Your hands shake constantly these days.

"...Based on the interactions and effects, I suspect this to be a creature that Adelard Dekker refers to as the 'NotThem' in statement 9910..."

"Hello?" Elias raps his knuckles politely against the door, already having opened it. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything too important, Jon."

Jon's head snaps up in surprise; surprise which is quickly covered up with a scowl as he scrambles to stop the tape he had running. From what little you heard, you think it might be one of Gertrude's, "I was in the middle of a recording, Elias."

Elias smiles thinly, and you don't think he's too sorry. "Apologies, but I'm sure you can get back to after. Really, this won't take long." Elias waves a hand towards you, "This is Mx. (L/n). They will be starting their work as an Archival Assistant under your care from tomorrow. Do make sure they get their proper welcome."

You open your mouth for a simple greeting, but like a noose tightening around your neck your words choke in your throat and fizzle out, and you have to desperately hold back tears. You cover up the mistake by reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone with shaking hands, already open to the notes app where you've typed a simple introduction.

Hello. My name is (F/n) (L/n) and I'm going to be working with you as an Archival Assistant. It's nice to meet you.

You offer the phone to Jon.

Elias's hand descends on your shoulder, and you know he can feel you stiffen at the contact. The touch burns a certain fear in you, and it's an effort not to shy away from it. "Mx. (L/n) here is- ah- selectively mute, but I'm sure there will be no problems with accommodations."

"...Yes." Jon passes your phone back to you. His eyes are deep brown and curious, and it's a fight not to shy away from his gaze, "No. No, there will not be problems. If that is all Elias."

Elias is already steering you out into the Archives proper, shutting the door behind him as he goes, "Take today to settle in, meet your coworkers." His hand tightens imperceptibly on your shoulder and you let out a shaky breath, "And do be careful. It wouldn't do to have... undue gossip, around."

It wouldn't indeed.

-

You didn't know where you were in the timeline.

Jon already had his Prentiss scars, pockmarks that snaked up the side of his face and down the collar of his shirt. You knew this was probably during Jon's paranoia phase then, with the lack of burn scar on his hand that told you he hadn't been accused of murder yet. The mistrust wouldn't make your work any easier, but maybe you could still convince Jon that breaking the Web table would be a bad idea.

The first of your coworkers you ended up meeting was Tim. You knew it was him because of his scars, same as Jon's, except that funnily enough he did pull them off better. He watches you carry your little box of belongings into the shared Assistant's office with a carefully neutral expression. Somehow, you have a feeling that he's not quite pleased to see you. "And who are you?"

You fumble with your phone and pass it to him, the same bleak introduction you showed Jon open on the notes app. 

Hello. My name is (F/n) (L/n) and I'm going to be working with you as an Archival Assistant. It's nice to meet you.

Tim scoffs and passes the phone back. "Right. You're mute then? Shame, you'll want to be able to scream with the kind of monsters we have down here."

You smile thinly as you type out a response. I know what I'm getting into.

Tim scoffs, "Sure. Things are way worse down here than whatever lie Elias fed you."

You don't bother with a response, just turn back to your belongings as you start sorting through them. You can feel Tim watching you, but what's one more gaze in the temple of Beholding?

-

At least Martin is nice. A part of you was scared you might have had too lofty expectations from him with the way fanfics go. 

"Um- hello again. Sorry I- would you like some tea?"

You give him your kindest smile as you accept the mug from him. It's still too hot to actually drink, but you sign a simple thank you at him once you've settled the mug on the edge of the desk, reaching for your phone to put the thanks in words. "Oh- I don't- I don't know much sign but that was thank you, right?" He visibly relaxes when you nod, "Well, you're welcome. Least I can do to welcome you to the Archives, really."

You type out your reply show him the screen of your phone. Still, it was very kind of you.

A pleased smile rises on Martin's cheek and you think it makes him quite sweet, how earnest he is. He has one last mug in his hand, and you suspect that this one will be going into Jon's office. "If you ever need help with anything or- or just- in general like- you know, you can talk to us, alright?" The cup goes from one hand to the other and suddenly, Martin looks unsure of himself. "Things can get a bit... weird, down here. So- you don't have to deal with it on your own."

You turn to the few files you've brought to your desk after that, and Martin moves on as well, heading into Jon's office with a silent click of the door shutting behind him.

If not for the fact you were trapped here anyways, you think this might be all worth something if you at least get to help Martin.

-

The less said about you meeting NotSasha, the better. Both of you recognize each other as imposters, and there's a certain delight on her face when she tells you that she can't wait to get to know you better. You shake off the disgust that crawls up your spine, and smile forcefully all the way through the encounter.

-

When Jon calls everyone save Sasha into his office, you don't realize right away what's happening.

"I'm... I'm coming down with something, I think. Listen, you all should take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow as well."

Martin frowns, his eyebrows creasing in worry, "Are you sure-"

"-Don't want to infect anyone else. Best you stay home."

And that doesn't make any sense at all. Tim also realizes this, when he crosses his arms and says, "Wouldn't it make more sense if you went home, then?"

"Are you feverish?" Martin interjects worriedly, "We should probably get you to a doctor. Look, there's a walk-in center nearby, I can-"

"No." Jon cuts him off, "No, I have things I still need to take care of here." 

A terrible premonition takes root in your mind, as you start to consider what this might actually be for. For one thing, you don't think it's the fucking flu.

Jon smiles, but with how hard he's trying to convince everyone that everything is a-okay, it looks more like a grimace, "Besides, I know all of you have been under a lot of... pressure recently. I think we could all do with a bit of a break."

Martin starts, "Well... well, yeah but-"

"I know." Jon stares solemnly down at his desk, "I know a lot of it's been because of me. Most of it. I'm sorry. Tim, I know things have been... fraught."

Tim crosses his arms, not buying it, "I guess that's a word for it."

This seems to make Jon's decision, really, when he doubles down, "Yes, well, I think some time off could only help."

"Because you're ill." Tim says, in a tone of voice that conveys his disbelief.

"Yes... yes. And I'm- I'm sorry. About everything."

You know what he's planning.

"J-Jon- look, are you-" 

Tim grabs Martin's arm, "Right you are. Jon, we'll be going."

Martin gives him an incredulous look, "Wait, what?"

"Come on Martin. We could do with a break. Or- do you need us to tell Sasha?"

You know what's happening.

"Oh, no. I'll be seeing her later."

Tim starts pulling Martin out of the room. "Great, see you Monday."

"Yes. See you then."

The funny thing is, they've forgotten all about you. You can hear Martin protesting as Tim pulls him away as you quietly shut the door after them. By now, Jon has his face buried in his hands and is clearly trying to keep calm, so you feel just a little bit bad when you lightly knock your fist against his desk to get his attention and he startles.

Jon looks at the screen of your phone with tired eyes.

Are you okay?

He chuckles lightly, "I'm fine Mx. (L/n)."

You can call me (F/n).

"Yes..." he absentmindedly shifts the loose papers on his desk to the side, "Is there something you need?"

You hesitate. You shouldn't- you shouldn't be so direct, but you don't have any time. Being direct is the only option left, even if it will leave Jon unwilling to trust you.

Don't destroy the table.

Jon flinches. When he looks at you, his expression is roiling with suspicion. "What are you talking about? What does that mean?"

You almost drop the phone when you try to type out the truth, the truth that uh, you're from an alternate universe where this one is nothing more than a podcast. Obviously, this is the reason Elias can't have you walking around with your own fucking vocal cords functional, so you have to compromise:

I noticed the statements you were working on, related to the Stranger. I know that there's something wrong with Sasha.

"That's- That still doesn't make sense. How do you know that I'm planning on 'destroying the table' because of a few statements you might have seen on my desk? You haven't even been around for more than a few days, how-"

Right, time for a change of tactics, lying badly didn't work.

"-you seem to have awfully convenient timing for coming in to work as an assistant when Elias is my number one suspect for Gertrude's murder right now-"

You cut him off by tapping your phone incessantly against the table until he pays attention.

Look. It doesn't matter how I know about the table. You don't know enough about the situation to take drastic measures like the one you're taking now.

"Oh and what is that supposed to mean? And it's not important how you know? I bloody well think it is. In fact, I don't think-"

What if the table is trapping NotSasha?

"What if it's trapping the real Sasha? I can't just leave her like that. What if that blasted table is the only reason this- this thing is able to masquerade as Sasha?"

What if you're wrong Jon?

"I'm not-" 

Why wouldn't he listen to you?

"-and if I am, what do you suggest we do about the situation?"

You pause. You don't- you don't really know what else there is to do, besides trying not to draw the NotSasha's ire and hoping it will leave you alone. That or maybe setting a different kind of monster loose on it? Except you don't really have the kind of allies for that sort of thing.

You hesitate, but you don't have anything concrete course of action you can give him.

I don't know. But we can think of something.

"No. I don't know what your motives are. You've only been working in the Archives for two days and yet seem to know a lot more than you should and frankly, I'm not inclined to trust you. I am breaking that table, one way or another, and you will not stop me."

You have to clench your fists from letting the frustration dissolve into a scream, even if you were able to make any sort of sound at all. Jon pointedly turns back to the papers on his desk, clearly unwilling to be reasoned with.

You know there's no point trying to convince him any further. You can't tell him how you know that breaking the table is a bad idea, because your hands shake too much every time you try to type out the truth. (Elias, looming over you. "Be careful with your words, little watcher.)

You don't have any reasonable explanation, any sort of evidence or research. You never had the time.

There has to be another way.

You march out of that office planning to go down to Artifact Storage and warning them about the Head Archivist and his plan to sneak in to destroy a table with a Web design.

Too late you realize that the door that should have taken you out into the Archives is yellow.

-

"Why hello! I don't think we've met before~"

Helices dance before your eyes. The corridor blurs a ruddy yellow behind the thing standing in front of you. He is as tall as you are, taller, made of sharp angles that you are convinced would cut you if you brushed against them. His clothes are unremarkable in comparison, an olive-green coat that hangs around till his knees and ends in white fluff and a purple scarf that twists in the air around him. With simple boot-cut jeans and brown boots, he looks like he's ready for a casual winter.

You know who this is because of his hands. "Michael." 

Your mouth clicks shut in surprise. After a week of no sound, your own voice sounds that much foreign to you.

Michael tilts his head at an angle as sharp as his fingers. "You know who I am."

"I do." You look behind him and you can see how the corridor stretches forever on, the occasional right turn leading to somewhere deeper into this impossible maze. You see mirrors adorn the walls and wonder what your reflection would look like in them, if it would smile back at you.

"You're very curious, Assistant. I had assumed you were mute, but now..."

A shudder runs down your spine at the reminder. "It's not a choice. Elias doesn't want me to spill any of his secrets and- well-"

Michael's smile crawls further up along his face, "What a positively terrible predicament."

You're beginning to suspect that Michael hasn't tricked you into his hallways only for a simple chat. "Why am I here, Michael?"

"Well, since you've been such a polite guest until now." Michael crosses his fingers underneath his chin, and they end up making the sound of multiple swords being slid into their scabbards, "I can't exactly have you ruining the fun, can I? You made a valiant effort, trying to warn the Archivist, but unfortunately for you he seems to have no wish to follow your advice! Soooooo, I think it's best you stick around a while until the show is already well under way."

He doesn't want you stopping Jon from breaking the table. You can't quite remember what Michael's role was in the whole table incident, but it really couldn't have been good.

You have a terrible feeling that he's not going to let you out any earlier than absolutely necessary, and you don't really have that time to lose.

"Please let me out."

Michael really does laugh like a headache. It wasn't so bad listening to it on a podcast, but the real-life experience is so much worse. By the time he starts speaking again, you can feel the color purple filling your sinuses. "So polite! But you really should want what you ask for."

Before you can speak, he perks up a little, glancing down his hallways as one hand snags the scarf around his neck and pulls. "Hmmmm, would you look at that. Looks like it's time.

"As they say, the show must always go on! It was lovely chatting with a sweet thing like you, I do hope you don't get too lost in these corridors!" Like the Cheshire cat fading out around its smile, Michael gives you a wink as he winks out of existence.

Just you, now, alone in an endless corridor.

-

You don't know how long you roam those hallways. There's nothing to mark the passage of time here, and you would wonder if you're even moving forward if the walls and floors didn't change color every now and then. But more than that, you know that none of it is supposed to make sense, so you refuse to think about it. You're worried, you're so so worried because Jon is going to break the Web table and then he's going to be chased through the tunnels until he meets Jurgen fucking Leitner. You really just want to make it back in time to warn them about Elias, maybe stop Jon from getting framed for murder and actually feel like you're doing something. Right now, all you've really managed to do is to make Jon more determined to break that stupid table.

You don't know how long you stay in the Distortion. It feels like your brain is on a treadmill and running in place, cycling over the same thoughts. At some point you sink down to sit against the wall as a headache pounds away in your skull. The colors in the air make your eyes hurt, but the sounds behind your closed eyelids hurt no less. 

A boom boom boom that maybe lines up with your heartbeat and maybe doesn't, until it figures itself into the hazy vision of a woman. She stands in the middle of the Distortion's hallways, so far away and out of reach that you think you could never reach her. But you still want to help, so you call out, hoping she'll turn your way and catch sight of you and Ţ̸̎̑̑̏̀̑̚ǐ̶̧̳̖͖͎̣̘̺̜͖̉̕m̷͎͎͔̺̰͉͍̙̠̲͍̗̌̔̈́́͌̋̾̍̀̀̈́͝͝. You shout, louder and louder, but she doesn't turn around, just keeps walking forward until she's so far away that you can't see her at all.

Beside you, Ţ̸̎̑̑̏̀̑̚ǐ̶̧̳̖͖͎̣̘̺̜͖̉̕m̷͎͎͔̺̰͉͍̙̠̲͍̗̌̔̈́́͌̋̾̍̀̀̈́͝͝ tries a door.

Your eyes snap open as you lurch forward in surprise. You almost forget where you are, or the fact that you're not standing in the middle of a green hallway looking at a woman in the distance. Your own hallway is an obnoxious pink, but there is indeed a door there that hadn't been there when you had closed your eyes.

You struggle to your feet and push through to emerge into Jon's office, realizing you've come through the door that leads upstairs and eventually outside. Looking around, you see an old man seated in the chair in front of the desk, staring at you with wide eyes. No competition for who that was, but your head whips around looking for-

"Well, this is a surprise."

Your eyes snap back to see Elias standing in the doorway that leads to the rest of the Archives, a displeased furrow to his brow and a cruel smile on his lips. Jurgen Leitner startles into motion, hand shooting for the book in front of him.

"Reach for a book and I will kill you."

The old man slowly sits back down.

"Elias-" your words cut off with a gurgle as your hands reach for your neck. They slide against bare skin, but the feeling of someone pressing down on your windpipe doesn't lessen whatsoever. At some point your legs give from under you, and you sink to the floor, clawing at your throat and desperate to breath.

When dark spots encroach your vision and you think, this is it, this is how I die, the pressure finally abates and leaves you gasping for air.

"Right. It would be best if you didn't interrupt me again, (F/n)." Elias waits for a moment, maybe making sure you won't speak, before he turns back to Leitner. "How much have you told him?"

"Enough."

"About Gertrude?"

"No." Leitner's fist clenches and unclenches where he's got it resting on the table. You can see how desperate he is to reach for the books that will take him away from this situation with how his eyes periodically dart away from Elias. "No, I didn't have time."

"I've wondered for so long who it could be down there. Who was helping her. I honestly never would have guessed."

"How did you know I was here?"

Elias's smile is a cold, dead thing, and scares you down to your bones. "I didn't. You're very well hidden. But Jon is not, and he failed to take the same precautions I'm sure you took for granted with Gertrude. I knew he was talking to someone. And it turns out to be Jurgen Leitner himself." Elias chuckles softly, condescendingly, "What an honor."

"Elias please." Leitner begs, looking like he's ready to plead however much he needs to if that's what it takes to keep his life.

"What did you want from him?" Elias asks with a genuine sort of curiosity.

"The files. The ones you took from Gertrude."

"Planning a little arson, are we, Jurgen?"

You realize then that you're really not going to be able to stop Leitner from dying. You can try pleading with Elias again, and face the consequences for your troubles but still fail to change his mind. The only option now is to get out of here, before you become a witness to the murder you know is going to happen.

You rise shakily to your feet and start towards the door. Elias steps aside without even looking at you, a dismissal that couldn't have been clearer had it been said in words.

"It's not just the Institute and you know it..."

The door shuts behind you with a resounding click. You manage to make it all the way to your desk before your knees give out on you. You crawl underneath the wood and make no effort to stop the tears as they slide down your cheeks, hand clamped over your mouth to stop yourself from making a sound.

You can feel your mind spiraling into a panic attack, as if it's not already halfway there, but the very last thing you manage to do it shoot off a couple of texts.

(F/n) (L/n) has created a group chat

(F/n) (L/n) has added Tim Stoker

(F/n) (L/n) has added Martin Blackwood

(F/n) (L/n): We need to talk

(F/n) (L/n): Meeting at cafe down the street first thing tomorrow.

-
A/N: Both times glitch text says 'Tim'