Martin’s handwriting. He- he missed him, Jon realized again. When did that happen?
“Anything good?” Mike asked from over his shoulder, and Jon jumped slightly, sloshing tea over the mug onto his hand. It had gone cold. Jon sighed.
“Give me a chance to read them,” he huffed. Mike backed off, and sat across from Jon at the table, returning to his book.
The first statement was dated some twenty years previously, and it outlined a woman who had exited a door and found a world devoid of humanity, filled instead with their twisted and decaying corpses. The ones who came after had already settled there, living in the burnt out shells that people had left behind. The next was a letter from Adelard Dekker, theorizing about the emergence of a fifteenth fear. The Extinction. The name settled in Jon’s chest like lead. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that was what called to him from his dreams.
“You alright? You look like you just swallowed a lemon,” Mike said from across the table.
“I am, I just- I think I know what this is,” Jon said weakly, sliding Dekker’s letter to Mike. He put his book down, and skimmed through the letter.
“Oh, shit,” he said after a few moments. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Jon said. Mike fell silent, clearly thinking.
“We should talk to Simon,” he said slowly. Jon opened his mouth to protest, but Mike held up a hand. “He’s mentioned the Extinction before, apparently Lukas has been doing some research on it. He won’t snitch to Elias, if that’s what you’re worried about. And he probably won’t kill you- he likes me.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” Jon said.
-
The headquarters for Pinnacle Aerospace was absolutely massive. Jon didn’t know why he was surprised. The towering building was made almost entirely of glass, and Jon was sure the top floors had an excellent view of the trip to the ground.
“Could you act any more suspicious?” Mike groused from next to him, and Jon glared at him.
“I am not being suspicious,” he hissed back. Mike snorted.
“You look like you’re trying to sneak in. Relax, you’re a guest.”
“Again, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Tough,” Mike replied, pushing the glass doors open. Jon felt terribly out of place. The woman at the front desk looked up, and beamed when she saw Mike.
“Mike!” She exclaimed. “It’s been a while, so good to see you!”
“Hi, Harriet,” Mike said stiffly. “Is Simon in? I need to talk to him.” She eyed him, and then her eyes fell on Jon.
“He is,” she said, tone hardening slightly. “Who’s your guest?”
“A friend,” Mike said, and some of the anxiety in Jon’s chest loosened. Mike considered him a friend? After everything? He supposed being on the run together was quite the bonding experience.
“Alright,” Harriet said after a moment. “You can take the staff elevator, he’s in his office. I’ll let him know you’re coming.” Mike nodded to her, and guided Jon toward another set of doors. It was a glass elevator, because of course it was. They stepped inside, and Jon made an effort not to look down as they began to rise. A wave of dizziness passed through him, and he glared at Mike again.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry. “Habit.” The ride was over relatively quickly, and Jon was glad to be out of the elevator. By the way Mike was smirking, he knew it too. Simon’s office was, as expected, completely lined with windows. The sky was clear blue outside of them, and the small man at the desk smiled as they entered. Jon’s first impression was ‘are all avatars of the vast really just this short?’.
“Mike! It’s been a while,” Simon said jovially. “And- oh my, what a surprise,” he said, looking at Jon. “What do I owe this pleasure, Archivist?”
“Please don’t call me that,” Jon said through slightly gritted teeth.
“It’s what you are, is it not?” Simon teased.
“For now,” Mike said. The smile seemed frozen on Simon’s face.
“Why do you say that?” he asked evenly, looking between Jon and Mike.
“What do you know about the Extinction?” was what Jon blurted out, instead of anything helpful or even remotely resembling a normal conversation. There was the vague sound of Mike sighing heavily next to him.
“You’re very rude, aren’t you?” Simon said.
“It’s a terminal condition,” Mike agreed. “He doesn’t know how to control the compulsion, either.”
“Well, in that case!” Simon exclaimed, and stood up from his desk. He approached Jon, who wasn’t sure if it would be rude to run away like his brain was screaming at him to do. “Please, sit, both of you.” They sat. “The Extinction,” Simon mused, idly tapping the desk with his fingers. “There have been theories that it’s growing in strength as a power, that it’ll, ah, emerge soon. Peter Lukas, you know him? He’s particularly worried about it.”
“Why’s he worried?” Mike asked. Jon felt a rush of gratitude towards him.
“The Extinction, they say, would be more of an active player in this world,” Simon explained. “The theory is that it would seek to create a lifeless world in a way that none of the other powers would. And that would mean-“
“A world with no fear,” Jon murmured.
“Exactly,” Simon said. “Obviously, that’s not ideal for the rest of us. I know a few others who are trying to get their rituals done before it emerges, to hopefully prevent that from coming to pass.”
“Not you, though?” Jon asked, unable to help himself. Mike kicked him under the desk, and Jon jumped slightly. He glared at him.
“Oh, I’m not particularly worried,” Simon said cheerfully. “In the grand scheme of things, why should the fate of our planet even matter? We reside on a speck of dust floating in an infinite universe. If we were to disappear today, would anything really change? Anything that really matters?” Jon stared at him. “I know I can sometimes get lost in the big picture,” Simon said, noticing his expression. “But faced with utter insignificance, who can argue that an Extinction event would even register in the grand cosmic history?” Jon blinked.
“Fair enough,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Now, I have to wonder why you came to me,” Simon continued. “Wouldn't that temple of yours have better answers?”
“We’re on the run from a hunter,” Mike cut in. “Also, Jon’s on a beholding strike.”
“What- am not!” Jon protested weakly. Simon shot him a critical look.
“Elias mustn't be pleased about that,” he said. Jon shrugged.
“I don’t think he cares,” Jon pointed out. “He’s the one who framed me for murder, anyway. I couldn’t expect him to suddenly care when the police start trying to kill me.”
“He killed someone?” Simon asked, sounding incredulous.
“Jurgen Leitner,” Jon replied. “Beat him to death with a lead pipe. There was blood all over my office.” Simon looked rather delighted for someone that had just found out that an acquaintance had brutally murdered an elderly librarian.
“Fascinating,” was all Simon said. Then, he turned to Mike. “This hunter is after you both?”
“Yep,” Mike confirmed. “She showed up to my flat when I was talking to Jon. We ran.”
“Well, you can’t go back there,” Simon mused. “Why don’t you stay at the Fairchild family home?” Mike groaned.
“Will you ever give that a rest?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“Not until you spend some quality time with your family,” Simon said sternly. Jon was vividly reminded of an overbearing grandfather. Mike sighed, but looked at Jon a bit helplessly.
“We’d be safe from the hunter,” he pointed out. Jon hated that he was right.
-
The Fairchild Estate was somehow exactly what Jon had expected. It was a large building, a manor, really, surrounded by sprawling fields with nothing in sight in each direction, save for the pale stretch of road that they had arrived on. Harriet had driven them, and Jon’s knuckles had remained white and clasped firmly around the handle the whole time, much to Mike’s amusement. Jon was grateful for the mode of transportation- he wasn’t a huge fan of falling through the void, even if it was remarkably convenient.
“There are plenty of empty rooms,” Harriet said as they exited the car. “You can pick whichever. Don’t start any fights.” She gave Jon a Look. He glared at her. He didn’t start fights. Mike sighed from next to him as they ascended the stairs.
The interior of the manor was barren of any furniture. The floors were white and polished so well that Jon could see his reflection as they walked across the long entry hall. The ceiling was a large mural of the empty sky. Looking at it made him dizzy. Mike grabbed his arm and steered him toward a staircase at the end of the room.
“Don’t fall in,” he warned. Jon wasn’t intending to. Harriet had disappeared somewhere, and Jon let himself be pulled along by Mike. They walked for longer than he expected until they reached a door. Mike hesitated outside of it.
“This is your room?” Jon asked.
“When I’m here, yes,” Mike said. “Which has been exactly twice. Well, three times now.” He didn’t let go of Jon’s arm. “You should stay with me. I don’t think you should wander around alone.”
“Are you- are you concerned for me?” Jon asked incredulously. Mike glared at him as he pushed open the door.
“You’re such a dick,” he said. Jon followed him into the room anyway. It was- well, it was open and well-lit. Three of the walls were lined entirely with windows, showing a view that spanned for miles. It seemed to be higher than the manor itself was, but Jon wasn’t surprised. There was a massive bed, but no other furniture save for a table shoved into the corner.
“Nice,” Jon said. Mike released his arm in favor of elbowing him.
“Shut up. It’s nicer than the motel.” That was definitely true. There were clean sheets. Jon sighed.
“How long are we going to be here?” He asked. Mike flopped down backwards onto the bed.
“Dunno,” he said. “I expect Simon will join us at some point. We might have to stay until the Hunter gives up.”
“Will she?” Jon asked doubtfully.
“She’d have to be really fucking stupid to come here,” Mike said. “Though to be fair, she probably wouldn’t expect you to be stupid enough to be here either.”
“Thanks,” Jon said dryly. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“To be fair, Elias probably won’t expect you to be here either.” Mike pointed out. “It’s as safe as we can get.” That was, unfortunately, probably true. “Except for the family dinners that we’re both expected to attend.” Jon stared at him.
“The what ?”
-
That evening, Jon found himself sandwiched between Mike and Simon Fairchild, regretting his every decision that had brought him there. There were a lot more people than he’d expected- there were twenty seats, and all but one were filled. He had a feeling that Mike’s presence was a bit of a novelty, thus requiring attendance. He was also being observed, but it was nothing like the scrutiny he was used to. It was still awkward, though. Mike had whispered everyone’s names to him as they sat down, and the woman (Clarissa, maybe?) across from him was glaring. He studiously avoided her eyes.
“So, Harriet, how’s the project going?” Simon said after several minutes of awkward silence. She looked up, then narrowed her eyes at Jon.
“I don’t know if I should say, given our present company.” She sniffed. Simon brushed her off.
“Please. He’s a guest, not a spy.” He said. Jon felt all eyes upon him.
“I’m not a spy,” he said, because he felt like he was expected to say something. “I’m hiding from the police.” Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and Simon let out a delighted chuckle. One of the people at the opposite end of the table snorted. Jon thinks their name might have been Rian?
“Fair enough,” they said. “I’m wanted in six countries.”
“That’s not a flex, Rian,” the other youngest member of the table said. She looked no older than twenty.
“I think it is,” Rian said smugly. “I’ve been classified as a public menace in Canada.” At least four people at the table groaned.
“Yeah, and you almost got shot by the Mounties,” the young woman said. “I had to rescue you.”
“Did not!” Rian pouted. “I had all of Saskatchewan looking for me, you know. I expertly evaded them, thank you, Andrea.”
“What, all twelve people that live there?” Andrea snorted. “Nobody knows what the fuck Saskatchewan is. Hey Eye guy, do you know what it is?” She directed at Jon, who choked on the sip of water he’d just taken.
“I’ve never left the UK,” Jon said, eyes watering, and Mike pounded him on the back. “How did you get the Canadian Mounted Police after you?” Rian looked delighted, and Andrea groaned, planting her head down on the table.
“Well, it started with an expanse of Bortle One skies…”
-
Spending time with avatars, Jon decided, was much more fun when they weren’t trying to kill him.
-
They retired after dinner, dodging Simon’s invitation to go for a drink in the parlor, because of course this place had a parlor. He and Mike entered the bedroom, and Jon immediately flopped over onto the excessively large, luxurious bed.
“That,” he said, voice muffled by the blankets, “was too much.”
“Now you know why I never come here,” Mike pointed out, also falling backwards onto the mattress, causing Jon to bounce slightly. “They’re alright, but-“
“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “At least they didn’t throw me off the top of this building. Or send me hurtling through space without a tether, watching the earth grow smaller as I struggle fruitlessly to reverse my momentum.”
“That’s Rian’s thing,” Mike said. “They seemed to like you.”
“It’s because I humored their stories about running from the Canadians,” Jon said.
“Probably,” Mike agreed. “We’ll have to do that again tomorrow.” Jon buried his face even further into the sheets.
“Maybe I should take my chances with the Hunter,” he joked. Mike elbowed him. “Right. Sorry.”
“I’m going to sleep,” Mike said. “If I find you staring at me during the night, I’ll poke your eyes out.”
“Fair enough,” Jon said. He was so tired. Too tired to care that he was sharing a bed with someone he had only met a few weeks previously. Mike said something else, but Jon didn’t hear him. He was already dreaming.
-
He dreamt, as always, of the end of the world.
-
They stayed at the Fairchild Manor for a week. In that time, Jon spoke to each Avatar about how they came to serve the Vast. Many of them were by choice, though some had found themselves entrenched in it too deeply to ever escape. Rian in particular was interesting. They had become lost one night, out camping, and found themselves trapped in an endless starry night. They plunged into the depths rather than remain alone, which was rather similar to Mike. Jon wondered how many avatars were simply trying to escape something.
Simon had bought Mike a new flat. Without hesitating, his friend had invited Jon to stay with him as long as he needed. The apartment had two bedrooms. Jon didn’t know how to thank him.
“Don’t return to the eye,” Simon said, only partially joking. “You have so much potential outside of Elias’s plans.” Jon didn’t bother to ask what plans those were. He didn’t really care anymore.
“I won’t,” Jon said, and meant it. They were standing outside of the Manor, Mike gripping his elbow, preparing to fling them into emptiness.
“Don’t resist the call that you hear,” Simon continued. “You’re on your own path now. Follow it to its end.”
“I will,” Jon said. Mike’s fingers tightened. “Don’t tell Elias about this. Please.” Simon laughed.
“Oh, Jonathan, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Thank you. For everything.” Jon said. Simon beamed at him.
“It’s good to see Mike with a friend,” he said. “Stay out of trouble.”
“Ugh, we will.” Mike cut in. “Let’s go, Jon.” Jon hardly had the chance to take a breath before the world fell away.
-
Jon felt a bit bad cutting contact with Georgie and the archival staff. He had left his phone in the motel, in case it could be traced, but if he really wanted to, he could’ve reached them. He didn’t want to. He had grown weaker the longer he went without statements, and he got dizzy every time he stood. Mike had actually begun to fuss over him. It was getting embarrassing.
“You need a statement,” Mike said one morning when Jon’s hands shook so badly he nearly dropped his coffee.
“No,” Jon snapped.
“How long has it been?” Mike demanded.
“…since your statement,” Jon said slowly.
“Jon! That’s- that’s nearly a whole month,” Mike said, clearly trying not to shout but failing somewhat miserably.
“I know!” Jon replied sharply. “I can’t go back. I can feel my connection to the Eye weakening. I don’t want to reinforce it. It’s almost time.”
“Really?” Mike asked skeptically. Jon had been saying that for the past several days since they’d returned from the Fairchild home.
“Yes,” Jon said, and it wasn’t a lie. “The dreams are becoming- they’re more real, now.”
“Alright,” Mike conceded. “But if you drop dead on me, I’ll be upset.”
“Was that- was that a complement?”
“Shut up.”
-
Jon woke that night and knew it was time. He stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom and knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Not here, and not for a long time.
-
Jon began to walk. He left Mike’s flat- it was near midnight, though time didn’t much matter to him. He set foot on the streets of London and began to take step after step towards that inexplicable pull. He didn’t bring his borrowed phone, he only had what was on his back. No one could reach him, anyway. He had to do this alone. He got some concerned looks from late night party-goers as he walked by, but he paid them no mind. The sky began to lighten as he made his way into the suburban areas, and the residents began to wake up for the day. None paid any attention to the man walking slowly but confidently onward.
-
His lips were dry, Jon thought, and realized he was quite thirsty. He’d brought no water. He kept walking.
-
The sun beat down overhead, and Jon couldn’t remember the last time it had set. Surely this day was going on too long? It would be night soon, and then he could rest. He wanted so very badly to rest. The only signs of life in the otherwise quiet suburb was the distant cawing of crows. No, were they crows? Jon didn’t remember crows sounding so… hungry. He was hungry. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten. He felt a drop of sweat slide down the side of his face, but he lacked the energy to raise a hand to wipe it away. He was sure that if he stopped to rest, to wipe away the sweat and grime, he would never get to his destination. Wherever that was. He continued to walk.
-
The soles of his shoes had long since worn away, and the bottom of his feet were rough and calloused. It didn’t bother him. He had left the suburbs, and was walking through the English countryside. Jon thought it would’ve been more lovely were it not for the grass that withered underneath his feat, turning yellow and dry. The air was not fresh. It stank, and a gray smog had rolled in, coating the gently rolling hills and turning the sun small and red. It lit the area in a bloody glow. The smoke covered everything thickly, and Jon felt as though a shroud had been laid across him as he walked. He continued forward, and the countryside withered in his wake.
-
There were towers looming up ahead, just visible through the polluted air. Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn a breath, and he was sure he didn’t want to. As he approached, he saw that only some of the structures were buildings- crumbling skyscrapers with smashed windows and devoid of inhabitants. Among them were mountainous piles of trash, of humanity’s junk. Jon picked his way across the field of detritus, passing a ruined satellite and what might have once been bones. They’d been picked clean, something had left long gouges down their yellowing surface. Jon wondered if it had been him that had done it. The teeth marks looked almost human. He didn’t stop to look closer- he didn’t want to know.
He made his way painfully across the abandoned city, careful to not disturb any of the fallen items. It felt sacred, in a way, being in a place that no longer supported humanity, because of their own machinations. They had poisoned the air, filled the seas with garbage, clogged the atmosphere with corpses of satellites and escape attempts. They choked to death on their own waste, knowing that their end was coming but there was nothing they could do to stop it.
-
The smog began to thin, and Jon reached a precipice. A jagged cliff cut through the center of the city, the rest crumbling downwards into a rift of which he couldn't see the end of. Trash, the ruin of humanity slowly poured into the wound that had cloven the earth in two. One day, and it would be soon, it would tear apart the planet, taking with it every trace of the people that had once inhabited it. And then- Jon stopped. There was a figure sat upon the edge of the world, legs dangling carelessly into the devouring emptiness. Jon knew they were waiting for him. He was always going to meet them here.
“Hello,” they said simply, not turning to face him. “Come sit with me.” Jon nearly collapsed to his knees, and pulled himself painfully over until he was next to them. He looked up at their face, and was not surprised. It was his (It had always been his). They had more scars than he did, though the pock-marks from the worms remained the same. Their hand, too, showed proof of an encounter with the Desolation. Their eyes were different, though. Their sclera was black, and the irises shone out from his face into the dim air with a vibrant green glow. The same could be seen emanating from just below their skin, like their very bones were radioactive.
They didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, he followed their gaze out across the chasm. There were threads running down into it, he realized. Threads of familiar looking tape. They shook slightly, though there was no wind, like a fishing line that had caught something too big for it to reel in. Jon wondered what was at the bottom of the endless pit.
“I’m glad you made it,” they said again, and this time they did look at him. Jon felt- he didn’t know what he felt, pinned under that gaze.
“What is this place?” Jon rasped, the words burning his parched throat as they emerged.
“The end,” his double said simply. “But you knew that. That’s what this has always been.”
“Yes,” Jon whispered. “Everything is gone. They’re all gone.”
“Well, not quite yet,” they said cheerfully, gesturing to the void. “They’re in their death throes. It’s been a long time, certainly longer for them. Trapped and starving, with nothing but the knowledge of their own demise. It’s been…”
“Fascinating,” Jon murmured.
“Oh, yes,” his double said. “I knew you would like it. The spider has been the best to watch. It planned an escape, you know, and it almost managed it. But I closed the door. It withers away, the same as the rest.”
“What about you?” Jon asked.
“Once they’ve starved themselves out, reduced to nothing…” they mused. “I suppose it’ll be my turn. And then those who come after shall arrive.”
“Who are they?”
“Don’t know,” Jon’s double said with an odd shrug. “I am the Terrible Change, not what comes after. The world will live on, in some form or another, without these parasites that call themselves Fear,” they said viciously. Jon was silent for a moment, looking out over the ruined world and the dark expanse in front of him.
“I bring this about?” He asked softly. His double shrugged again.
“In a way,” they replied. “If you chose to walk this path, there’s no telling what your future will be.”
“What future is this?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“The Archivist’s,” they said. “The Archives. The Pupil of the Eye. The Extinction. My future. It doesn’t have to be yours.”
“Hm,” Jon said. There was a cracking sound- one of the skyscrapers had begun to topple slowly into the darkness below them, like a tree falling in a forest. “Do I have any choice?”
“Of course you do,” they sighed. “You just don’t know what the consequences will be.” Jon thought for a long moment.
“I didn’t want any of this,” he said.
“I know,” his potential future replied.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jon confessed. The other being looked at him, a bit sadly.
“I know,” they said. “But at least you’re making a choice.” Jon took a deep breath, the air feeling not at all laden with smog and pollution like it had seconds before.
“Okay,” he said. “Can I stay here, for a moment?”
“Of course,” his warped twin said. “Time doesn’t quite exist here anymore. We have as long as you like.” Another tower, this one made of trash instead of concrete and rebar, slid down the cliff face and tumbled into the depths. The tapes pulled again, as if the thing on the other end was trying desperately to free itself. Jon only then noticed that his double had the end of one of the tapes in their hand. The two of them sat together, and watched the world crumble around them. The sun still hadn’t moved. Jon thought the heat should have been unbearable, but it wasn’t. He should’ve been disgusted, horrified, even, at the destruction of the only home humanity had ever known. He wasn’t. He should have been afraid of what he was about to do. He was, but it wasn’t the bone deep terror that he was so familiar with. No, it was the dread that would make his choice and it would fix nothing. That nothing would change.
“This will change everything,” he said aloud. It was a question that he already knew the answer to.
“Yes,” his companion said.
“I’m ready,” Jon said. “What do I have to do?” As he said it, his double stood up. They helped him to his feet, their hand warmer than he’d expected. They somehow towered over him, casting no shadow. In one of their hands (had they always had that many?) there was a knife, stained red with dried blood. They handed it to him, handle first. He took it, and he knew what must be done. Jon took a breath, and met their eyes. This was certainty, he knew. He drew his arm back, and plunged the knife deep into the center of their chest.
Immediately, their form collapsed, dissolving into a sticky black substance that might have been called oil, were it not for the Eyes that stared unblinkingly from it. It crested over him like a wave, not attacking, but suspended as if waiting for something.
“You get to choose what eats you,” Jon murmured, extending a hand. It was hot, and felt more tar-like than he’d expected. It wrapped around his hand in a surprisingly gentle embrace. Jon raised his hand to his mouth, and brushed his lips over the remains of a life that he might once have had. All at once, it surged up to cover him completely. It entered through his eyes, his mouth, his ears. He didn’t feel panic, though. He felt absolutely nothing as he was devoured.