Alexandria

Alexandria

[Private Message from user “Admin” to “B4D_4PPLE.” Time not recorded.]

Admin: Congratulations. It appears the B4PH0M3T problem was solved with no intervention from myself.

B4D_4PPLE: Oh! Hello? Are you who I think you are?

Admin: Yes of course I am. Don’t ask ridiculous questions.

B4D_4PPLE: Forgive my caution, but anyone can just give themselves the username “Admin” and screw with their text color.

Admin: This is a pointless exchange.

B4D_4PPLE: You are the person in charge now that Pythagoras is gone, correct?

Admin: I was always in charge. Pythagoras is just a tool.

B4D_4PPLE: Careful now. I’ve got my (hypothetical) finger hovered right over that juicy little “Print Screen” button.

Admin: I wouldn’t do that.

B4D_4PPLE: Reason?

Admin: I would like our relationship to remain friendly. I contacted you merely to express my gratitude.

B4D_4PPLE: Really?

Admin: Yes. B4PH0M3T had been an annoying glitch in my side for far too long.

B4D_4PPLE: Because he didn’t follow the rules.

Admin: I had no idea why. It infuriated me.

B4D_4PPLE: I was confused about that as well, until a certain someone came along and decided to rain on the parade.

Admin: You seem to have a hypothesis.

B4D_4PPLE: B4PH0M3T could break the rules because he wasn’t a daemon at all. He was a fragment wearing the face of one.

Admin: That was my thought as well, yes.

B4D_4PPLE: I’m afraid that means that clown is collecting them, and who knows how that will turn out.

Admin: I am monitoring the situation. On the subject: I would appreciate your... expertise on the matter. Would you care to join me? I can offer you a front row seat.

B4D_4PPLE: Just what theater are we talking about here?

Admin: One with direct access to nearly every play ever written.

B4D_4PPLE: Why offer this to me?

Admin: Your existence is unusual. You have piqued my curiosity.

Admin: Please. Come to Alexandria.

B4D_4PPLE: Consider my curiosity piqued as well.

Admin: I knew if would be. I’ll be waiting for you there.

o

Abigail had been quiet recently, and Mike didn’t like it. She claimed that she’d gotten caught up in “surfing the net,” but who knew what she was really doing in there. It wasn’t like he could just see for himself. Looking at a computer monitor for any reasonable amount of time still made him just about puke. So all he could do was watch and wait.

They’d spent the last several months moving around from reality to reality, though it felt more than anything like Abigail was biding her time. It was a rather tedious existence. Each time they went somewhere new Mike had to adjust to all the new sounds and sights and smells. And just as soon as he’d acclimated, it seemed that Abigail was always ready to move on.

Thankfully, bit by bit, it was getting easier. It took him days instead of weeks now to adapt to a new environment. It dawned on him that Abigail was doing it on purpose. She probably considered it “exposure therapy” for him. Well, if there was one person in the cosmos who knew about his condition it would be the one who’d saddled him with it in the first place.

And as much as he hated to admit it, it was working. Mike could now enjoy a quiet walk without much trouble. Alright, “enjoy” might have been a strong word. He wasn’t sure he would ever experience such a strong emotion ever again.

But he felt a small amount of peace as he padded his way through a forest, careful not to make any sound. They had just set up a new base in an abandoned building and Mike was scoping out the perimeter. It had become a habit every time they moved. He told himself that it was to make sure no one got within biting distance of her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling as time went on that he was protecting her.

All things considered, she was pretty helpless in that laptop. Of course, Abigail was wily. He really couldn’t leave her alone; that wasn’t just an excuse. But ever since they’d left Discord, he couldn’t stop thinking about the last words that the man who was no longer Doug Bailey had said to him. Even though, of everyone she’d ever hurt, Mike should be the one who hated her the most, he simply didn’t.

He’d thought about that for a long time. Mike wasn’t used to pondering much anymore. Most conclusions were just so obvious to him these days, so it took a while. But finally, he had to admit to himself that he did not, in fact, hate her.

Disgusted by her? Often. Pity her? More frequently than he’d like to admit. But he simply couldn’t hate her. Not even after everything she’d done to him. He wasn’t sure quite why himself. It had started to bug him. Just a little.

That was probably her handiwork too. His emotional responses were so muted that for a while he was convinced that he didn’t have any at all anymore. He still did, as it turned out, just not very much. Hate was a complicated emotion. He might not even have the depth to experience it.

Mike’s head spun ninety degrees as he detected motion out of the corner of his vision. It was just a bird rustling its wings a little in a nearby tree. He really disliked how sensitive his vision was. It made him feel overwhelmed so easily.

It wasn’t proving to be much of a problem in this reality. They hadn’t seen a single person since they’d gotten here. Though there was plenty of evidence that indicated previous residents. Maybe they were all dead.

He lingered out in the forest for a while, but if he was gone too long Abigail got antsy. He probably would too if he had been entirely incapable of physical locomotion. So he retraced his steps back to the cracked concrete ruin in which they were currently squatting.

Mike made no noise as he entered through a giant hole in the wall, but she heard him anyway.

“Mike, is that you?” she asked. Her camera was facing away from him.

“Uh huh.”

“How is it out there?”

“Quiet.”

He expected her to sigh, or make some snide remark. He’d gotten the distinct impression that she’d been a little bored recently. However, as he spun her around to look at him, the increasingly high-fidelity rendition of her visage was practically bouncing in place.

“What did you do?” was his gut-reaction response.

She activated a comically pouty expression. “I hadn’t even said anything yet!”

“You’re grinning,” he sighed. “That means you did something.”

“How do you know?”

“Did you?”

“Well, maybe, but that’s beside the point!”

“And mine’s been proven. Now what did you do?”

“A whole bunch of things that would take an incredibly long time to explain,” she waved it off. “But the result of which is that I was contacted by someone very important.”

“It that the thing you’ve been waiting for?”

“You noticed?” she batted her eyelashes. “You know me so well, Nihil.”

“Unfortunately,” Mike sighed again. “So who was it?”

“I’m not quite sure,” she admitted. “They might be a daemon or… something else. Here, read this.”

She minimized her face to show him the last few lines of a chat log between her and someone called “Admin”. Mike squinted, concentrating on the screen instead of the electrical currents zipping behind it. “Alexandria?” he asked. “Like the city?”

“Cities,” Abigail corrected. “And I’m not sure. It could be anything really. But the way they worded it, it sounds like there’s a lot of information hanging around there, and that may prove invaluable for my research.”

“Your research on causality?”

“Yes. I’ve hit a bit of a dead end, I’m afraid. I need subjects, examples, people who aren’t so… disconnected from it all as you and I are in order to properly study the phenomenon. But nothing big has happened recently!”

Mike felt he was started to lose track of this conversation. “So, out of boredom, you’ve decided to meet up with a random entity you met in the internet. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?”

She waved him off, her fans humming impatiently. “Please. I was there when the damn thing was invented. And besides, I have the perfect bodyguard, so what do I have to worry about?”

“Your own disappointment.”

Still, eventually she convinced him to take her there. She always did.

It was difficult for Mike to make a doorway. It was one of the few things that he struggled with. The problem was that it was such an intuitive process, and he found himself rather mechanically-minded these days. Still, he persevered, grabbing the now very short piece of chalk from his pocket and facing a blank, barely-intact piece of wall. Daemons could just use a normal door, but since Mike wasn’t a daemon, he had to use other, more intense methods.

Abigail’s friend, the mysterious “Admin,” had given her coordinates. If they had been normal numbers, or even a: “Two miles to the left of Ravden,” he would have been just fine. But the Other wasn’t a stable place. Things shifted around all the time. So sometimes simple directions didn’t even work.

No, “Admin’s” coordinates had come in the form of a sensation. The feeling should help him lock on to the reality they were aiming for. It was a very imperfect system. Apparently daemons were so good at it that they’d devised a series of symbols that emulated sensations in the real world—occult bullshit if he’d ever heard it—but he had enough trouble blocking out existing sounds and smells, let alone picturing imaginary ones in his head.

He breathed in deeply, trying to imagine the smell of yellowed pages, the sound of rustling paper. That was all they’d left. Mike hoped it’d be enough.

At some point, the wall in front of him fell away. At least he’d managed to attach onto something. Mike grabbed his knapsack in one hand and flung Abigail’s laptop case over his shoulder, before letting himself fall into the void.

He wasn’t meant to be here, his power was stolen, engineered into his flesh by artificial means. He wasn’t chosen by fate. He’d been chosen by Abigail. The Other tried to reject him. It pulled at his seams, testing him, probing him. But it couldn’t get to him. By the rules of causality, he was allowed to exist here.

The willowy greens and purples pulled him begrudgingly towards his destination, and as they forced him through faster and faster, the speed formed a tunnel around him. He couldn’t breathe, so he held his breath, hoping it would end soon.

And then it was black. And quiet.

Mike opened his eyes and blinked a few times, waiting for them to adjust. It was very dark in… well, wherever he was, only lit by the soft, blue glow of several disconnected balls of light, and a dim lantern that sat on a desk in front of him.

“Close the door behind you, if you’d please,” came a drawling, bored voice from behind the desk.

Mike hesitated. Someone had just very clearly spoken, yet even Mike couldn’t make out the source. The atoms behind the desk formed a cloud, denser than air, but not by much. Yet he did as he was told.

“You’re not Abigail Hodge,” said the voice again.

“No, she’s in here,” he gestured to the laptop case, but he didn’t take her out yet. “Are you ‘Admin’?”

The cloud of atoms zipped around a little faster, almost as if they were excited. “That is not my name, of course. But I dislike repeating myself. I’ll hold off on introductions until all are present. Though, before that: who are you?”

Mike didn’t often feel unsure, but something about this thing’s… presence was making his hair stand on end. “I’m… Nihil.”

“Nothing? An ironic misnomer, if nothing else. You appear to be made of very much indeed.” There was the creak of a chair, and the man rose from behind the desk. He was dressed smartly in a suit-vest and tie, and he stuck out a gloved hand for Mike to shake. But above his collar was no neck, or head. Instead, some sort of dark smoke billowed up into the air, and somewhere within were two small, orange lights that seemed almost like eyes.

Mike understood that this was a man whom he could not afford to offend. He took the proffered glove, and almost crushed it in his grip, like there was nothing in it at all.

Without a word, Mike pulled the laptop out of its bag and opened the lid, facing the screen towards the man. It had just been on sleep mode, so it whined back to life without his input.

There were a few seconds of silence, and then: “Mike… what am I looking at?”

He tilted the camera downward, then took a few steps back. “Oh… Oh!” she giggled, and Mike envisioned her jumping up and down on her screen. “You must be ‘Admin’, correct? I apologize for my giddiness, but another hunch of mine has just been proven correct.”

“And that is?” the smoke billowed out to one side, as if the being was tilting his head.

“I was sure that somewhere at the core of the Othernet’s construction, an anomaly had to be involved.”

Ahh, so that explained that odd feeling that was making Mike’s skin crawl. That familiarity.

“I’m Abigail, by the way.”

“It is… amusing to make your acquaintance,” the anomaly bowed. “I am often referred to as the Archivist.”

“Oh, I haven’t heard of you before.”

“I don’t often get involved with the affairs of the cosmos. I mostly prefer to sit back and observe.”

“I understand the sentiment, but alas, in order to get good observations one sometimes has to get involved.”

“An all too common issue,” the smoke appeared to nod.

Mike wasn’t getting a good feeling. It was awfully like, all of a sudden, there were two of her.

“But I suppose I’m being rude,” the smoke said in a tone that indicated he did not actually care at all. “Forgive me, I don’t often receive guests. Well, those that are invited, at least.”

“But I have too!” Abigail was much better at feigning genuine concern, but that was almost worse. “I just assumed you’d met Nihil.”

“We did, very briefly…”

For the two most curious individuals in the cosmos, they both sure did like to beat around the bush. “I’m no one important,” Mike shrugged. “We’re traveling together for the time being.”

“Oh, don’t be modest,” she scoffed. “Nihil is a rather… special individual.”

Mike hadn’t really wanted him to know that. But if he could tell just by being in his presence just what the Archivist was, Mike was sure his secret wasn’t very secret at all.

“This happens to be my office you’ve stumbled into, but allow me to give you a proper introduction.” He strode past both of them, and with a wave of his hand, the door simply opened on its own. “Welcome to my realm of Alexandria.”

He gestured them past the threshold, and Mike obliged, carrying Abigail through. As they saw what lay beyond, Abigail gasped. They found themselves on a balcony overlooking what seemed to be a library, one that expanded infinitely towards the horizon. Bookshelves of all sizes stretched out beyond their vision, some of them at seemingly impossible angles. The aisles twisted and morphed into each other with no semblance of order. Above them stretched the thinnest shimmer of a bubble; they could see the Other through it, but just barely. A curtain of shadow blanketed the entire sky. Here and there were dotted warm candles and lanterns, contrasted with those same balls of pale blue light that hovered between them.

“This is Alexandria, the infinite library, a repository of all the knowledge in the cosmos.” The Archivist was perhaps a little proud of himself as he observed Abigail’s reaction.

She had stars in her eyes, quite literally. “Is it truly everything?” she asked.

“To the best of my ability,” he admitted, and Mike sensed a hint of irritation in his tone.

It seemed Abigail had picked up on it as well. “Ah, so it’s an endless quest, hmm? And I suppose that’s why you invited me here then.”

“I currently have no information on the beings known as Abigail Hodge and Michael Miller. I had a feeling that an accurate archive would require more than just a precursory glance.”

Oh, was that all? Poking and prodding were things that Mike had dealt with far too often before for them to bother him much.

“From my initial observations, it seems you are looking for information that Alexandria may be able to provide,” he continued.

“So you want to make a trade?”

“You may stay and utilize the library for as long as you’d like,” he had long since stopped acknowledging Mike and was now solely addressing Abigail. “And in exchange, I would ask your cooperation in the creation of your files.”

She had long since stopped acknowledging Mike as well. He would have no bearing on her decision. Mike was her creation as far as she was concerned, and not much more. It irked him a little, but what annoyed him more was how he couldn’t even muster up enough emotion to really care.

“Well,” Abigail grinned with pointed teeth. “That sounds like a hell of a deal to me.”

At the very least, it was dark and quiet here.