A Night at The Museum

by solamenteunavez

Summary:

Funny G&B au where the nightguard (aka you) first starts out as a perfectly sane and normal person, becoming passively suicidal by the end of your first shift.

Notes:

I wrote this instead of studying and doing my homework yay

Can u guys tell where it starts off as a quick drabble to then me locking in

Chapter 1

• Reader is nightguard ayyyy
• Up to you with how you exactly landed the job, but we can all agree that you were low in cash and desperately needed some form of steady income.
• Hence how you got the (minimum wage ish) job title of security guard!
• You were a bit surprised you landed the job, but the program director sorta indirectly mentioned that the current nightguard was a bit old to continue working as a nightguard…so, they were kinda desperate to replace him soon.
• And just like that, you found yourself shaking hands with your now new boss and being told that you start tomorrow! Yay!!!!
• On your very first day (or should I say…night muehehe) , you come in an hour before closing time, as per requested by your boss so that you can not only have enough time to finish up any remaining paperwork for your new position, but to also meet the current night guard who would show you the ropes on how to do your job.
• Once that was done, you come to meet the old night guard, who introduces himself as “Bubbles” and quickly starts to fill you in on night guard protocol, giving you a tour throughout the establishment. 
• During the tour, Bubbles starts to tell you a bit about himself, talking about his own life and how he was glad the museum found a new hire–as he was going to retire after being a night guard for longer than you’ve been alive–making this his final closing shift at the establishment.
• Although he seemed polite, you couldn’t help but think of him as strange with the way he kept referring to the items inside the museum as if they were alive…like they had a mind of their own. On top of that, Bubbles had shoved you some old pieces of paper containing “secret rules” regarding the museum and its items. All you could think was that perhaps it really was his time to retire.
• You did take a few glimpses at the papers, seeing a numbered list of the oddest things ever: don’t walk into the ancient Egyptian hallway without permission from the jackal-like guards, the dinosaurs like to play fetch, steer clear of any fights that occur between enemy troops, beware of the monkey (what??), greet all historical figures with their proper titles, don’t get caught up between the miniature figures and their wrath—you couldn’t help yourself but make a bewildered face the more you continued to read the list. Hey, maybe during your first shift when nothing was going on, you could settle down in the night guard’s office and continue reading as a source of entertainment.
• Aside from that, the tour itself was actually great! In fact, you were intrigued with all the museum had to offer: from its prehistoric era fossils, the taxidermic animal exhibition, and even up to the wax figures of various historical figures personnel from history. Your tour guide seemed to be a history enjoyer himself, as the moment you two encountered anything remotely even close to the topic, Bubbles would begin to speel on and on about the person or event.
• He seemed to have a knack for the early 19th century in particular, taking his sweet time talking up a storm to you about the “people” in this era…almost as if he knew them personally or something.
• In the section, you came across all sorts of things; from wax figures, busts, mini figurines, paintings, and there was even a figure mounted on top of a horse! Though, when you asked about what a headless horseman was doing in–what you assumed to be a historical museum–all Bubbles did was just laugh at you, before saying “best not to poke your head around some things, lest you want to lose it,” and walked off onto the next exhibition. Weird.
• You can’t lie though, Bubbles was an excellent storyteller, up to the point that you were starting to hope that the museum might come to life when the sun sets…
• Once all was said and done, you both went to the night guards office where your uniform and flashlight awaited you. After being given a moment to put on your uniform in a nearby bathroom, you looked at yourself once more, triple checking your appearance, before finally stepping out and getting ready for your first shift.
• “Well kid, it was nice getting to know ya.” Bubbles was nonchalantly leaning on a wall, flashlight in his hands as he looked over at you, before extending his hand to give you the item—the thing that would officially seal the deal and pass on the title of night guard at the museum onto your shoulders. Reaching out, you take the flashlight, but not before Bubbles suddenly latched his free hand onto your extended one, giving it a hearty shake, “You be careful now, alright? This museum is typically safe from outsiders, but I am a bit nervous with the folks inside it…I just hope they don’t cause you too much trouble as I’ve instructed them too.”
• “Oh…uh, thanks, I guess?”
• With that, you watch as the–now former–night guard slowly walks out, stopping at the end of the door to give a final glimpse, before heading out, prompting the start of a very, very, long first night shift at the museum.
  • Putting your hands in your pockets, you feel paper brush against your hands; that’s right! The old night guard left you a parting gift that could help you pass the time for a while. You couldn’t help but let out a snicker as you found the front desk and made yourself cozy, mentally preparing yourself for the absolute insanity you were about to read.
  • On your way to the front desk, you came across a ginormous skeleton of a tyrannosaurus rex, placed a few paces behind the desk area, and took a moment to stare at it, in awe that at one point in Earth’s history, that very beast once roamed the lands humans now inhabit.
  • Holy shit, glad I wasn’t alive when those things were, were your only thoughts as you admired the beast for a split second, looking away as you drew near to your destination.
• “You know,” walking around the place after it closed, you find yourself wandering through the marble floor as you went on your own little adventure through the fine establishment, talking to yourself as a form of amusement, “this place is honestly not so bad! It's actually super interesting here.”
• The things this museum had to behold was a sight for sore eyes. If you weren’t on the clock, you probably would have taken the time to fully appreciate every figurine, painting, artifact, and whatnot that the place had to offer. Maybe sometime when you have a day off you could come and gawk as much as you desired without the concern of “protecting” the place.
• An hour barely had passed when you started to feel boredom creep up onto you. To be fair, you were kinda expecting something like this to occur; the job required you to be constantly moving and detecting any threats, and you couldn’t exactly slack off with the fear of getting fired for not doing your job.
• You were barely halfway through the “secret rules” when sleep began to tempt your body into submission; eyes starting to droop and the sway of your body as it dangerously wandered closer and closer to rest. The sun hadn’t even set, and you were just starting on your first shift, you can’t fall asleep now!
• I’ll just close my eyes for a bit, that wouldn’t hurt…were the last infamous words that crossed your mind before you succumbed to tranquil darkness.
  • It was only until you fell off the chair that you were so peacefully napping on startled you awake; mind hazy at first until the overwhelming surge of panic and shame took over, you remembered you were supposed to be working!
  • Quickly, you looked up to check how much time had passed, only to find that it was 5:58 PM. Ok, that’s not too bad, you thought you were asleep for far longer than that. Looking out through a window nearby, you could see that the sun had long since trailed close to the horizon–tiny specks of red and orange blotched a downwards river, signaling the break of dawn…and the soon anticipated arrival of the night.
• Guess all there is to do is wait for 6 PM to come, you think as you return back to the front desk, sitting there in anticipation for the clock to chime.
  • You don’t know why but…you started to feel a bit anxious? You hoped Bubble’s stories didn’t actually unnerve you, trying to play off your worries as you being hungry or something else more logical…

---

A loud chime erupted throughout the place: six o’clock had arrived and made itself very present, each ring reverberating with the beat of your heart; your anxiety didn’t seem to dwell, only increasing as each toll weighed your soul heavy with weariness. Deafening silence soon came, the buzzing of LED lights filling in as white noise. 

Heh, why the hell was I so worried–everything is literally fine, swiveling around from your chair, you turned to look back at the museum in an attempt to satisfy your worries.

Your blood runs cold; placed right behind the front desk was a very noticeable skeleton of a tyrannosaurus rex–fake or not, you don’t really know, but that’s not what’s important right now-

It’s gone.

Millions of questions flood your head; what the hell–when did that go missing, HOW could a giant, lifesize replica of a dinosaur be gone in an instant? Oh my god, am I gonna get fired?!

Jumping up, you quickly walk towards the area where the skeleton once was–swatting your hands around it to really confirm it was gone, calling out for Bubbles in the hopes that this was just a really cruel, but elaborate prank, even pinching yourself to see if you were still dreaming!

In the midst of your investigation, you hear water running, striking curiosity into your heart as you slowly make your way over. Turning the corner with your flashlight pointed, you come upon the most strangest scene you’ve ever encountered in your whole life: lapping water from a water fountain, was the dinosaur skeleton you were just freaking out over seconds ago, hunched over as water sprinkled over its bony maw, with one talon cleverly positioned on the foot pedal to turn on the machine.

This has to be a dream this has to be a dream this has to be a dream this has to be a dream this has to be a dream–

Noticing your presence, it stopped its activity to turn towards you, revealing just how large it was as it stood up-straight, before proceeding to ROAR and start RUNNING towards you, prompting a wild goose chase as you ran for your life!

Scurrying back towards the front desk after a failed escape attempt through the entrance doors, you duck under the furniture as the animated skeletal figure follows behind, unaware of your location. Oh god oh god oh god that old man wasn’t lying, mantras and thousands of apologies to Bubbles were the only things keeping you grounded, fingers fidgeting with the items that fell off the desk when you crashed landed towards it, with a new task in mind: GETTING THE HELL OUT OF THE SITUATION BECAUSE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK-

Could you call Bubbles for advice? No, you don’t think you saw his contact info on any of the papers–wait, that’s right, the secret rules!

Like a light-bulb going off, you went to grab the documents in hopes for some answers, when the desk you were hiding in suddenly vanished. In terror, you looked up to see that the dinosaur had it in between its jaws, chucking it like it were some toy! Petrified, you shakily lifted the papers to find something about the t-rex:

Rule #1: Throw the bone–wha–what bone?

A thump could be heard in front of you, and lo and behold, a bone the size of your arm was presented to you right there! Timidly, you gazed at the creature, astonished to find its once frightening demeanor replaced by its playful body language; tail swishing wildly, with a lowered, hunched stature, and a tilted head, waiting for you to play along.

You didn’t hesitate chucking the item as humanly far as possible from you, watching in slight bemusement as the skeleton ran away with glee. Now was the chance to run-

More roaring could be heard from above, and dear lord–wooly mammoths began to descend from the second floor down the giant twin stairs, flacons swooped downwards onto the open space, exotic animals from different parts of the world began to walk down corridors, so much is literally happening right now!

Truthfully, you would have been amazed at the sort of situation–if it were a movie that is! Being on the receiving end, you felt more frightened than whimsy, seeing as the inhabitants of the museum started to take swings at you. That said, you ran as fast as your legs could take you, running anywhere and wherever you could reach some sort of safe haven, avoiding the chaos of wax figurines coming to life, taxidermy animals that roamed freely, hell–even ancient artifacts that spat curses and taunts towards you. At one point, you almost got shredded into cheese when you came across a group of Huns, chucking yourself to the nearest elevator and punching the buttons in a desperate attempt to escape their wrath, traveling deeper into the heart of the museum.

Taking deep breaths to ground yourself, your chest rose and fell rapidly as the calming elevator music played an ominous, descending, crescendo tune; almost as if mocking you of your troubles. 

It’s fine, everything's fine–just take deep breaths–you just gotta survive until the sun rises, like–like FNAF! At least–that’s how it works right? OhmygodI’msofuckkeddddd–

A ding floats in the air, and the elevator doors open to a new scenery. With a final deep breath, you compose yourself to exit the elevator, and stride forth into the unknown, (un)prepared to survive your first night as the new nightguard.

 

Who do you encounter on this hectic night?

(Technically these are in chronological order but if u wanna read in a different order then go for it lmao)

---

Barry + HMS Undaunted (briefly mentioned at like the last sentence sorry gang)

 

Ok, so far, so good, were your immediate thoughts as you began to cautiously walk around, taking note how much of the objects, figurines–whatever at this point–were either in their own world, or minding their own business and doing their own thing, with some looking at your flustered state with minimal concern, but not enough to actually come up and bother you.

Taking a turn, the objects started taking a more–hm how you would describe it–artistic look? Shiny metal balloon dogs were running freely on this floor, paired with Greek and Roman statues walking around and conversing amongst themselves.

If you had to guess, you're starting to think that you might be in the arts section, taking note of the variety of paintings that decorated the walls the further you traveled.

Sensing the more…tranquil tone in this area, you walk over to a random spot near some paintings, taking the opportunity to breathe once more and get your bearings together. Hey, at least you won’t be bothered here–

“Oh, so you’re the new lad who’s taken over Bubble’s spot, eh?” Turning around, you frantically start looking everywhere for the source of the dismembered voice, not seeing a physical person in sight. A bellowing laugh soon erupts, making you halt in your pitiful state, slowly turning around to the source of the sound: up and across you was the painting Bubbles was particularly found of and talked about quite a bit from earlier–the Forlorn Hope, with its heroic officer laughing right at your face. 

You remember the story the (now former) night guard had mentioned; the painting was about a legendary officer by the name of Barry Williams, who after losing his entire regiment and being cornered up on a roof of a fortress, decided to sacrifice himself for a ragtag surviving group of soldiers comprised of different nations.

The first time you saw it, the officer’s posture had a more serious tone to it, depicting him in the midst of him lowering a platform, eyes scrunched with a few beads of sweat trickling down his brow (you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look cool). 

Now however, it seemed as though this were a completely different man, seeing how laidback and cheery he was, shoulders relaxed with his hands in his hips, a big grin on his face, and the most radiant glint you had ever seen in a person’s eyes before (wow, this artist really outdid themselves). Staring back, it finally dawned on you that a painting was talking to you.

“What…what the hell,” stepping forwards until you’re in front of the painting, you stood there in awe while trying to make sense of what was happening right now. 

You were still processing the events that happened minutes before; skeletons coming to life, planes flying overhead, bloodthirsty war leaders—this was a lot right now! 

“What, have you never had the privilege of talking with an officer before?” teased the painted man, clearly enjoying your stupefied state; though there was no malicious motive behind his words.

He had recalled the prior night with Bubbles about the new hire, and how the old night guard asked that he keep their tomfoolery to a minimum. Barry, although upset that his dear friend would be leaving, was excited at the prospect of meeting a new night guard, and while he couldn’t promise to not tease them, he reassured his friend that he wouldn’t cause much trouble. 

“I—obviously that’s not the problem!” Looking the officer in the eyes, your exasperated expression pulled a grin from Barry, watching your mouth open and close as you tried to figure out what to do.

Your eyebrows knitted together abruptly, as though you had suddenly remembered something.

“Wait a second, I swear,” muttering to yourself, you started to study the background as though you were trying to solve a mystery, “wasn’t there like—another person here with you in this painting…” 

Ignoring the confused look on the officer’s face, you swore you recalled there being another figure within the painting—it was a bit far from the officer, wearing a different attire, with half of its body being covered from a wall that it was getting ready to jump over. Lost in your thoughts, you failed to realize that the second inhabitant of the painting was lurking behind you.

“Watch out!” Within seconds, you found yourself wrestling with a creature—the second person(?) from the painting! Attempting to smack it off, you start swinging your fists, hitting it wherever you could in the hopes of being free from its grip.

Fear rushed over you as you recall what made the painting so memorable: it was depicting the last moments of Barry Williams before he was attacked by a plague ridden villager! 

Your futile attempts did nothing more than enrage the infected, throwing its weight at you with the hopes that it could break your defense and get to you. Feeling your feet being pushed back, your heart dropped in terror as you realized that you might not win this fight, tears beginning to form in your eyes as four words ran rampant through your mind: 

I don’t wanna die!

Abruptly, a pair of hands grip onto your coat and pull you in–and just like that, your world went back in time onto a sunny day in San Sebastián, body landing on the hard brick of a familiar fortress. Disoriented, you lay there for a few moments, praying that all of the events so far have been nothing but a very funky dream, and that you’ll wake up in the museum’s front desk—or hey, even more preferable—your own bed! 

“Are you alright there?” A familiar face looks down on you, and with the pain of being chucked onto the ground seeping in; you knew better than to blindly follow your delusional attempt of denying reality.

Slowly blinking away the weariness from your eyes, you nod your head in an affirmative manner, taking the officer’s hand as an acceptance of help to lift you up and allow the final moments of aloofment fizzle out of your head.

“That was quite the show you put on there,” began the officer, watching as you patted yourself free of dust. “Though, I think you might have fared better if you used your flashlight rather than your hands,” pointing out your mistake, you look down at your belt and grip your tool, bursting into a tangent about how adrenaline and fear overtook logic, much to Barry’s amusement.

You stopped yourself midway; this light, it’s not coming from the artificial LED lights the museum had, the call of seagulls ringing clear across the land, and the warm rays–oh my god you’re in a painting.

Seeing panic settle onto your features, the officer immediately began to reassure you that, no, you are not permanently stuck inside a painting, and can in fact, leave anytime you desire.

“Though, I’d recommend leaving after red-eyes over there has left the vicinity.” 

With a quick nod to the side, you look over to see reality reflected on the other side–the side you’re used to–with the creature that tried to murk you staring back in dissatisfaction at having its prey ripped away.

“Are–are we safe over here?” Backing away, you unconsciously scoot closer to the red-haired officer, eyeing the pistol strapped by his side.

“Well, in theory we should be, however,” with one hand pushing past the barrier and into the painting, you gawk in terror as the infected person slowly starts making its way towards the two of you, “those devils are smarter than what we give them credit for…” concluded Barry, face scrunching up as he positioned himself in a defensive manner.

Within seconds, the creature has made it back into its own realm, getting ready to go for the kill–that is until two loud BANGS ring through the air, and the creature is soon on the ground in front of the two of you, with Barry in a protective and well-disciplined stance in front of you, gun raised in the air as smoke envelops you two.

Talk about aura farming, watching in amazement, you realize that you were staring at the officer for a bit longer than needed, shaking off your emotions before you began to thank the officer for neutralizing the threat and for saving your life earlier.
“Think nothing of it…” trailing off, Barry lifts an eyebrow up, to which you reply with your name, making the officer content at finally being able to properly greet you.

With that, the painted man offers to lead you back to your reality, proposing to exit out first in case there might be additional danger creeping nearby. After giving a quick rundown on how to leave the painting, he goes through the barrier first, before sticking his hand back–an offer of support that you don’t hesitate taking–clutching onto his hand as you feel the odd sensation of switching planes of existence.

With a strong tug forwards, you step onto the polished floor of the museum, Barry helping you get down and safely onto the ground.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Grinning, the officer chuckles at your disgruntled face, before once again muttering a quick thanks, letting go of his hand and looking around the place.

Seeing him now out of the painting, you couldn’t help but do a double take—woah, he looks really human.

No–like–literally: he’s got a 3-dimensional body and everything, you honestly were expecting him to be flat…like a piece of paper.

“Hey, uh, sorry if this sounds rude or anything but like—how exactly are you 3D and everything, since you know…you're technically a painting?”

“Uh…” trailing off, you can see the gears working inside the officer’s face, as if he were trying to figure it out himself.

You wouldn’t get an answer this night however; an abrupt and unexpected arrival joins your little corner, stealing the spotlight, and your attention.

A small and tiny capuchin monkey wanders up to the two of you with the most brightest and curious eyes you had ever seen in your life.

“Awwww, oh my gosh, aren’t you the cutest thing around here,” looking down at the animal, you start to gush at its complexion, oblivious to the officer’s look of concern.

“That’s what most people say when they first see the little bastard,” he began, “don’t let him fool you though.”

Turning your head to the man, you begin to ask why–that is– until you hear a small clink sound from around your belt; the moment you showed vulnerability, the monkey took its chances at undoing and taking the museum’s keys from your person, making a break for it after securing its new loot.

“Hey, what the–” with no time to think, you immediately make a mad dash after the wretched little creature, yelling your farewells to the officer who saved your life moments ago.

Barry took a few paces forward to where you ran off to, before realizing it would all be in vain–you had already turned the corner with such speed, and by the time he’d get there in an attempt to trail behind, you’d probably be long gone. 

With a deep sigh, he stares once more, wishing you luck with your wild goose chase (and overall, surviving your first shift), turning around and deciding to meander around the establishment–maybe he should go over and pay his fellow painted friends, the captain and his crew on the HMS Undaunted, a visit…they were a few galleries further from his spot, he mused as he started his journey.

“Ah…well, it was nice getting to know you…”

---

London/Westminster NPCS + Headless Horseman

 

Running around and through the halls, you try your very best at maintaining a fast pace after the monkey, feeling your chest grow heavier as you start to run out of breath–it’s a lot easier to run a marathon when you’re being chased, huh?

Quickly knocking on a wooden door as a way to not jinx yourself with such a thought, you pass through the entrance into a wider section of the museum, slowing down to a halt in order to give your body a much needed break, leaning on a nearby glass panel near the entrance.

Damn monkey…you cursed as you watch the creature swing up and out from the opposite side and through the exit doors.

Huh…that’s weird, why’d it jump around instead of running on the ground like previously–oh, oh ok-

Taking a good look at the new area, you see that you’ve found yourself in the miniature-historical-timelines part of the museum: inside the oval-shaped room, about 8 little exhibitions lined up against the wall, each depicting some sort of era in history, with notable ones being about ancient Rome, the wild west, the Mayan empire, and (for some oddly specific reason), the London borough in the early 19th century.

During museum hours, Bubbles and you peered inside a couple of the exhibitions, with the older man praising the fine details, especially with the little figurines that resided inside them, making sure to point out fine craftsmanship on the London figurines specifically.

If you were correct, you think you might remember what the senior had told you about the London exhibition: in left-to-right fashion, it supposedly depicted a group of British soldiers on their way to escape the plague-ridden city–specifically–when they try to pass by a steeple that housed some soldiers from another division (you don’t exactly remember what they were called, and to be fair, you didn’t really care for that at the moment), shooting down pellets at them in the mistaken belief that the redcoats below them were trying to desert.

Following the steeple, the scenery transforms and continues the story, depicting the soldiers traveling towards a vat house, where they would then proceed to poke holes inside that vats as a final attempt to save their city.

(What you failed to remember, however, was Bubble’s weary caution of making sure that the glass panels were locked at night, hinting that the little figurines had…anger issues).

When looking at the miniature exhibits, it was very clear that most of its inhabitants had left their homes, but to where exactly, you may wonder?

You didn’t need to search for long, looking at the floor would provide you all the answers (and additional questions) you needed.

On the ground floor, you found those soldiers–found them FIGHTING THE FUCKING ROMAN SOLDIERS BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY ARE.

By this point, you were fed up with the nonsense you witnessed up until now, deciding that you really shouldn’t question anything by that point; there were more important things at stake here, you had to snatch back some keys!

Scanning the area, you planned your exit route; it seemed like most of the fighting was happening farther to your left, leaving you enough space to stealthily tiptoe to your right on the opposite side.

With a final deep breath, you try to slink by as quietly as possible, praying to any and all gods that the little men wouldn’t see you amidst their fighting. Halfway through the exhibition though, you hear a loud crack, and then—YEOWCH! A sharp and swift pain began to flood your right cheek, hand immediately going over to rub on it. 

“Aha, I got me one,” rang out a gruff voice from nearby. 

Up on a little tower, although the figure was hidden in sight, you could make out a tiny rifle poking out the window, aimed right at you; you found your assailant. Pissed off, you march right over, not bothering to look down as miniature figures far from the fight run for their lives in an attempt to flee from being crushed by you.

“Now listen here you little shit–” in a fit of anger, your hands start to grab at the tower in a futile attempt to get at the culprit, but it’s all in vain. The structure was glued onto the ground (and you didn’t want to be held responsible for any more damages…), making you swat your hands around the tiny opening instead. While trying to get at them, a dozen or so little red-fitted soldiers and other figurines began to draw close towards your distracted figure, no longer occupied with their war as they had a new target both parties could agree on assaulting, their footsteps being shrouded by the screaming coming from the tiny tower as you shook it.

“Chargeeee!” 

And just like that, miniature soldiers ambush you with their tiny pellets, while others charge at you with bayonets and swords—guess you should never turn your back on the enemy, huh? Within seconds, you’re on the ground, plastic green vines being used to tie your feet together, followed by cowboys and soldiers launching rope over the chest of your body and securing it to the ground to ensure you can’t escape.

You seriously can’t catch a break, can you?

“Every night, year after year,” begins a voice, an obvious tone of disdain hinting as it spoke (or it could just be that said voice has a British accent to it…those guys are kinda miserable half the time).

Turning your head over, you come face to face with a miniature figurine of…some guy wielding a pocket watch, adorned with a blue coat and pants (you have no idea who this guy is, probably someone important though-), “one of you scum of the earth locks us up in these boxes!”

This proclamation causes some uproar within the little guys, weapons waving around in the air as their owners carelessly let excitement take over all senses.

“Well, I hereby say, enough!” Coming from your other side, you swing your head around to see another figurine next to you, donning a dark green and gray uniform, as he began to rally up the troops–what made your face drop though were the bandages wrapped around his eyes, with…blood dripping from them?! 

What the hell have these guys been through–you could only entertain yourself with such a thought for a fleeting moment, before you focus back on the current situation.

With a rupture of applause and cheers, the little figurines begin to cheer, some grinning maniacally at the quick rate your face morphs from confusion to horror.

“Fire up the iron horse, boys!” One of the little redcoats–with a noticeable thick Scottish accent–yells, looking peeved when you begin to thrash and start to yell.

“HEY–Heyheyheyholdup– I think we might have gotten on the wrong foot here!” Desperation clinging tightly through your words, you attempt to try and coax your way out of an unpleasant situation.

“Foot, eh? You mean like the one that almost crushed a couple of us?” Interrupts another red-coated soldier nearby, looking a bit different from the rest–this one donned a brown smock (with blood stains across his chest, yikes!), paired with a prominent bread fixed in a permanent scowl.

“Ok–listen dude, I’m sorry about that, alright? I didn’t realize some of you guys were over there! You guys are like–so small-”

“Are you talking down on us?!”

“What–nonono-” Seeing that you were only making things worse, you start to struggle against the restraints, not wanting to stick around any longer to see the “iron horse.”

“THEY’RE BREAKING FREE” cries the watch-wielding figurine, running away with the rest of the little people as you manage to pop and break the strings that once held you together.

Standing up, you quickly find yourself in even more trouble just as you thought you escaped it: rows of hundreds, if not, thousands, of soldiers from different eras line up before you, itching for their leader’s commands to set them free from discipline and wage hell upon you; miniature guns, muskets, catapults, bows and arrows, any weapon you could think of, all pointed at you.

At this point I might as well just accept my fate, with a sigh, all that was left for you to do was to just smile sadly, close your eyes, and pray that your death be fast and quick.

A few seconds pass by, and instead of the sound of weapons going off, you hear…a loud clopping noise, followed by…the neigh of a horse?

ohmyfuckinggodisthattheironhorsethosemaniacsweretalkingaboutearlier–

Getting ready to see what new bullshit entered the scene, you open your eyes to find the miniature army in a disarray below you.

The fuck-

Shooting down from above, a gloved hand enters your vicinity–looking up, you come to find yourself staring at an intricately decorated horseman; perched atop a midnight-dark horse, he was decked in a fine–but clearly worn-out–teal-ish attire, with buttons aligned on each side.

That’s not what stood out to you the most though, it was more so the fact that the horse rider had no head.

“Take the hand, nightguard.”

With a haunting command, you were under the mysterious horseman’s trance and obeyed; pulling you up and onwards onto his steed as if you weighed nothing, he commanded his stallion to lead you all to safety.

“That’s right,” began the bluecoat figurine angrily, voice trailing further and further as you advanced through the halls, “You better run, you hear? That headless horseman won’t always be there to protect you, you hear?”

Riding on, the horseman never broke focus and kept onwards, while all you could was clutch onto the man(?), terrified of falling off.

Making it back to the front of the museum, the bunch of you come to a slow halt once nearby the front desk. Taking this as your cue to bail, you clumsily slide off the horse, looking around the now populated area full of God-knows-what, before turning to the headless horseman and giving him your utmost sincerest thanks.

Instead of responding back like a normal person would, the horseman merely just stared at you…or well, you think he was. After an awkward minute of a one-sided staring contest, the horseman shifted his body away from you, and with a “hiyah,” he was off, running straight towards the wall before he and his horse just…disappeared, fading into nothing the moment the pair got close to the wall.

“...”

“...I need to go and sit down.”

And with that, you somberly stumbled down a random, quieter part of the building, dragging your legs until you found a spot that looked comfortable enough, and plopped your sorry-looking ass down there and disassociated; a feeble attempt to comprehend the past couple of hours that have made you evaluate all of your life choices.

---

Jacob + Jean + Scared French Soldier

[if words are inside a bracket, this means the character is speaking in their native tongue since I don’t trust google translate to not fuck up a sentence]

 

Sitting on the floor, you had your head on your hands, frustration seeping out as you were feeling ready to hand in your letter of resignation the moment morning arrives. 

“Are you alright, new nightguard?” 

Oh great, slowly lifting your head, your mind runs a million scenarios of all the possible ways you’ll either be tortured again OR killed. By this point, the second option seemed like the better option, given the amount of near-death experiences you’ve had in one night.

Blinking away the weariness that dawdled your eyes, you come to see an interesting sight:

In front of you, stood two soldiers; the first one, who had spoken to you, had a noticeable accent (is it French?–it must be) and mustache (ok yeah, definitely French). 

He donned a blue and white attire with red accents on his cuffs, joined with some sort of gold plate hanging around his neck. On his head, a hat (is that what it’s called?) with a golden bird appeared, with a “1” embedded below it. 

What captivated you the most though, was the kind and calm expression he had on his face; no tension could be seen on him, rather a sort of droop lingered among his facial features–in a good way–his mouth slightly upturned in a charming smile, his mustache following along. And his eyes…they were…closed? 

Huh, interesting, looking closely, they gave off the illusion as if the soldier were peacefully slumbering, I wonder how he can see though, were your final thoughts on the manner before focusing your attention elsewhere.

Behind him, a young man stared ahead in an apathetic manner, seemingly in his own world; his uniform was mainly a deep shade of blue, two rows of buttons going down the front chest area, covered by prominent straps across his chest. His hat (ok, you’re starting to think that’s not what it’s called, but else can you call it?) looked similar to the mustached man, though it had a “2” instead. What made him very different from the previous man however, was the lack of hair. 

Haha, bald.

From this was soldier’s demeanor, you were getting an entirely different vibe compared to the first one; he seemed both aloof and rigid at the same time, watching his hands twitch and tug at the cuffs of his uniform, shifting his weight from one foot onto the other, and looking at nothing and everything all at once.

Oh, as you look at the longer, you can—somewhat—remember who these two might be: French wax figurine soldiers!

YOU WERE RIGHT-

Bubbles had mentioned a couple of stories regarding some of the soldiers when walking through the Napoleonic exhibition, telling you stories behind a couple of the figures you passed by. Digging deep into your brain’s memory storage, you remember how the old man’s face lit up when the pair of you passed by the French soldiers earlier, telling you how delightful they were, and if you were to run into any sort of trouble, you’d fare far better with them on your side given by how lovely they supposedly were–especially the one with the mustache. 

A small cough from the quieter soldier snapped you out of your thoughts: you hadn’t responded to the question! 

“Ah—sorry, I’m still getting used to talking with inanimate figurines…sorry if that sounds rude.” True to Bubbles’ word, the first soldier gave you a kind look as though he understood how absurd everything must be for you right now. 

“Worry not, new nightguard. I can only envision how troublesome your first night has been.” Walking to your side, the wax soldier settles down beside you, offering a handkerchief while he points to his own cheek. You take it, slightly startled by the act of kindness as you wipe away whatever soot you have left from your previous scuffle.

The fact that you were expecting immediate violence–or some form of it–within such a short timeframe pretty much sums up how your night was going…

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am Jean, officer of the 1er regiment de ligne, and that young man,” lifting his gloved hand, the officer points towards his companion, the other wax figure nodding his head at being mentioned, “is Jacob, part of the 2ème Régiment du Génie.” 

You softly greet both men, replying back with your own name as you return the handkerchief with words of gratitude. 

“Tell me, young one, what troubles you at this moment?” 

Without hesitation, you begin to explain your dilemma: a stuffed monkey somehow stole your keys–the museum's keys–and you’ve been running yourself ragged trying to get them back. In the process of your very noble quest, you’ve been finding yourself getting tangled up with all sorts of trouble with the inhabitants that the museum beheld. 

“Oh, you are talking about George,” joined Jacob, speaking for the first time since you two met, “he is very…malicieux.”

Now, you’re no expert in French, but you’re pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing.

“Ugh, that’s for sure,” fiddling with your nightguard jacket, you keep your eyes down as you mutter hopelessly that if you don’t get your keys back soon, you might get in trouble, and possibly get fired the next morning.

“Cheer up nightguard,” chirped the officer, “there is always a solution to every problem.

Standing up, Jean turns around and offers you his hand to help you up.

“Come, let us walk a bit, it will do you good at keeping somber feelings away.”

“That’s very kind of you Je–err–officer,” that’s right, recalling one of the rules written, it was emphasized that you use the proper titles when interacting with the figures.

Softy chuckling, Jean politely asks you to worry not about formalities, and instead, explicitly states that you refer to him by his first name.

“O-oh, uhm–thank you…Jean.”

As the three of you begin to walk to the front of the desk, the two soldiers chat amongst themselves as to where the monkey could be hiding–in their native tongue though, leaving you out of the conversation unintentionally.

“Jacob, you seem to know the little beast quite well, given how much you pamper the little rascal, perhaps you may fare better than us at finding him, no?” 

Speaking in a language all three of you could understand, Jean murmured a quick apology for leaving you in the dark, to which you responded that you didn’t really mind all too much–in fact, it seemed to have led to a possible solution, picking up on the quieter soldier’s relationship to the animal, and how he might be your best hope in this.

“...Perhaps.”

Walking off at a fast pace, both Jean and you took that as initiative to follow along, trailing behind Jacob like ducklings.

For the most part, you and Jean talked amongst each other while Jacob kept to himself, twisting and turning within the labyrinth of a museum as he kept his eyes peeled for the furry little criminal.

At some point, the conversation steered into animals, to which then lead to monkeys, and then about George, and how he’s fooled countless of unsuspecting victims–both human and inhuman–with his deceiving appearance, adding you onto the endless list of people (and inhabitants from the museum), he’s wronged.

“...You could have avoided such a situation had you locked up the animal exhibition though…” quipped Jacob, though his comment–if you ignored the jab laced hidden within–made you raise an eyebrow, confusement riddling your face soon after.

At your expression, Jean slowed down to a halt and turned to you, Jacob quickly following along. The officer’s face went a little pale as he asked you:

“You did lock the taxidermy animal section…right?”

The roar of a lion answered before you could.

Turning around, the three of you came face to face with one of the taxidermied creatures you were discussing moments ago, all of you now locked in a staring competition with it. The creature mirrored your actions as it stared back, feet away from the entrance you all were about to cross into moments ago.

“...”

“...”

“Oh haha, look guys,” with a crinkle of paper, the two wax men watch you pull out a shoddy-looking pile of papers out of nowhere, “it says here on the secret rules that Bubbles made for me to remember to  lock the animal exhibition. Haha, must have missed that earlier.”

For the first time in a very long time, Jacob’s face expressed a new emotion that wasn’t indifferent carelessness and Jean…actually opened his eyes–eyes that were filled with terror he hadn't experienced since 1815.

“...”

“...”

“...”

You all immediately break into a sprint, dashing as far away from the taxidermy lion as quickly as possible. The beast, taking your response as the go-to signal, follows along, chasing you all.

Running down the corridor, the three of you start retracing your steps, prayers filling each of your heads that someone–or something–might come and rescue you all from becoming beef tenderloin.

“WHY THE HELL IS IT EVEN CHASING US–IT’S NOT LIKE IT CAN EAT US, IT’S DEAD,” is all you can manage to scream out as you slide across the floor and cut to a random direction, trying to get answers even as death followed closely behind. In response, you hear a garbled mix of anger and fright from Jacob who was at your side–all of which was in French, of course.

Making random turns and twists, your group tries to lose the lion, but alas, it was far too clever and fast to fool; it seemed to know that too, fangs bared out in a sadistic sort of manner, eyeing you all to see which one would make the best chew toy.

Jean yells out an exasperated “par ici,” before running into a wide and vast open space of the museum, adorned with all sorts of weapons from different time periods and civilizations, looking behind to see if he hasn’t lost anyone along the way.

You feel exhaustion suffocating your lungs–the adrenaline that boosted your body moments ago is starting to wear off, visibly showing as you begin to slow down and fall behind the two wax figures, getting dangerously closer to the lion instead.

You know…I’ve had a good run, coming to terms with the increasing chance that this might actually be the end, you start to make peace with yourself–hey, maybe if you accept your fate, it wouldn’t hurt as much, right?

A loud BOOM rips from behind you, making you lose your footing from the rattling aftereffect it emitted into the ground–turning back, you find the lion now laying against a wall, dazed, trying to get up, only to fail miserably and slump over.

Guess lady luck was on your side once more…

Panting, you slump over a bit near a wall, trying to catch your breath while the two wax figures behind you come up behind you, Jean coming in to see if you were alright, while Jacob crept a bit closer to investigate who or what rescued your group.

A trail of smoke billows from the side, leading to an ignited cannon; perched on it, you could make out a hazy silhouette, the smog still hadn’t cleared up though, making it virtually impossible to see who your savior could be.

“[Unbelievable, the moment we are apart, I come to find you fools in a wild adventure, one that forces my hand to come and save you all!]” agitated, you come to hear your savior's sharp words–and yet, instead of being disheartened, you find that Jean actually looks happy, exclaiming,

“[Arnaud! Dear old friend, always coming to our rescue at the last minute!]”

Smoke clearing, your able to get a better look at who this Arnaud person is:

Walking through the haze, a man with auburn hair—and moustache—decked in a fine military uniform, struts forwards.

His outfit shared the same motif as your two companions, green being the main accent color, with red fringes placed on his shoulders. What made him stand out the most though, was the lack of that cone-ish shaped hat the other two wore (you definitely need to find a book regarding historical fashion after this…).

Scowl still etched on his face, he begins to go off on a rant about god-knows-what, hearing as it was all in—what you assume to be—French; face pulled in an ugly scowl, you watch from the sides as the newcomer starts to nag to the other two, giving them lethal glares. Jacob merely deadpans for the entirety of it, while Jean miraculously maintains his cheerful demeanor.

As the soldier began to turn his head in the midst of his tantrum, he made eye contact with you, words dying off his tongue for a few moments as his face fell into a confused daze, rendering the noisy room to silence.

That is, before you see his face explode in cherry red; rudely shoving the two men in front of him apart as if he were Moses parting the Red sea, you felt your adrenaline spike to the same levels it was a couple minutes ago.

“And YOU-” now up your face, the new intruder gets up close and personal to your face–a bit too personal for your own comfort. Seeing his features magnetized by how near he was, you take a guess that he must also be one of the wax soldiers that resided within the historical section of the museum.

The strange thing is though, you don’t think you recall the former night guard telling you anything about this guy. It could have been one of those situations where the senior might have forgotten about him, given how enormous this place is…but, there’s also the probability that he may have skipped over him, and given how you’ve seen the wax soldier interact with others, the growing suspicion within you that the old man might have intentionally left him out increases.

“If it hadn’t been for your incompetence,” bringing back to reality, the figure begins to yell at you in a thick accent, “all three of you buffoons wouldn’t have been running around like dogs to begin with!”

You're starting to think that you might not really like this guy all that much.

“Now now Arnaud, let us give our new friend a moment to breathe. This is their first night after all, they were not expecting for the museum to come to life.” Coming to your defense, Jean walks up to the pair of you, effortlessly getting in between and seamlessly in front of you to create some space for you to breathe in. Somehow, the little action seemed to have diffused the situation, Arnaud stepping further away as he huffed in a different direction from your gaze.

A bit nervous, you decide to let Jean take the wheel and dictate what the next course of action should be, desperation grows heavier with every minute the keys aren’t safely tucked in your hands, and you also don’t want to stick around when the stuffed lion wakes up.

Taking note of your body language, the officer steps closer to Arnaud, “we were just on our way to find George, would you care to join us?”

Saynosaynosayno

“Hmpf…I suppose so, seeing as you buffoons cannot keep out of trouble for more than a minute!”

FUCKKK-

Having to fix your face in a split moment, your mouth pulls into an awkward grin as you acknowledge the new member added to your party, before locking in on Jacob as asking him to continue leading the way. Looking at your tense posture, the quiet soldier understood the memo, and began the journey.

The walk was…a little awkward; Jean kept trying to prompt either Arnaud or you to interact with one another, hopeful that perhaps you two could get along despite your distasteful first encounter with one another. The first couple of times you did try and play along with the officer’s request, though with Arnaud being a little twat, the opposite expected result ended up occurring, the two of you growing only more annoyed at each other, with Jean frantically trying to mend (but failing miserably) the situation. Jacob meanwhile, was glad that he was at the front, feeling a chill behind his back from the uncomfortable situation.

Just before Jean could try attempt #15 at trying to make you two talk to each other, Jacob immediately stopped and yelled something in his mother tongue, pointing upwards towards the planetary exhibit: perched up on a replica of some spacecraft, was the cheeky little monkey that was the cause behind your anguish, jingling the brass keys within its little paws. Upon seeing you, the creature immediately sits up and starts to hiss, guarding his loot with ferocity.

Almost as if he could foretell the future, the mute soldier sticks out his hand in a pause motion towards you, seeing as you were ready to jump the monkey at any given moment.
“Wait just a moment, please…” were all he said, before stepping further out. In worry, you look over to Jean, with the officer giving you a shrug, also completely in the dark as to what his younger soldier might do.

Taking off his hat, you gawk in awe as Jacob pulls out a bag of banana chips from it, like if he were a magician performing a magic trick. With the crinkle of the bag, and a couple of additional shakes, George quits his tirade at the prospect of yummy treats. As though it were routine at this point, Jacob launches the bag of chips to the monkey, with the animal mimicking his actions, launching the keys at your group.

With a sigh, Jean watched as Jacob picked up the keys and handed them over to you, “Ah…George is such a little rascal that it’s gotten up to the point where we must negotiate with him.”

“Honestly…I don’t even care anymore, whatever works, works.” With a relieved sigh, you tuck the keys inside the inner pockets of your nightguard jacket, feeling it might be harder to steal from there. Taking a moment to gather the right words, you turn and thank the wax men for their help, emphasizing your gratitude at the change of pace from the museum’s almost sadistic residents' tendencies, to their more calmer and helpful demeanors.

“You know, you guys are like, the second batch of people who aren’t like, being mean or trying to kill me.” 

“Ah…on behalf of the museum, I would like to apologize for the treatment you have faced so far—“ 

“Oh, no, there’s no need for you to do something like that,” waving your hands out, you try to stop Jean from apologizing over something he has no control over.

“Right, exactly as the nightguard says, why prostrate yourself to someone lower than you over the actions of other imbeciles,” Arnaud suddenly barks, making you freeze as you look try to look him in the eye—try, of course, as clearly the man was all bark but no bite; the moment he felt you getting ready to retaliate, his body posture immediately went into a defensive position, turning away from you as to not live up to his words. 

As much as you’d like to clock the wax nuisance over the head, you honestly didn’t want to break whatever moment of peace you’d just gotten after all the stuff you’ve gone through…on top of the fact that you also didn’t want Jean to worry about another conflict and make yourself look bad. With a sigh, you ignore the man and look back at the nervous officer, merely restating your gratefulness instead.

“Say…talking about the actions of others though…” turning around, you finally pop the question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind: how exactly are the residents of the museum…alive? Reanimated? You couldn’t figure out what word to choose.

“Ah, well…” looking towards one another, the three figures all silently agree to reveal the secret of the museum to you, feeling as though they could entrust you with such precious knowledge–well, Jean was the only one who thought that, the other two either didn’t care that much, or not didn’t want to start another battle.

Turns out, the reason as to why the museum came to life was due to the magical powers of an ancient Egyptian golden tablet, first introduced to the museum way back mid-20th century. It was also heavily emphasized that if any of the inhabitants were outside the museum by sunrise, they would turn into dust. Ouch.

Hearing the answer, you…were still somewhat skeptical; an ancient Egyptian artifact surely couldn’t do all of that…could it? Though, you certainly had experienced overwhelming evidence that said otherwise.

Noting the disbelief that arose on your face, Arnaud smirked and came up with a suggestion, “If you are so skeptical nightguard, may I suggest you go and gaze upon the artifact in person?”

Distracted from the suggestion, both Jean and Jacob shoot Arnaud a shocked expression, watching as you surprisingly voiced agreement to the auburn-haired man’s suggestion, completely unaware of the trouble you could encounter if you weren’t careful around the area where the artifact was stored; there’s a reason why that part of the museum was usually left untouched, and it had to do with some certain jackal-shaped statues that guarded the area, followed with the additional ominous and undead figures that lurked nearby.

“[Really, do not jest with matters so serious as that…]” piped the younger soldier, with his superior backing him up, beginning an intense debate amongst the three, unknowingly excluding you.

Feeling a sense of shame over the thought of accidentally starting an argument, you decide to quietly murmur your final thanks, and walk away from the scene, leaving the wax figures as they were so deep within their conversation, that they hardly heard you at all. George was the only one to witness your departure, silently watching, as it munched away on its favorite snack. It was only seconds afterwards that Jean realized your absence, cursing out loud at losing sight of you.

“[Arnaud, if something terrible befalls onto the nightguard, I won’t hesitate to make you reap the consequences of your actions. The former nightguard trusted us with aiding the newcomer, if he were to see your actions, he would be very disappointed with you.]” With an annoyed sigh, the officer walks off in an attempt to find you, hoping to fulfill his promise to the old nightguard, leaving the other two behind.

“[The fool, always worrying about everyone but himself.]” Muttering to no one in particular, Arnaud points his nose up in the air, walking opposite of the officer, leaving Jacob alone in silence, unsure of what to do.

That is, until he hears a loud crunch of a chip. Looking up, the reserved soldier peers above him, gaze meeting the curious monkey’s eyes.

“[You wouldn’t happen to know where our new nightguard has gone to, would you?]”

---

 Austrian soldier + Major Dopfer + Blücher + Unnamed Prussian officer + Russian hobo (mentioned briefly in one sentence lol) 

Featuring special guests appearance of everyone’s favorite french boys 

*{words in here signifies a different language spoken} [different brackets will mean different languages]

 

Navigating your way around the establishment, you come to find your walk back a bit more peaceful, finding that as long as you kept moving forwards without paying too much attention to the chaos that surrounded you, most of the inhabitants tended to leave you alone. With this in mind, you strut down the hallways, feeling confident in your own safety.

Going through on a whirlwind adventure to the cultural exhibitions, your dead set on finding the Egyptian section, vaguely recalling its location during the tour you had hours ago.

(What you failed to recollect however, was Bubble’s avoidance in venturing any further, glossing over one narrow passageway, instead, redirecting your attention to something else.)

After turning a corner and ignoring an Eastern Island Moai statue that started to hurl insults at you–unprovoked by the way–you finally come across your intended destination.

Admiring the artifacts that surrounded you, you had to force yourself to keep on walking, lest you get sucked into your admiration for the beautiful items. Traveling further down, you come and spy a dark and narrow hallway near the end of the exhibition; you hadn’t caught a glimpse of that tablet the soldiers were talking about earlier out here in the open, leaving you to conclude that your precious tablet may be more well guarded than expected.

Peering towards the direction of the hallway, you began to second guess yourself–you don’t know why, but staring at it has you feeling jittery. For a moment, you thought about turning back and making your way to the front desk–that is, before a flashing image of Arnaud making fun of you for chickening out came through your mind, making the possibility of him teasing you for being scared of the dark as motivation to suck it up, and go through with it.

With a grumble, you march right into the hallway, thoughts filled with not-so-nice words to the rude Frenchman distracting you from the sudden shift from bright LED lights, to near-darkness within the passage.

It’s…very dark actually, coming back to reality, your fast pace immediately dies down, observing the environment you were in. The lighting within the narrow path had been set in a manner to mimic torches; orange warm tones beaming to the sides, with enough illumination to look up ahead, neglecting the darker corners and sides of the room.

Venturing further, you stop once you come to see the shiny, golden, artifact, keeping your distance from both the tablet, and, the sarcophagus that lay in the middle between you and the item.

“Oh wow…” Taking in the view, you studied the artifact for a moment, shining so brightly that it mirrored back your figure, along the surrounding environment it was housed in.

A loud rattle from the sarcophagus quickly interrupts whatever hypnotizing influence the tablet had on you, making you jump and shriek in the air at the unanticipated action. Soon after that, you could hear a loud shift of marble from behind, increasing in volume as you felt the ground below you quake a bit.

That’s when you realized that you weren’t actually ever alone to begin with.

Turning around, you come face to face with two very large stone Jackal guards, each staring down at your intrusion, spear equipped in both hands.

By this point, you’ve learned that negotiations have little to almost no effect on most of the inhabitants, so you instead opt for a better option: fleeing the scene.

The familiar feeling of adrenaline surges through your legs, jumping around and ducking as the statues follow right behind, intent on punishing the intruder.

Running out of the hallway, you don’t stop once you make it out, not bothering to check behind you as the guards stop their pursuit once they see you leave, with their only priority being that no unauthorized persons enter the sacred room.

Slowing down once you feel your lungs burn, you take refuge within a random small room, falling onto the ground as you catch your breath.

I’m actually going to kill that fucker, feeling safe, you allow your emotions to rise up to the surface, while also trying to return back to a normal breathing rate.

Looking up, you start to take in the room you landed yourself in; on all three walls–minus the one that held the entrance–were glass panels that started top to bottom. Within the panels, were about 3 shelfs, each holding different sized rectangles and jars.

Curious as to what the shapes were, you stand up and walk across to the panel in front of you, observing the artifact before it hits you: these were coffins.

Nervously shifting, you stare at the one in between the top and bottom shelf, peering closer to see that the lid was still closed, releasing a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Peering below, you find three intricately decorated jars, with one of the lids missing and instead, replaced by a mummified cat, looking back at you in astonishment.

It didn’t take long for you to immediately start to coo and babytalk to the mummified pet, making it the center of your attention. The cat seemed to enjoy it as well, slinking out the pot and pawing at the glass panel that separated the two of you, finding fun in following your finger as you moved it around.

Though, just as it was about to swat at the glass again, the wrapped up animal abruptly stopped in a tense pose, arching its back as if it were hissing. For a moment, you thought you somehow offended the little guy, trying to figure out why it suddenly switched up on you.

The loud thump of a glass panel being pushed open answers for you. 

Turning around, your eyes widen as you see a mummified person fall out of its enclosure; observing the creature get up, you lock your eyes onto its exposed empty eye socket, watching its wrapping come undone around its face and arms, seeing the deterioration of its body–though what really got to you was the horrific smell that it omitted, courtesy to the decomposition process.

Not wanting to stick around and see what its intentions were, you dart out the entrance, praying that the mummy’s rot would slow it down. Instead, you were surprised to see it move as if rigor mortis never settled in, looking behind to see the undead trailing right dangerously close to you.

All you could think at that moment was how unlucky you were, zigzagging around the hallways in an attempt to lose the creature.

Unfortunately for you, since you only began to work at the museum just a couple hours ago, you didn’t have the greatest visualization of the layout, something you chastised yourself once you realized you ran yourself into a corner at the end of an isolated hallway, anxiety spiking through the roof as the mummy got closer, and closer.

With a deep sigh, you now really believed that this would be how you die; the dead end pun not intended that you ran yourself into was completely lacking any sort of figures or artifacts that could have helped you, there wasn’t even a painting to jump into! 

Just as you thought this was it, you hear a loud bang come from above–the grid of a vent falls down in front of you, though, what followed next surprised you more.

Dangling out, the upper half of a figure slides out in upside down fashion, holding out some sort of gun; the moment the figure points it towards the creature, it fires. With the loud bang echoing, your immediate reaction is to duck and cover your ears, eyes squeezed in fright with the rapid succession of multiple things going on at once.

While you were tucked into a corner, unmoving, the figure lifted their body back up, before shifting around and falling out the vent, landing on their feet with a small huff.

Hearing the shuffling, you slowly open your eyes to see who might have intervened this time, seeing the back of yet another soldier (you’ve started to notice a pattern here…), donning a white-ish uniform, the familiar cone-hat you’ve come to recognize, and a neutralized creature, laying on the ground.

Poking the creature with the end of his antique gun, your savior turns around, eyes softening the moment they meet yours.

Besides the obvious white-dominant color scheme he’s got going on, you note the red accents around his collar, sleeves, and tailcoat…as well as the lack of hair on his head, getting a better glimpse of his appearance and concluding that this must be another wax figure (man, how many wax soldiers did the museum have?).

On the front, two rows of golden buttons ran down the upper body area, with some being hidden by two white…belts? Honestly, you had no clue what those straps were there for, nor did you care–especially once you saw splotches of dried blood that stained across his chest, and the blood-soaked bandages that wrapped around his lower left arm.

Seeing your frightened stare towards the stains, the man immediately begins to speak softly in an attempt to distract your mind, voice thick with an accent you can’t exactly figure out where he’s from.

“Ah, hello, you must be the new nightguard, correct?” Stepping closer in a docile manner, so as to not startle you anymore, the man offers you his hand to help you up with the ground. For a brief moment, you sat there in a daze–mind still catching up that the area was safe from danger–before you took his hand, and stood up.

 “Are you quite alright? I cannot even imagine the fright you must have experienced moments ago. You were very lucky that I heard you nearby…”

“I- I guess-” Stuttering a bit, your cheeks flush in embarrassment at your stuttering, clearing your throat before trying again, “Are you alright yourself? I can kinda see some…concerning stains on you…”

Now it was the soldier’s turn to be embarrassed, hands immediately trying to wipe and hide the stains, “Oh–uhm–these! Ah-do not worry so much, most of this is not mine, as I cannot bleed!”

That statement left you with even more questions, raising your eyebrows in slight shock at the confession of the figure. 

Sensing that his answer didn’t exactly quell your worries, the soldier starts to wave his hands around in a dismissive manner, rambling in a language that you couldn’t exactly understand.

“An-anyways,” switching back to a common tongue you both shared, he began to change topics, “there are more important things to worry about, let us escort you out, and lead you onto safer territory.”

You would have immediately accepted the offer instantaneously, but there was one thing in his statement that made you confused.

“What do you mean by ‘us,’ is there someo-”

“{SOLDIER! COME BACK HERE AT ONCE AND TELL ME WHAT CAUSED YOU TO RUN OFF–I SWEAR, THE MOMENT I GET MY HANDS ON YOU-”

With a sheepish smile, the soldier slowly turns around, trudging back to the vent he fell out of, clueless of the visible shock on your face at learning that there was another guy crawling around the vents–not to mention–an angry one at that what the fuck were they doing in the vents though.

Please dear God, don’t let this be an Arnaud 2.0.

With a quick response back from the soldier, the voice above immediately dies out, followed by a loud grunt, a loud bang, and at last, a white blur falling down and onto the floor.

Your eyes trail to find a crumpled mess of a man on the floor, as a result of the less than graceful mannerism of falling out of a…vent.

At this point, that really isn’t as surprising as the other bs I’ve seen tonight.

“{WELL DON’T JUST STAND AND LOOK–HELP ME-” immediately yelling, the new stranger looks up in embarrassed rage, though once his eyes lock onto yours, his outburst comes to a halt, replaced with a dumb expression across his features.

Sharing an almost familiar uniform with the first soldier, your eyes begin to pick out the differences: for starters, this guy actually has hair–a darkish-brown color–with blue accents on his uniform and a bright yellow sash around his waist to tie it all off. Though, what takes the cake for you was the sword that hung on his left…and a small-looking pistol that was scattered nearby, no doubt, lost in the messy transition from air vent to museum floor.

In three seconds, the dude launched himself into the air, composing himself in record time–you almost got whiplash by the sudden change in demeanor!

“Ah, you must be the new nightguard! Welcome, welcome!” exclaiming with a grin, the newcomer grabs onto your arm–ignoring the other guest present–and begins to aggressively shake your hand, forgetting his own strength–it was almost comical, really!

“Li-likewise, sir–sir, you can stop now…uhm-”

Seeing you wince, the stranger takes the hint and stops, letting go of your hand, before turning around to look at the undead figure. Laying not too far from your group, his attention shifts onto its unmoving body (you swear, you thought he was going to vomit for a moment from his expression), before he turns to face you once more, deciding to take the silent opportunity to introduce himself.

“I am Major Dopfer, officer of the Linien-Infanterie-Regiment Nr.29, pleased to make your acquaintance,” voice laced with a noticeable accent, you watch as the stranger–whom you know now as “Major Dopfer”–start to slowly lead you away from your corner, “I am not one to usually rush off on such as short notice, dear nightguard, but I believe it would be in your best interests to come along with me, seeing as you are easy prey out here with all these hooligans!”

“{Oh, officer–}” began the first soldier, “{but what about–”}

“{What about what?}”

Now, you can’t figure out what the hell the two were talking about, but you could definitely feel the shift in vibe. Not wanting to simmer in the awkward air for much longer, you suddenly remember that you have something important to ask of the first soldier.

“Wait–I never got to know your name-” facing towards the soldier, you try to get to know the name of the person who just saved your ass, watching as he looks shocked for a moment, before opening his mouth to answer.

“Oh, him? He’s just one of my soldiers,” rudely interjecting, Major Dopfer swings an arm around your shoulder as he drags you off, “come now, let me escort you elsewhere that is safer than these slums,” leaving behind the (rightfully peeved) soldier who actually rescued you.

“We’re in a museum hallway…”

Ignoring your comment, the officer began to talk your ear off, ranting over the most obscure and niche political issues that were relevant at least 200 years ago.

After telling the officer to let go of you looking back and making sure that the first soldier caught up to your little group, you come to learn a bit more about these two; the two were soldiers of the Austrian Empire, supposedly hailing from the historical wing of the museum. When voicing how you don’t exactly recall seeing their white uniforms anywhere on display, the two merely chuckled; the unnamed Austrian soldier had explained to you that, at the moment, they were tucked away in the museum’s storage warehouse, only being put on display for certain seasons. When asked how they managed to escape from there, all you got in response was yet another chuckle from the two.

Keep your secrets, I guess.

Making your way through the hallways and doors that have seen better days, you start to notice less and less sentient museum items, making you question where the hell you all were going; you guys have already scaled so many stairs, you don’t think you have the strength to go up one more flight up.

“Just a couple of more steps, nightguard,” with a cheery smile, Dopfer tries to reassure you as you all walk into a dimly lit room, before sharply ordering the younger soldier to push an antique-looking bookshelf to the side. After a few minutes of pushing (with you deciding to help the poor guy), your greeted with yet another secret that the museum held: a secret, dark, passageway that housed EVEN MORE FUCKING STAIRS ARE YOU JOKING RIGHT NOW-

Trudging up slowly, you follow Dopfer as he leads the way up–while the younger soldier chooses to stay behind you–confidently marching up the stairs as if they had no effect on him. 

Finally, the bunch of you all come up and see the end of the stairs; laying up ahead were a pair of old-looking wooden doors. Turning back to see that everyone survived the trip, the Austrian officer turns around and taps on the door in a sequential rhyme. A minute of silence passes by, making you wonder if no one was behind the doors, before your assumption was turned flat on its face as both doors slowly opened.

Being dragged along by the officer, you get startled for a moment was you move forward: inside a somewhat cramped room, were a couple dozen of neatly dressed soldiers, adorned in different sorts of uniforms and hats; at the very least, you could recognize the few white uniforms and confidently guess they were from the Austrian empire–given the striking similarities from your two companions. 

The rest of them though…ehhhhhh.

In comparison to everyone however, the guy sitting across the wall and in the center has you getting real nervous, especially by the way the wrinkles on his face accentuate the growing scowl forming on his features as he looks up from his cup.

Adorned with a couple of shiny medals, you watch as the old man starts to slowly get up, interrupted by a sudden coughing attack that has him being guided by a nearby soldier onto some dusty old crate; you’re starting to think this guy might be kinda important.

“{Dopfer, do tell,}” in between wheezes, the rough tone of his voice has the hairs on the back of your spine jump–you definitely know his ire isn’t being directed at you personally, but it still affected you no less, “{did I not instruct you to not return until you’ve found what out the whereabouts of-}”

“{Oh, please don’t be like that,}” the Austrian officer interrupts (this guy really doesn’t like people finishing their sentences), making exaggerated, and over-the-top gestures to your person, “{I have good reason–come, meet the new nightguard!}”

DudewhatthehellpleasetoputmeinthespotlightlikethatIdon’tevenknowwhatyouguysaresaying-

Going rigid, you watch as the old figure sitting from the room moves his eyes slowly towards yours, taking in your appearance for a few moments. Just before you thought you would die from the tense atmosphere, the man’s face relaxes as he realizes who you are.

“Oh yes, I remember you now,” shifting his body to greet you more warmly, he starts flicking his hand as a way to signal you over, “the old night guard before you mentioned the arrival of a newcomer! Come, come here, let me get a good look at you!”

Slowly walking up, you get startled once the old man takes your hand and starts to study your features; he kinda gave off this, grandfatherly vibe? At least with you, the vibe around him shifted into paternal care, with the older figure fixing certain parts of your uniform that were a bit messy from all of the wildness you’ve encountered so far.

As he finished, you thought now would be a good time to properly introduce yourself, with the old man doing the same; turns out, you were right about him being important, as you were in the presence of none of than Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher, a famous Prussian field marshal who had a critical role in countless of battles. Upon introduction, your memory seemed to be working again, recalling Bubbles talking about  the man while you two walked through the historical wing of the museum when you came across some items related to him, though, you don’t recall ever seeing a wax figure of him anywhere…

Perhaps he and his men were also in the storage room, not wanting to question the old figure, you just politely continue whatever small chat he’s started–before Dopfer loudly clears his throat, making the field marshal burrow his brows in response. 

Now holding a cup of hot tea (wha-where did he get that-), the Austrian officer begins to speak in his native tongue, before being stopped by Blücher with a raise of his hand.

Guiding you to sit next to him on a nearby crate, the old field marshal begins to instruct an accompanying soldier next to him.

“Ah, pour them a drink as well, will you son?” Without hesitation, the coolest looking guy in the room began to make his way towards you–adorned in a deep blue uniform with beautifully threaded ropes around his shoulder, you watched as the young man struts in a well-disciplined manner, watching him as his white sash tied around his belt area and tailcoat flutter behind in perfect rhythm. What really captivated your attention though, was the hat that he donned–it was unlike any other you’ve seen, which usually had some small decoration on it, this dude’s hat had (what looked like to you) a whole mop on top of it! Well, if the mop was made up of fancy and silky feathers, of course.

Drawing near, you see his hands occupied with the most beautiful, antique looking, masterfully crafted teacup (with a matching cup plate by the way!!) you had ever seen in your life, paired with–possibly one of the worst–world’s dingiest looking, 21st century, modern coffee pot. 

Pouring in the hot mystery liquid, you quietly thank the fashionable looking man in front of you, staring down at your cup as you could smell the sweet aroma steam out–or well, you tried to, as much as you tried to fight it, your eyes kept looking over the man with the pot (listen! In your defense, you had never seen such an eccentric outfit like that before! Totally reasonable!!).

To him though, it looked like you were startled by his presence, making him look behind him for a moment, before turning back to you with an arched brow, silently asking you what caught your interest.

“Oh–uh–sorry. It’s just–uhm.” FUCKKK WHY ARE YOU SO AWKWARD, you try and correct yourself, “Your hat looks cool.” 

Your comment seemed to have taken the man by surprise, seeing as how he blinked owlishly at you, before his aloofness melted into a small smile. “Thank you. Though, I believe my hat is called a shako.”

Holy shit–that was the most embarrassing encounter that you’ve had here so far…well, at least you know what those hats are called now.

Looking away, you come to find that the field marshal was in deep discussion with the Austrian officer–the white-tailored officer abruptly shoving his finished drink onto the mop-headed man (who didn’t seem to appreciate that)–both looking agitated to some degree, as their voices waver between diplomatic negotiation, to a nuclear meltdown, as evident by how tense their postures were.

Peering over to your side, you lock eyes with the Austrian soldier, giving him a confused look as to what was going on.

Striding over, the young soldier peers over to the two, quietly translating to you the gist of what was causing all this fuss, whilst the tea-bearing man glances at the pair of you, suspicious of your conversation.

“You must be terribly confused as to what they must be arguing about, hm? It is a whole dilemma with them, but…to keep it brief, they are talking about what course of action we should take–given our very limited number of soldiers. It’s either focusing on: the rampant undead that come alive each life, or, trying to hunt down…” eyes filled with nervous fright, the soldier signals for you to come closer, cupping a hand near your ear, “Napoleon.”

Napoleon? Looking even more confused, you respond in a hushed tone: you were 100% sure you didn’t see anything related to the guy whatsoever (besides the French soldiers, but even then, there weren’t that many to begin with–you were sure you could count them all with just one hand!), and you doubted that the museum housed him somewhere, otherwise, you would have seen him by now, evident by the escaped figures standing here currently when they should be in the storage room.

“I…I will be honest, the only one hellbent on such a quest is the field marshal himself. I don’t…I don’t know where his reasoning for such a strong desire comes from–anytime someone tries to talk him out of it, his temper only worsens!-”

Your hands fly up as a way to signal the soldier to lower his voice, both of you looking back to see how a couple of soldiers stare at the two of you, mainly at the Austrian soldier’s heated temper within his words. Slightly red from getting caught up within his emotions, he clears his throat before going on, much quieter now.

“If I were to give my own opinion over such a matter, I would rather focus on the undead at hand. Recently–for some reason–they have been getting aggressive by the day…none of us know why–or-or even what to do at this point!” Sounding exasperated, you note how tired the young soldier looks. You hesitate for a brief moment, before giving him a small reassuring pat on the shoulder, and say some encouraging words in hopes of lifting his spirits, before letting him continue to vent out his frustrations.

“Even my officer is in favor of focusing on those wretched creatures himself–which–if you have not noticed by now, he is usually not an agreeable man half of the time.”

Weakly nodding his head to Dopfer, you silently agree with the soldier, both of you deciding to watch the man of the hour try and work something out between him and Blücher. As he halts to come up with something, the Austrian officer looks over and makes eye contact with the two of you, pausing for a moment (you swear, you can see literal gears work in real time right behind his eyes as his demeanor suddenly shifts from serious to tired in an instant).

With a loud and obnoxious sigh, you watch as Major Dopfer slouches and looks over to your side, declaring loudly for the room to hear, “Every night, it’s always the same issue with him, always wanting to fight a pointless battle with a make-believe enemy. Now, if I were in his place, why, I’d host a glamorous feast as a celebration to not have to fight anymore!”

After the words left his mouth, it was as if they lit the fuse to an explosive; the field marshal suddenly jumped up and immediately start to bark at the officer, leading to yet another chicken squabble, with the others around them either trying to: prevent the fight from escalating, or, figuring out an escape from the tense environment.

Squeezing your body into the little makeshift seat you were on, you try to shrink away from the high school girls' fight, the Austrian soldier doing the same–not really caring about saving what little dignity his officer had left.

“Why hasn’t anyone tried to tell him that?” Reigniting the previous conversation, you watch as the two men get pulled into different corners, observing as a different soldier pours and serves a cup to an annoyed Blücher, while soldiers on the other side do the same, except, instead of handing Dopfer a drink, they…pull out a box of chicken tenders.?

“Believe me, we have tried,” in a soft voice, the accompanying tea soldier on your right explained, almost giving you a fright from how quietly he came up to you–you didn’t even hear footsteps–“but no matter how much we explain, it seems as though he cannot recall our talks by the next night.”

“Either that, or,” on your left, the Austrian soldier shares his two cents on the matter, “he cannot seem to let go that the battle has long since ended–it were as if he's holding onto some sort of angry grudge, letting it dictate his actions and spiting the rest of us.”

“Watch your tongue when talking about your superiors, boy.” Snapping back, the feather-headed man gives the Austrian soldier a warning glare, only breaking eye contact once the soldier responds with a “Yes, officer.”

Officer?! Jesus, how many high-ranking officials are in this room right now–almost erupting into another cold sweat, you gain a sudden interest in drinking up your beverage, trying to act as you didn’t notice: your pal get scolded at in front of you, a bunch of high-ranking officials losing their shit, the amount of property damage that you’ll have to deal with once the night is over, the sudden loud rattle of a door knob trying to enter inside-

Wait what.

A loud rattle came from the doorknobs once more, followed by harsh thumping outside the doors, rendering the entire room silent–judging by the looks on their faces, a mixture of confusion and fright, you quickly gathered that this room was probably some secret hideout, and that almost no one–outside of these guys–were allowed access (...except you, I guess.)

In one moment, everyone was in different areas, but now, it was like watching the fucking Avengers getting ready to battle; the unnamed officer besides you had now stepped a bit closer infront of you, whipping out a pistol you swore he did not have 2 seconds ago. Major Dopfer, across the room, also had his pistol out, face hardening, and pointing his weapon with well-trained control, acting as though he wasn’t just throwing a hissy fit moments ago. To your side, the Austrian soldier moved a few steps ahead, his weapon pointed with precision, along with other soldiers from different ranks and nations, all waiting to hear their commander’s orders.

“Who the hell is up here right now-” meekly, you try to get an answer, talking to no one in particular but yourself.

“{Stupid boy,}” Dopfer angrily whispers to the Austrian soldier, “{were you so careless as to leave the bookcase ajar?}”

“{Don’t blame me, I made sure that I did,}” shooting back an equally snarky reply, the young soldier tries to defend himself, “{besides, if you weren’t on your high horse all the time, you could have been certain yourself had you helped me pull it back into place!}”

“{Both of you, that’s enough.}” Settling the dispute, the Prussian officer silences the two, his commanding presence shutting down any possible refutes. “{Men, be ready for a fight.}”

Now, keep in mind, you have absolutely no clue what the hell everyone is saying at the moment; all you see are guns and sharp objects being pointed towards an increasingly, aggressive, shaking door, getting more hostile by the minute.

And then, it stops all at once.

You swear you could hear a pin drop by how quiet it got–almost nobody moved from their spot.

“{...ah, as expected, they have given up on-}” Dopfer drops his guard for a moment, letting out a sigh of relief, though a nervous smile could be seen on his face, before being immediately shushed by his Prussian counterpart.

A few more seconds passed, and before the Austrian officer could think of anything to say, the sound of a lock being picked could be heard.

“Th-the lock!” Immediately jumping, you get up to prepare in case you have to run, while also trying to help the old field marshal get on his feet…albeit, his reasoning was more so leaning towards the fight instinct rather than the flight response you were feeling.

The door swings open, and everyone…sees a little monkey?

“...George?” Stepping forwards, everyone turns around to look at you, in befuddlement, mainly questioning why you knew the name of the animal, and what your relationship was to it.

“Do-do you know him…?” Hesitantly, the unnamed officer gives you a bewildered look, confused by the revelation of the intruder, before turning to look at Blücher to see what to do; the older man giving him a breathless chuckle once the adrenaline fades away, looking at the creature in amusement.

“Yeah, the little guy kinda stole my keys earlier…” trailing off, you stare back at the taxidermy chimp, watching as it slowly crept inside and into the light of the room, before looking back at the darkness where it came from occasionally. “I don’t know how it found us though-”

A sudden burst of laughter interrupts your thought of line, turning to see Dopfer leaning forward and clutching onto a wall for support, trying to talk but failing as more laughter spills from his mouth. The Austrian soldier just deadpans at his officer’s behavior, before gazing at the chimp, relieved to find it was a mischievous animal behind the racket.

“[Oh, did you find them, George?]” a sudden calm voice chimes in: from the shadows, you come to find a very familiar monotonous-spoken soldier emerging into the light, stopping close at the doorway and scanning the room quickly until he makes eye contact with you.

It was Jacob.

Howbeit, as quickly as he spots you, his body immediately sizes, legs spreading apart and hands in a defensive position; weapons were drawn up and pointed right at him the moment he appeared, terror dripping from his expression, with the poor little creature running and clinging onto the soldier’s back.

“{A FRENCHMAN-}” watching the old field marshal get ready to give out the signal to turn Jacob into shredded cheese, you act quick and run right up to the startled soldier, shielding him behind as you stretch your arms out, and start to frantically plea for his life(?).
“NONONONO–PUT THE WEAPONS DOWN, HE’S FRIENDLY I SWEAR–I AM NOT GOING TO WATCH YOU GUYS MASSACRE HIM!!”

“Step away from the enemy, nightguard!" In an authoritative voice, you almost flinch at the shift of tone that the Prussian officer spoke out (truth be told, you didn’t think a guy with such a soft voice could have such an imposing tone).

Looking frantically, you make eye contact with the Austrian soldier, watching his confusement grow as he’s unable to decide what to do–while Dopfer and Blücher bark orders you can’t understand.

“Co-come on guys, weren’t you guys just talking about old-age grudges? Dopfer,” desperately, you turn to the officer, “you said it yourself a moment ago–it’s a pointless battle!”

The Austrian officer faltered for a minute, realizing his words were being used against him, “{You-you cannot be serious} – nightguard, you would not understand-”

“You’re right, I don’t really understand, but come on man–everyone–let’s be honest, this a centuries old battle. Times have changed, maybe it would be for the best to make a truce?”

For a moment, it seemed like your words made a slight impact on these men, a couple slowly lowering their weapons onto the floor, while the field marshal was in deep thought, watching as you shielded the frightened enemy peering out from behind (all while being scared shitless yourself!!).

“[Nightguard]...you really do not have to do this…”whispering from behind, Jacob was almost in shock at the fact that you went out of your way to save his wax skin from such a situation. In turn, you just quietly affirmed that it was only right of you to do so; he helped you not so long ago, so therefore, you should help him this time around.

Staring back, the field marshal keeps a scowl on face, eyes switching back and forth between you and the enemy soldier. It was nerve-wracking; you couldn’t tell what the old man was thinking about, only being able to deduct from his eyes that he was deeply conflicted on what action should be taken.

“...fine.” With a wave of his hand, both you and Jacob sighed in relief as the field marshal waved his hand, calling off the assault, men falling back in a neutral position, though a few still kept their weapon close, clearly still on edge, before Blücher suddenly growled, “That does not mean that the intruder is no less at risk of losing his head. Leave now before I change my mind.”

Not needing to be told twice, the two or would it be three? of you immediately turn around and run down the stairs as safely as possible, neglecting to dismiss yourself to the new figures you met.

While making your way back, you start to question Jacob: first of all–what the hell was he thinking–just wandering right into a mysterious room without precaution like that, and also, why and how he came to find you, you were in a pretty unknown area of the museum.

Taking a moment to find the right words, the quiet soldier ignores your first question, choosing to answer the second one; right after you snuck away, his officer got worried about your safety, considering the area of the magical artifact was very well guarded (you learned that the hard way) and was worried you might get hurt, hence why Jacob bothered to look for you.

Oh…that kinda pulled on your heartstring a bit; you in no way, shape, or form, meant to stress out one of the few figures who seemed to show a shred of care towards you…but hearing that at least one person was looking out for you lifted your spirits up a bit.

“[Though, I really don’t see what the big deal was about that, you seem fine to me…] muttering to no one but himself, the soldier clears his throat before switching back to a common tongue to explain how he found you; pointing to the furry fiend still latched onto him, he summarizes how the little monkey was the lead detective in your missing-person’s case, taking in note of disrupted areas, smelling faint traces of your scent, and somehow gaining intel from other animals who might have witnessed you, while Jacob briefly talked with any of the smarter sentient beings along the way.

“Hm, that’s really impressive actually. Guess you aren’t so bad at all.” Getting a better glimpse of the creature, you give a small smile towards its way, the monkey chirping back happily in response.

“I’m kinda curious actually,” finally leaving the stairway and out the tunnel, you stop and turn to look at the heavy blockade that was pushed away from it, before looking back at the French soldier, “how did you manage to push away such a heavy bookshelf–that thing was packed with old and thick books, so I can’t imagine it was a stroll in the park.”

Now, you didn’t mean it in a bad way; you were sure that Jacob was quite strong and capable on his own, but even a well-trained bodybuilder would have a bit of a struggle with pushing away such a ginormous, heavy item.

“Ah well, you are right, it was a bit heavy. I had to list the help of a…[what’s a polite word to describe him]…a hobo, along with the promise of fresh wine to obtain such help in the first place. ”

…Huh?

Ok well, whatever works, merely nodding off the response, you’re just about ready to head off back into the heart of the chaos, when a voice shouts from the stairway.

“{Wait!} Hold on a moment!”

Jolting with surprise, you position yourself in front of the Frenchman immediately, hoping to mitigate the possibility that someone came back to chase you just to settle a grudge.

Instead, you’re met with sympathetic eyes of a deeply familiar blue-uniformed officer, walking quickly into the light as he stopped short of you, seemingly out of breath for a moment (did he run down here?), before taking in a deep breath and pulling himself together.

“I must offer you my utmost sincerest apologies, my commander–and I–had no intention of frightening you with our violent attitudes…” Trailing off, the Prussian officer had since then taken off his hat–wait, shako–and held it snug between his arm and side, showing off his neatly combed brown hair as he bowed before you in an apologetic manner as he spoke, “we acted in such a shameful fashion, and for that, we humbly beg for your forgiveness.”

Why do I feel like I’ve gone through something like this before, raising your hands towards the man, you get him to straighten up and reassure him that no offense was taken, while simultaneously taking note on how he seemed to have conveniently avoided mentioning or even glancing at Jacob–the one who actually got the short end of it all–feeling the aforementioned man’s ire grow from behind, as he stared holes into the Prussian officer’s head.

Quick on your feet, you switch gears and instead ask about where he–and the rest of his men–came from; you don’t recall ever seeing them earlier, and while you might have a hunch on the answer, you believed it would be best to hear it from one of the men instead.

“Well…some of the men and I reside inside the warehouse of the museum–with very few of us having any actual experience of what a typical night is like within the main building–since we are only presented a few times every couple of years or so. For my regiment anyways, we usually stay inside there, not seeing any reason as to why we should go and venture forth. But, ugh, at the insistence of officer Dopfer, he somehow managed to convince us to leave our familiar safety behind, for ‘adventure’ as he put it.”

He continues to explain how the first couple of nights weren’t as bad as originally expected, that was until, the group ended up encountering some very hostile undead, forcing them to all retreat up into the hidden little corner of the museum–up until Dopfer and his men had the courage to leave this night.

Watching as the soft spoken officer shared his perspective regarding the feats they faced inside the building, you start to feel a bit bad for them–it was almost canny to your current situation as well. They were just as frightened as you are– though–unlike you, these dudes actually had some weapons to defend themselves with.

“Really, it’s not so bad out there in the museum…sorta.” Shaking off memories where you almost encountered death, you try your best at persuading the men to leave out of their little hiding spot, reassuring that almost no one there had any intention of fighting them over centuries-old discourse.

Before any of you two could continue your conversation, you felt a light tap on your shoulder; turning back, you see Jacob as gestures to his wrist–imitating as if he had a wristwatch on–signaling that it was time to go, briefly mentioning that sunrise was close.

With that in mind, you’re able to properly dismiss yourself from the officer this time, asking him if he could do you a favor and pass your farewells to the rest of the men for you, which he was more than happy to do for you–not before asking him whether you’d catch them in the main area sometime.

“I believe it would be better for us to stay hidden up there for one last time, but…if you are there tomorrow, then I have no reason to believe that most of the men would be opposed to try and explore it once more.

Satisfied with that, you part ways and begin to head down back in silence, taking in the peaceful atmosphere as more residents start to become aware that the night is almost over, heading back and wrapping up the show.

On the way back to the historical section, your posse ventured through multiple sections of the museum, coming across familiar faces (and foes) as you passed by, responding appropriately to each inhabitant, before finally reuniting the French soldier with the rest of his troops, conversing briefly with Jean–who upon seeing you–began to fret instantly, whilst the annoying little shit chestnut-haired man behind him just rolled his eyes at the drastic action.

In the end, you're able to convince the soft-hearted officer that everything turned out fine in the end, and that rather, he should probably focus on getting back to his spot before the sun rises. You notice how he hesitates for a bit before agreeing, wishing you a peaceful last couple minutes of your shift, before turning back and conversing with his men as they start to return to their familiar areas.

Now by yourself, all that was left for you to do was to retire back to the front desk, and take the time to reflect over your adventures as your shift was close to concluding.

---

Ferryman (Conclusion)

 

Finally, after all that chaos…the night is almost over.

It was interesting, you won’t lie, you did feel a bit of childhood whimsy in getting to experience something so…surreal. However, unlike in your juvenile fantasies, you were in no shape or form near the jaws of death so many times.

With a sigh, you slowly trudge back to the front desk and watch all the inhabitants go back to their original spots; everything has already been taken care of, so there’s really no reason for you to do anything else besides sitting still, letting the museum do its own thing.

Looking back, you start to recall all of the figures you got to meet on your first night, some more memorable than others…with a couple of individuals you felt more tender-hearted towards.

Taking a glance at a nearby window, you could barely start to make out the dusty orange haze that started to form at the opposite end of the horizon, signaling that the party was close to being over with.

“Taking a moment of respite, new nightguard?”

Shrieking and almost falling off your chair, you launch yourself a good foot away from the voice that sounded like it was whispered right into your ear–I thought we were over this by now!

Looking back to see who would have the audacity to startle you like that, you come face to face with a brown-haired, expressionless man. Looking at his clothing, he donned a deep blue military-style uniform, and the canteen that hung around the stranger’s waist–seriously, how many soldiers have you met by this point?!

What made this soldier much more unique in comparison to the rest that you’ve seen however, was the lack of a shako, instead replaced with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, clearly having served its purpose as blood spilled down the side of his face, inches away from his small scar on one of his cheeks. Another thing that you note, was the long paddle equipped on the soldier, currently being used as a tool for him to lean on; no matter where you looked, you couldn’t detect a single weapon on this guy.

“Is there something on me that I should be aware of?” Giving you a lazy smirk, the amused soldier watched as you startled yourself back to reality, clearly embarrassed that he caught you staring.

“Ugh, dude, you almost scared my soul away-,” bashfulness now washed away, all you're left with is the building sensation of irritation you felt towards the mystery guy, and how he left you feeling like a heart attack victim, “I don’t need to end my first shift laying in a morgue.”

With a hum, the soldier saunters close to you–it almost looked like he was floating, given how he held himself in a graceful manner–leaning over, he began to speak as his eyes locked onto yours, “and pray tell, why exactly do you feel such a way?”

“Why do I–we playing 20 questions or something?” putting your hand up, you signal the stranger to give you some space, which he takes the cue and backs up appropriately.

“Dude, I don’t know if you ever saw me at all during this shift, but like, I almost died a million times…”

“You almost came close to death a number about 21 times, to be precise."

…Huh. 

“Uh–ok. Ignoring that,” trying to dismiss the oddly specific number that the stranger responded with, you try to redirect the conversation–though you find yourself going back to the topic, “if I almost encountered death so many times, wouldn’t you think that I would have actually died by now? Since you know–given the probabilities, surviving so many instances of fatalities is strange as hell, no?”

“Strange indeed, it was almost as if…something was protecting you through the entirety of the night.”

“Yeah? Well, I wish it weren’t, maybe then I wouldn’t have life-altering trauma after clocking out.”

All you get in response to that is a breathy chuckle.

…ok, who is this dude?

Daring to look him straight in the face again, you fire up your brain one last time and try with all your might to recall if you ever saw him at all during the tour with the previous nightguard.

You know for certain that you didn’t get to see all of the museum’s inhabitants, with some being located and stored away in the storage room, such as in the case of the Austrian and Prussian wax figures that you met. This guy, for all you know, could be a special seasonal figure the museum displays only on a rare occasion.

(The more you tried to make sense of this stranger's presence, the weirder you felt, as if something more unnerving were at play here–and yet–it didn’t exactly feel like that ominous feeling you’ve encountered throughout your shift whenever something was about to go awry).

His onyx eyes lock onto yours.

You had…never seen such darkly colored irises before.

In fact, they were so dark, you could see your image being reflected back—as if they were like mirrors…

“Who the hell are you?”

“I find myself asking the same dilemma.”

Unsatisfied with the reply, you back up a bit, realizing that you unconsciously scooched closer to him.

“I…I don’t know why but,” trailing off, you couldn’t help but vent out your feelings on this guy–almost as if his presence invoked some sense of vulnerability within you, “every time I look at you, I get such a–a strange feeling.”

Tilting his head to the side, you watch as he lets out a small little hum, taking a moment to pause and deeply think about your words.

“Perhaps…you feel a twinge of anamnesis?”

“Ana-wha? Literally what are you talking about–what are you, Plato or something? Enough with the vagueness."

Snapping out of that peculiar feeling you were in few moments ago, your annoyance towards the dude’s inability to give a straightforward answer has you huffing and puffing your chest; you just survived a whole night here at this sentient museum, you really don’t have the patience to put up with any more bs–especially with how sleep deprived your feeling now.

“Listen man, I don’t know if you heard,” shifting your body away, you try to wrap up the conversation, “but dawn is almost here. I think it would be in your best interest to go back from…whatever section or box you came from.”

The mystery soldier instead chooses to stare at you, acting as though he didn’t hear what you said. Getting irritated, you turn back at him, ready to repeat your words; within (quite literally) a blink of an eye, the man is a bit closer to you, locking his eyes with such intensity that you almost broke into a sweat.

“Ex morte, vita renascitur…” is all he utters out to you in a voice so soft, you thought it would have been impossible to have heard, had the museum not settled down by now.

And within the couple of milliseconds that it took to blink, the mysterious man is gone, replaced with the warm and soothing beams of the morning sun.

Everything is quiet now; there is no giant dinosaur fossil chasing you for a quick game of fetch, no more nomads hunting you down, no more paintings coming to life, no more wax figure soldiers trying to enlist you into a war that’s long since ended, no more taxidermy animals trying to outsmart you, no more undead creatures resurrecting and trying to maul you, no more weird anomalies that you’re 90% aren’t actual museum props–all of it. It’s over now.

Sitting in silence for a couple more moments, you take in the quiet atmosphere, mind replaying all of the things you went through. More seconds pass by, before you take a deep breath, get up, and start to head to the nightguards office to collect your things and switch out of your uniform.

The morning shift security guard is the first person to greet you (it feels so weird to see an actual human being after the past couple of hours). With a cheery demeanor, they ask you how your first shift went, and whether you think you'll stick with this job or not.

You answer the first question in a vague manner–it was very interesting, you know, just a couple of minor mishaps here and there, but nothing to be so concerned about. Though, the last question had you stopping for a moment: would you choose to stay?

Staring into space, you pause and take a moment to recollect all of the events that transpired since the very moment you started your night shift; all the feelings you had during the experience, the inhabitants that bustled within once the sun hid away–all of the good and bad. 

Of course, the experience that stood out the most throughout your shift were all the unique characters that you met and interacted with, all making such a deep impression on you that you don’t think you’ll ever really forget them–actually scratch that– you don’t think you’ll ever see museums the same after all of that!

You had also discovered so many more mysteries and secrets within the museum, held within both the walls and its citizens, all of which only made your curiosity grow heavier as you mused about it.

Do you want to continue on, and see what happens?

Watching you go dead silent, the morning shift guard started to feel a bit concerned, wondering what might be going on inside your head–was your first night really that bad? 

Ready to ask you if they accidentally offended you or something, you suddenly perk right back up and answer their question with honesty–well, as honest as you can sound without being at risk of getting thrown in a psych ward–before you start to leave the room with a wave.

“See you tonight..”

With your final answer in verdict, you both say your goodbyes and part ways; deciding to go the long way, you walk to the front of the museum; going past all of the figures, paintings, statues, anything and anyone that you encountered–seeing them in their normal state–though this time–equipped with secret knowledge about them that only a select number of people have had the privilege of gaining.

Making it towards the front, you weave past the first couple of guests coming in to see and explore the place, stopping one last time to look back at the museum in its peaceful state, before whispering out loud:

“I’ll catch you guys later as well.”

And with that, you walk out the doors, preparing yourself for your next night shift.

Notes:

Hey yall how yall doing its been a while lmao

I got writers block a while ago so I originally started this just for shits and giggles, mainly motivate myself, but it ended up going a different direction so here we are
If yall are coming from my other fic, unfortunately you guys will have to wait longer 🥀 I haven't had the time nor motivation to continue with the next chapter besides having a draft of the intro complete