Chapter Text
Martin was so very grateful for Breekon, the guard showing him around the Institute. He was positive he would’ve gotten lost or started crying if he wasn’t there.
He wasn’t too sure how he ended up on the night shift as a guard at the Magnus Institute, something about them being understaffed? It didn’t matter, because there he was, walking down that long, dark hallway with those large, specialized cells every few meters, so close to Breekon he was practically clutching the other man’s side.
Martin didn’t like avatars. He’d heard all the stories, he and his flatmates, Tim and Sasha loved watching thriller movies or even documentaries about them. Never had he considered he’d end up working at the largest and most well-known avatar detainment center in all of the UK. It scared the shit out of him, to say the least. Which, he was well aware, fueled the damn creatures.
Breekon was telling him lots of anecdotes that he seemed to find funny but that were not helping Martin’s nerves. Better than reading the manual, though, with it’s creepy pictures and awful, spine-chilling facts.
“--we had to pull the worms out of him with a corkscrew. Taught us a lesson.” Breekon finished his story with a chuckle. He didn’t seem afraid at all of the dark hallways and the cells, like gaping, barred off wounds in the walls.
“How are you so used to all of this?” Martin asked quietly.
“Takes some getting used to, I guess, but we’ve been around long enough that the avatars don’t mess with us anymore. They’re scared of us, actually. Great feeling, getting actual monsters to fear the sound of your footsteps,” Breekon answered. Martin had learnt that when he said ‘us’ he meant himself and his brother, Hope. Apparently Hope worked the day shift but they were identical so the avatars usually ended up thinking they were around all the time until given a reason to think otherwise.
Martin shivered as the air around him dropped several degrees suddenly. He looked at Breekon, who seemed completely unfazed. So this was normal, then.
“In there,” Breekon pointed at a cell that was shrouded in a light mist. “Are Peter Lukas and Simon Fairchild. Lukas is the one making it cold, it’s an avatar of the lonely, so we keep its cell full of other people so it can’t get too cozy. At first we had him with this other avatar, Elias Bouchard, but turns out they’re married and weren’t too upset at being kept together, if you see what I mean. Since we don’t know exactly how long either of them have been alive, we can’t know if gay marriage or avatar marriage was legal when they got married, but still.”
“Oh. What’s Elias an avatar of?”
“Eye. Real powerful, too. They’re pretty rare. We’ve only ever had four, two of whom are here right now.”
“How did the Eye and the Lonely get along well enough to get married?” Martin asked. In the stories he’d read, the two Entities didn’t seem to get on that well.
“No clue, kid. Sometimes they won’t even look at each other, sometimes they come in holding hands. They’re a mystery.”
Martin huffed and rubbed his arms, making a mental note to bring an extra sweater or something, if he was going to go by this cell almost every night. They walked on for a while, Breekon showing him the ropes until, slowly but surely, he became convinced he could probably figure it out on his own. Not that he wasn’t scared anymore, he was still terrified, but the night shift meant most of the avatars were sleeping and those who weren’t pretended to be when Breekon and Martin showed up.
Breekon stopped when his radio started chattering. He brought it up to his ear, nodded then turned to Martin. “Sorry, kid, emergency over in the lab. They need me there ASAP, you can handle the rest on your own? It’s a straight line, just don’t go in any unlabelled doors.”
“Oh um… yes?”
“Cool. See you ’round, Martin.”
“Good bye, Breekon,” Martin said feebly as Breekon practically ran off back down the hall.
It’s alright, Martin, you’ve got this, He told himself. Just a little bit left, then you just sit at a desk. Your shift is almost over, you can do this.
He could not.
Martin stood, frozen, one hand on his torch, the other on the manual. He’d have to read it now, wouldn’t he? Martin had convinced himself to learn as much as he could about all of the avatars. He’d take the manual home, show Tim and Sasha, they’d have a blast with it.
Martin looked at the number painted on the wall right ahead of him: 41.
He flipped through the book, searching for cell 41. It was organized by cell, for which he was grateful. He found it rather quickly.
Cell 41 Security level: O-7
-- well that was just wonderful, wasn’t it? Breekon had taught him the system: H meant he could basically ignore it, S meant he’d have to do a quick check and O meant that the avatars inside were dangerous (on a scale of 1 to 10) and he’d have to do an actual check for anything suspicious (and should probably also be scared). --
Avatars contained: 2
Oliver Banks Avatar of the End
Banks was found using its talent to profit from the masses, telling people when, where and how they would die. It has dreams where it wanders a world ruled by the End, and these sometimes seep into the real world. Its bed is within a secure titanium box to keep these dreams contained to itself and not affect any humans who may be in the near vicinity. Banks is a very powerful Avatar and, though it seems to will no conscious harm upon anyone, is entirely capable of harming humans and has done so before.
Abilities: seeing avatars’ and humans’ deaths in dreams, predicting avatars’ and humans’ deaths, seeing the elements of its dreams in the waking world, knowing when a avatar or human’s death is imminent Family: nephew and grandnephew Physical/Mental conditions: ptsd, severe insomnia
Avatars of the End kept in the Magnus Institute: 1 [Oliver Banks, Cell 41]
Oh this was great. The first creepy, dark, avatar filled cell he passed held the only avatar of the End the Institute had? Just his luck.
Three pictures were provided. One of Banks itself, a version of the mugshot attached to the file of every avatar, it had black skin and black hair dyed red that hung limply in its eyes. It’s face was gaunt, hollow and its eyes looked possessed and afraid, though it was otherwise quite handsome. Wonderful. Another picture was of Banks’ shop. The avatar itself was barely visible and the faces of the humans present were blurred, but it still sent a chill down Martin’s spine. An avatar using its powers for money. The third picture was a sketch rendition of what Martin assumed Banks’ dream world looked like. It looked awful. He felt a rush of relief that none of the thick, dark tendrils were escaping into his world.
Martin turned to the other file.
The Archivist Avatar of the Eye
The Archivist seems to be famous, in some sense, among the other Avatars. They all recognize it and most want it harm. The Archivist was apprehended for compelling [see: abilities] a human into telling it a story related to the Entities, referred to by avatars of the Eye as a statement, which it seems to need to survive, food and drink being considerably less of a necessity but able to sustain it, if in a weakened state. It seems to be apologetic after compelling a person or reluctant to take statements, but it’s unclear whether or not this is just to earn sympathy.
Abilities: knowing things it was never informed of, seeing things it should not be able to, asking questions that the listener has no choice but to answer (a.k.a compelling), seeing avatars' or humans’ thoughts or memories Family: none Physical/Mental conditions: autism, ptsd, severe insomnia
Avatars of the Eye kept in the Magnus Institute: 2 [Elias Bouchard, Cell 23 and The Archivist, Cell 41]
Warning: It may still respond to it’s human name or even ask to be referred to as such, but it is called the Archivist and we, the Institute staff, are trying to teach it so.
Martin’s day was just getting better and better. There was only one picture provided for the Archivist, the mugshot. It had warm brown skin and long black hair streaked with gray pulled back in a bun and bright, toxic green eyes. The same color poison was depicted as being in the media for little kids. Its eyes seemed to glow, to bore into Martin even through a picture. What a surprise, for an avatar of the Eye.
Martin took a long, deep breath before walking the few meters that separates him from these powerful avatars. He shone his light into the cell and heard a startled shuffling and a thud. Martin’s heart pounded in his chest. He spotted the box Banks slept in but, obviously couldn’t see the avatar inside. The other bed, the one that presumably held the Archivist in it, was too shrouded in darkness for him to see if it was empty. So it was a 50/50 chance on who was awake, not that either option was preferable.
Martin looked down. There was a figure hunched there, pressed against the bars, and Martin took a step back. It seemed to have hastily hidden a book under its shirt. Martin looked at it closely, doing his best to remember what they both looked like. The avatar had long hair tumbling over his shoulders and brown skin. The Archivist. It had lots of small, round scars scattered across its face and arms and a long thin cut across its neck, among others, that hadn’t been present in the picture but otherwise it looked the same.
It seemed to be trying to make itself appear smaller, clutching what was very clearly a book it was trying to hide.
“It’s late,” Martin said, managing to keep his voice from trembling.
“Yes, sir,” The Archivist said, quietly.
“You should be asleep.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Why aren’t you?”
The Archivist, who had been making its way back to its bed, stopped dead and turned to face Martin, who instantly regretted asking. Its eyes seemed to be brown, which was odd, since they’d been bright green in the image.
“They uh… made me take a statement. Earlier.”
“Oh.”
“Are you new?”
Martin didn’t really want to answer. In fact, he’d much rather not answer. But he found the words rising to his throat. He tried to ignore the question, pretend he hadn’t heard it, but his body physically would not.
“Yes,” Martin found himself saying. His eyes widened and he pressed a hand against his mouth. That’s what the manual was talking about, the compelling.
“Oh,” The Archivist gasped. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to. Sir! I’m so sorry, sir,” The Archivist stuttered, stumbling back onto its bed. “I’m so sorry.”
Martin felt his heartbeat return to normal, slowly, and frowned. The Archivist seemed utterly mortified about what it had done. The manual said it could be faking its regret and Martin wouldn’t be surprised, it wasn’t even a human, how could it understand human regret? But it seemed so scared, too. Martin wanted to be a good person and say he felt bad for it but… Breekon was right. Having monsters fear him? Well, let’s just say it didn’t feel bad. Especially after having his words pulled out of him.
Martin’s radio chattered and he jumped, having forgotten it was there. The Archivist jumped too, eyes focusing on his radio.
“Hello?” Martin said into the radio.
“Hey, kid, it’s Breekon.”
“Oh, hey Breekon.” The Archivist, who had been blatantly listening in, went deathly still.
“Where are you right now?”
“Cell 41.”
“Ooh. Anyone up? Those two are somehow never asleep, no matter what we try.”
“The Archivist was.” It was staring at Martin, shaking its head slowly in terror.
“It give you any trouble?”
The Archivist opened its mouth, as if to say ‘wait’, then reconsidered and just stretched out a pleading hand in a ‘halt’ gesture.
“A bit.”
“I’ll be right there, d’you think you can stay and keep an eye on it?”
“Yeah.”
The radio went silent and Martin looked up at the Archivist. It had sat on the edge of its bed, staring blankly at the wall to Banks’ bed. It took its book out from under its shirt, either not realising Martin still was there or not caring anymore. It looked around its sparse cell, devoid of anything but two beds, then grabbed its blanket and shoved the book between the sheets, moving them so it didn’t look like anything was wrong. Martin was almost impressed. Then the Archivist looked up at him and Martin could swear he saw tears starting to form in the corners of its eyes. It shook its head and wiped its eyes, coming to stand by the bars. It came up just past Martin’s shoulder.
“I’m Jonathan Sims, nice to meet you,” it said, sticking a hand out between the bars. Martin noticed a hand-shaped patch of discolored flesh on its palm, like an old burn that had healed over. He didn’t try to shake its hand. He took another step away instead. “You’re going to call me the Archivist. That’s alright, just wanted you to know there was another option. Jonathan is a nice name, don’t you think? I chose it myself. People used to call me Jon, before all this. Oliver calls me Jon, I guess. Does that count? I mean, we’re not monsters -- I Know exactly what your stupid manual says about us and a lot of it isn’t true -- we’re just not entirely human either, so does he count as a person? If he does, then I guess there’s Elias too. If I remind him. Oh, you’re going to call us all ‘it’, and again, that’s alright, we’re used to it, but most of us have pretty nice pronouns. I picked mine out myself. So did Melanie. You’ll meet her later. Melanie King, avatar of the Slaughter. And I’m rambling, I know, I’m sorry I’m just stressing out because it's not like I can pretend I was actually asleep, since you’ll tell him I wasn’t and the guards are always right, even when they aren’t and I’m going to have such an awful day tomorrow and Elias will hate me because awful day for me means awful day for him, because of how few avatars of the Eye they have and everything. So…” It sighed, and Martin tuned back in momentarily. He hadn’t been listening to the Archivist, worried it might try to compel him again, or worse. He didn’t know the full extent of its power. Also, who knew what creepy stuff it might want to say? “You probably have a name. You could tell me. I won’t make you though. We just like to greet new people, when we get them. You’re going to be watching us sleep -- or not sleep, I guess -- and tormenting our brains, so it feels nice if we can sit in the courtyard and say ‘oh Hope did this today’ or ‘oh Manuela really doesn’t like me’. You get it. I should shut up, but I’ve gotten no sleep and I’m freaking out and I got some caffeine earlier and a statement and so I think I might implode if I stop and you don’t seem so bad. Then again, who knows? I could, you know. Of course you know. I know you know. Normal ‘know’ not magic ‘Know’.” It sighed, then said, in a mocking tone. “Let’s give the insomniac guy an energy drink and make him do a thing we know makes him want to die afterwards, see what happens. All in the name of scie...” It trailed off mid-word, and Martin heard footsteps down the hall. He was glad when he saw Breekon’s figure approaching quickly.
Breekon stopped in front of the bars and the Archivist shrunk back. It looked so very small compared to the other guard. Breekon reached through the bars and grabbed the collar of its shirt, pulling upwards so the Archivist had to stand on its tippy toes to not choke or tear the fabric.
“What did you do?” Breekon snarled.
“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!”
“And why should I trust you? Bouchard can put ideas into people’s heads, who’s to say you can’t either?”
“I… I don’t know but I promise you, sir, I swear it was an accident. A mistake.”
“Mm… we’ll see about that.”
“We were just in the lab earlier today. Elias will kill me.”
“Should be careful what you say then, shouldn’t you? I’m sure the scientists would get a kick out of an avatar of the Eye killing another.”
The Archivist nodded, eyes screwed shut. Breekon let go of its shirt and shoved it backwards. It didn’t seem like there was much strength to it but the Archivist collapsed, scrambling back and into its bed.
“We’ll bring it up with Dominguez,” Breekon said, before walking away, Martin in tow.
“You’re really lucky, you know,” Breekon said to Martin after a minute. “It wasn’t hungry when you stumbled across it. If you’d shown up on a day it hadn’t been fed in a while, that would’ve gone a lot worse.”
“Great,” Martin said, because clearly he wasn’t already scared enough of his encounter with the Archivist.
“You know it’s faking it, right? The guilt. Our researchers haven’t found a way to prove it's incapable of remorse but given that we know it took statements from almost anyone it could before being caught, it's pretty clear it doesn’t care too much.”
Breekon accompanied him the rest of the night, until his shift was over. Apparently whatever had happened in the lab hadn’t been as disastrous as the scientists had thought, and he’d been able to return to Martin rather quickly. Breekon told him that usually he’d do a quick check of the halls and then come to a room just off from the entrance, where a small table was set up in front of two large monitors, each displaying almost twenty simultaneous security camera feeds, from the halls, inside the cells and the outside of the Institute. Since it was his first day and he’d had an unfortunate encounter with a powerful avatar already, Breekon told him to go home, saying he’d take over from there. Martin thanked him profusely and all but ran from the building.
On the bus ride home, which was annoyingly long, he skimmed through the manual. A couple of the names he recognised from stories Breekon had told him but most were completely foreign. Martin couldn’t possibly imagine memorising all of the avatars and the Entities they served and their cell numbers, but Breekon had done it so it was apparently achievable.
When Martin got home, Sasha was still awake, as she had promised to be, and was sitting on the couch, watching a romcom with Tim passed out beside her.
“Hey Martin,” She said when she saw him arrive, pausing the movie. “How was work?”
“Awful.”
“Spill,” She ordered, scooting over so he had space on the couch. Tim woke up and showed equal amounts of interest in Martin’s shift. And so he told them everything, then pulled the manual from his bag and they squealed with joy, going immediately to the page for cell 41.
“It was the Archivist that messed up your night?” Tim asked, squinting at the photo. “Its kinda hot.”
Sasha hit him and he showed her the picture. “It’s literally an inhuman monster that eats people’s trauma for breakfast,” She scolded.
“True, yeah, but its hair though.”
“And you’ve already got a partner?”
“Very fair point. I’m not leaving you for an avatar of the Eye, Sasha.”
“What avatar would you leave me for?” His flatmates expressed their empathy for his terrifying night in a very unique manner.