Chapter Text
Jon was tied to a chair, slathered in lotion and waiting for Nikola to come back and say more terrifying things about skincare, when a person simply dropped out of thin air in front of him.
The woman looked up in confusion. "Do you know who I am?" she directed at Jon.
Jon tried to ask her what the hell was going on, but he was gagged, and Nikola chose that moment to swirl back into the room.
"Oh dear, what's this?" She giggled, positively delighted, and did not even ask any questions before she got her henchmen to tie the newcomer to an identical chair. "More dancers for me! Oh, this is perfect."
Jon and the strange woman sat in silence. He was full of questions and not enough energy to look for answers, and she was sitting attentively, as if waiting for something.
Then a different door creaked open, and the woman let out a muffled gasp.
"Oh, Archivist. What have you done this time? It's almost sad to see you like this."
Of course. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, Michael had to show up.
"I have come to a decision, Archivist. I am going to kill you."
Jon didn't have enough left in him to protest or even care.
The woman beside him said something which was muffled by the gag, but it almost sounded like "Michael."
Michael turned its attention onto her. "Do I know you?"
She thought for a second, then shrugged. Apparently satisfied by that answer, Michael went back to tormenting Jon.
Jon was actually shocked when Michael declared he was going to answer questions. Then the thirst for knowledge took over his senses, and when he came back to himself Michael's statement was over, and the woman was sobbing.
She tried to say two syllables, but it was muffled. She looked from one to the other wildly, and started trying to talk again.
What was she saying? "Felon"? "Hold On"? It almost sounded familiar. She continued repeating the same unintelligible word as Michael ignored her. When he mentioned the door that would lead to Jon's death, though, she stated kicking at the ground and screaming.
Looking bored, Michael sliced off her gag with one pointed finger and she immediately began to talk.
"Don't open that door. I'm begging you. Untie me. I have a knife, I can't reach it. Michael, don't open that door."
Michael laughed his jarring laughter at that. "I am not going to open the door, the Archivist is. Now, keep it down or Nikola will come looking."
Jon decided it was simply better to stop thinking and do as Michael said. He was exhausted and defeated, and he almost found himself looking forward to when the door would swing open.
Only, it didn't.
He tried the doorknob again. And again. It wouldn't give.
"It's locked."
"No, its not," Michael replied indignantly.
"You try it."
Michael reached out for the doorknob and was violently thrown sideways when the woman slammed into him, still partially tied to the chair, and they both crashed onto the ground.
Jon saw blood, and realized Michael's fingers were stabbed into his assailant's shoulder. His teeth were bared in fury. "Get. Off. Me."
She did not. Still pinning him down, she said, "If you open that door, you die."
Michael grinned dangerously. "Is that a threat?"
"No, Mr. Throat Of Delusion, can you not tell when someone is lying? You open that door and Helen basically kills you and becomes the new spiral."
Wait. Helen? The house saleswoman? He started to ask her what she meant, but was stopped by the look on Michael's face.
"You're not lying," He said softly. Neither of them moved.
Jon cleared his throat. Frankly, the scene was becoming awkward to watch. Jerking out of a trance, the woman stood up and offered a hand to Michael, which was ignored. Then she turned to Jon. "I'm Vanessa," she said, extending her arm towards him, as if they were meeting at a formal event and not trapped in the belly of The Stranger. In a daze, Jon shook it. "So what now?"
She seemed lost at that. "Good question, Jon. I'm not sure."
"More importantly, why is Helen Richardson trying to kill me?"
The woman - Vanessa - turned to him. "I don't know, Michael, maybe it had something to do with the time you drove her insane and then threw her into The Spiral?"
Michael huffed. "Neither of you seem to know how quickly rudeness will get you killed."
They all froze when they heard Nikola's laughter from a few rooms over.
"Okay, so here's the plan," said Vanessa, brandishing the aforementioned knife. "I distract them while you run."
Michael laughed again at that. "You will use a knife to defeat The Stranger?"
"I said distract, not defeat."
The resigned determination in her eyes was unnervingly familiar to Jon. "No one's staying back. What happens if we open the door?"
"Were you not listening? Michael dies."
"Yes, but..." Jon had to say this next part very carefully. "What happens to me?"
"You get back to the archives," she said, and yet again he wondered how she knew all this. She took a threatening step forward, pointing her knife at his face. "But don't you dare think about it."
Nikola's voice drew closer. "Alright. We run," said Michael.
"Run where?"
"Away. I may not be able to access the hallways, but I am still The Spiral. Follow me."
Jon didn't remember much of the next few minutes. There were technicolour shapes all around him and clowns were screaming in agony, and a hand was dragging him along.
__________________________
Every time Tim thought he'd seen the weirdest thing there was to see, the universe laughed in his face. So when Jon and Michael burst into the archives, bruised and bloody, with a stranger clutching onto both of their arms, all he could do was sigh in exasperation.
"So what did you do this time?"
"Tim."
He looked up in surprise to find the woman staring at him like he could disappear any second. "Tim. It's you."
Tim looked at each of their faces, then shrugged and picked up his pen from where he'd dropped it. "In the flesh."
"Whats going on?" said Basira, coming in. She took in the three dishevelled people and paused. Then the one in rhe middle spoke.
"Gather everyone. We have a lot to talk about."