Work Text:
Radio static.
Marvin shifts, burdened within his hazard suit, breath stuffy in the filters like they haven't been changed in weeks. The tank on his back weighs more than it should. The walls are moving. No, he is. He can't feel his legs. More radio static. His body moves forward, space tightening until he's forced into that wide-open warehouse room again. The walls are a shade of green that twists his stomach into knots. Static . Lights too dim.
Someone calls out his name.
Marvin looks forward, hazard mask foggy. It doesn't have eyes, but It is looking at him.
It moans. The thing unleashes a mouthless scream. Unnatural limbs bend and twist like broken pipes, shaking the floor with every step forward.
It screams his name.
Marvin feels nothing but raw terror. His body is no longer his own to control, turning, immediately tripping on a step-down that's closer than it should be. Shouldn't this hallway be longer? Nothing is right in this place. The thing that isn't a person gets closer, screams echoing through ever-narrowing halls. Screams become cries with every closer footfall. He wants nothing more than to go home.
He closes his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, but it doesn't come. The screams are gone, replaced with labored breath and the echo of a gunshot growing distant. Marvin struggles to look over his shoulder. The not-person is a person now, his friend , hazard suit dyed red with splattered blood.
"Marv… hel- help me, please. "
Marvin can't. He can't do anything, limbs like lead while Mark lies dying on the ground. Fucking useless.
"I don't want to die..."
His ears are ringing. Another voice joins Mark's, but this one is familiar too, still begging for Marvin's help. "Y ou have to tell them- you have to. "
Black stains crawl up the walls. It’s organic. It doesn’t make sense.
Marv?
The screaming comes back. His friends are gone, and the not-person hangs over him, howling, howling, howling. Laughing and crying all at once.
Marvin-
He begs God to make it stop, but the creature wracks his body, flinging him aside like a dog with a chew toy.
MARVIN-
“Marvin, wake up! ”
He gasps awake, sitting up violently enough to slant his breath into an unruly cough. Kim doesn’t let go of his shoulder, no longer shaking him but easing him back down onto the sleeping mat.
“Calm down. Please, before you wake everyone up.” Kim leans closer as she whispers. “You were yelling in your sleep.”
Marvin’s heart pounds. As he takes in his surroundings, anxiety begins to ebb, and memories of yesterday flow back into place like debris settling on the seafloor. Peter, Mark, the lockdown… right. Right. None of it is right , but it’s a reality easier to stomach than a twisted dream.
The meeting room is dim, chairs stacked aside for mats and the sleeping bodies of his coworkers. No one said a word when they set up the room this way. They were all still reeling from the shock and terror of everything that shouldn’t have happened. The verdict of a lockdown was accepted begrudgingly by staff, but everyone seems somewhat content with the decision now, either asleep here in the meeting room or having found somewhere to be alone.
…All except for the tired eyes glaring at him. Kim gleans him with mostly tired worry, but George is having none of this and neither is Ronald.
Marvin looks between them and clears his throat. “Sorry. Nightmare.”
“Don’t be.” Kim leans away, blocking his view of the two as she turns to them. “He’s been through a lot, just go back to bed.”
Easily enough, they comply. George pulls a thin sheet over his head and Ronald makes due with turning around to face the wall. Kim, however, stays where she is. Marvin sits up with her. The phantom weight of an oxygen canister hangs heavy on his back. Today, it was worn much longer than usual.
“Are you okay?”
“...Yeah.” he lies, but that doesn’t last. “Same nightmare I told you about before. It grabbed me.”
“You mean the thing in the house again?”
“Yeah. That.” Marvin looks away, staring at patterns in the carpet. “Mark was there this time.”
Against his will the memories resurface, like a drowning animal gasping for air. Marvin closes his eyes as if to look away from the images of flashlights shining onto thick red blood spilled over concrete. His heart beats in his throat. The room is quiet, but the gunshot of a Remington 870 rings in his ears.
Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop it.
Kim frowns, looking down at the carpet with Marvin. She pats his back sympathetically. Silence drags on as a few beats pass between them. By some mercy, Marvin’s breathing slows, and the following sigh is quiet enough not to bother the others again.
“I don’t think you want to try to sleep again after that. Do you?”
Go back to the depths of the unknown, where his friends are getting mutilated in front of him, where some not-person thing is gonna scream and chase him to the ends of the earth?
“No, I don’t think I do.”
Kim shifts, moving to sit on her knees. “I saw Dawkins in the break room. We could check on him.”
Better to make himself useful to someone else than wake everyone up again. Marvin nods and smooths down the more ruffled parts of his hair as she helps him up. He traces her calculated steps over strewn limbs and snoring coworkers- Waking a few friends with his own nightmare is one thing. Waking someone up by stepping on their fingers is a whole other monster.
On second thought, there are much nastier monsters out there.
Marvin’s shoulders relax as Kim closes the door without a sound.
One fluorescent light illuminates the hall, a foreign sight in a place that’s been lit like a spotlight for as long as he’s worked here. Down the length of the hall, a tiny strip of light streaks across the tile floor from the break room door.
Anthony leans back in his office chair, a thin cloud of cigarette smoke billowing from his lips. He stares at nothing in particular, bobbing his cigarette between the fingers of one hand and holding a cup of coffee perfectly still in the other.
His eyes are the only part of him that moves when Kim and Marvin step in.
“Hey.” Marvin pulls out two chairs, sure to let Kim sit first. Small favors. Stillness occupies as much of the room as they do.
“Good morning, Mr. Leigh. You- …look terrible. ” The coffee mug makes a sharp clink as it's placed onto the table. Their supervisor was never one to beat around the bush.
Marvin’s eyes sting as they’re greeted with harsher light. He blinks a few times, reaching up to rub his eyes and quickly smooth down his ruffled hair. His clothes are equally as disheveled, in desperate need of ironing. The usual biting anxiety of being less than presentable refuses to wake; he can’t care all too much about something so trivial, not when compared to everything else they’ve seen today. There are greater things to worry about.
The comment is brushed off with exasperation as Marvin absently pushes loose documents to the edge of the table. “It’s morning?”
“3:32 a.m., to be exact.”
Joy.
Awkward silence is mercifully filled by Kim drumming her fingers. “Have you slept?”
“Not a wink, and I don’t plan on it.” Casually as ever, Anthony leans back into his chair again. The look in his eyes changes; less calculated, more relaxed. “Insomnia. You get used to it.”
It could serve to explain, at least somewhat, why Anthony almost always looks like a deer staring down headlights. A familiar creeping feeling crawls up Marvin’s spine, unease threatening to make itself known through fingers awkwardly fumbling his sleeve.
“Guess I’ll have to. I, uh- I’ve had some nightmares after the… thing. ” Marvin rotates his forearm, imitating the otherworldly twitching of the not-person they’d seen on tape. Horrors don’t need names to be known. “It happened again tonight.”
The fresh reminder of those inhuman wails makes it tempting to never fall asleep again. Still, a nagging fatigue won’t leave him.
“Mhm. I see.” Without skipping a beat, or an ounce of hesitation, Anthony seems to try his damndest to scare away Marvin’s fatigue himself . “You know, I worry about you after all of that. Chased by whatever that was, and then, to watch Mark be so brutally attacked-”
Marvin fights the urge to cringe. No nonsense with Dawkins.
He doesn’t get the chance to shake off phantom sensations of Mark’s full weight bearing down on his shoulders, a trail of blood leading all the way to the Threshold, the deep howling and gurgled coughs of unknowable agony, Mark’s guts hanging out of his own body and-
Stop thinking about it stop thinking about it-
“The two of you are close.”
Mark don’t- Stop- Don’t shoot him- A gunshot rings out, as loud and fast as his heart thrums. Marvin, I’m alive, my wife and kids- you need to tell them that I’m alive, they need to know- Mark? Mark- Mark, can you hear me? No no- HELP-
STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.
Marvin forces himself to speak past the tightening lump in his throat.
“Don’t- Please , don’t.”
To his regret, Kim must’ve seen his breath quicken. She speaks with the edge that Marvin wishes he had. “Can we- Listen . It’s late for this kind of talk, let’s change the subject.”
By now, most of their coworkers were cleared to listen to what happened over communications.
Kim’s work did not go unfinished before she heard Mark on the radio comm, his desperate pleas filling the crackling of the weak signal and the gunshot that followed. She heard Peter, too. Tonight’s bloodshed hasn’t left her unscathed, and the same horrors that don’t need names to be known don’t need to be seen to be known either.
Dawkins’s brow twitches, almost like he’s hurt about this ‘discussion’ being brushed off, but their advisor complies.
Wait. Not yet. He can’t forget- “Uh- before- before we do that… Have we heard anything? About Mark?”
Marvin braces himself for the answer. All he can think of is blood, dripping off his hazmat suit, staining his hands in the changing room. There was too much to avoid touching. Too much spilled.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
“I was just about to mention…” Anthony taps the ashes from his cigarette. Marvin’s heart drifts as the ashes do. The second-long pause drags on for a year. “He’s still alive.”
“Oh thank God. ” Every knot of tension releases, anxious nausea fading, as Marvin practically collapses into his own hands, speaking into his palms. He’s alive. He shouldn’t be, but he’s alive. “ God- oh my God.”
“Mhm. He’s a lucky one.” Anthony frowns. He looks past them at nothing in particular, disquietude in his eyes. “Let’s hope he stays that way.”
Please stay that way, Mark. Hang in there.
It gets a relieved laugh out of Kim. Maybe more nervous than relieved.
“Mhm. He’s too stubborn to go down easy.” She adds.
Too stubborn for his own good. Too stubborn to stay down, really. Marvin can already hear his complaints over a crackling phone line about orders to rest, diet changes, and how boring it is not to be out there mapping the Complex.
Marvin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s looking forward to hearing that. Now, they just have to get there.
Hang in there.
“I’ll let you know when we hear any updates.” Anthony crumbles his cigarette into an ashtray. He pushes it to the edge of the table with the documents, scooting forward and sitting up straight in the process.
“Thank you.”
Marvin readjusts too, revealing his face again while still resting on his folded arms. Sitting back up isn’t worth the effort, not when the aching weight of an oxygen tank and a person still linger in the bones that stopped carrying them hours ago.
Time seamlessly passes, the three of them withdrawing to their own distractions.
Anthony does what he does best; quietly waiting, thinking, observing . The look in his eyes is impossible to read. The thoughts behind them could easily range between replaying the events of yesterday or simply noting that he’s never seen Marvin with his hair down. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Silence hangs heavy within the walls of Async. Darkness does not stir, and no others loyal to KV-31 wake. Not even the cold and distant clang of machinery dares to whisper too loudly.
The chicken-scratch of Kim bringing pencil to paper becomes its own lull. Without looking, Marvin knows she’s drawing flowers. Ones with intricate detail, curves of their petals and twists of their stems seamlessly reflecting her memory of them.
She must be drawing carnations.
“They’re my mom’s favorite”, she told him once, as they weaved through the biggest flower market he’d ever seen. They’d planned a weekend trip. Going with her and Mark made the stressful helter-skelter of Los Angeles worth it.
Comforting lulls and good memories make it hard to keep his eyes open.
Maybe, when they get out of here, he could get something for Mark. Mark doesn’t care for flowers, but- what was it… orchids. Mark liked the black orchids. He said they were weird looking, and that’s why he liked them.
Black orchids. He’ll have to remember that.
Something stirs at the edge of silence. Footsteps, voices, a door opening and closing. A voice becomes louder, touching him, gently shaking him by the shoulder.
Marvin?
There’s no agony this time, no yellow hallways.
“Mr. Leigh?”
His eyes drift open, expecting white office fluorescence. Instead, they’re met with the piercing gaze of Dawkins.
Marvin flinches back, a yelp escaping him as he’s already holding his hand over his heart to soothe its rapid pace. “Shit- sorry. ” He sputters.
Dawkins gives him space, sitting up from where he’d been crouching to look Marvin in the eye. His smile is poorly hidden, lip quirked up ever so slightly. “My apologies. I hate to interrupt your rest, but we’ve got a meeting to attend.”
The break room looks no different than it did last night, white walls glowing from the fluorescence above. Outside, the facility is alive. The hall lights are on, researchers pace to and fro past the door. In the subsurface level of Async, time often blurs, but the scent of coffee hanging in the air and the chatter of his nervous friends are telltale signs of the morning he’s been waiting for.
Marvin steals a glance to the side. Kim is gone, but her art remains. Black and white carnations fill a page of printer paper corner to corner. Their petals are worn with nervousness, doubtful pencil marks lining their edges.
Not far from it, where Dawkins had been sitting, is another piece of paper. At a glance, the drawing looks like a stick figure, limbs dark and twisted. The proportions aren’t right. Marvin looks away.
Too early to think about that. There are more important things to worry about. The meeting, Peter, Mark.
Carnations, black orchids- gotta remember. For Mark.
“Before we go, I have news from the hospital.” As Marvin rises on shaky knees, Dawkins wraps his arm over Marvin’s shoulder, steadying him. “Mark is still alive. Fighting, but alive.”
Marvin nods, sighing. His gait grows steadier, but Dawkins keeps hold.
“That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
“Come now, there’s much more to learn.”
That’s priority one out of the way. Next is the meeting. After that is to feel the sun again, and after that is to pick up flowers.
Slick black asphalt mirrors the sky. Drops of rain shatter it over and over, distorting the image. Black shoes trample through puddles, hurriedly making their way to their cars in the parking lot. Marvin stands still as his fellow researchers leave the building. He watches the door, waiting for Kim.
He owes her thanks for last night. For this morning, too, squeezing his hand in the dark of the meeting room as their colleague re-informed them of Mark’s critical condition.
We owe Mr. Leigh and Dr. Maxwell a great deal- their quick thinking and heroic acts last night saved lives.
Marvin doesn’t feel heroic. He doesn’t even feel useful. Flashes of Mark’s gaping wound feel like they’re his own, like some part of him has been torn away.
Bad news doesn’t come without collateral.
George, Ronald and Randall each give him a nod as they leave. He passively nods back, hoping his frown isn’t too obvious.
Kim is the last of the KV31 team to leave the building. She holds her suitcase in one hand, umbrella in the other, starting towards Marvin before he even spots her. Before he can even get a word out, her umbrella shields them both and he’s automatically walking down the steps with her.
“Thanks- I guess you had some thoughts to share too, huh?”
“Not really.” Kim leans her umbrella to the side, shielding Marvin just a little more from the downpour. “Kind of. I just thought you needed me to keep you dry.”
“Oh. I- I just wanted to thank you.”
Not that he’s complaining about the umbrella. The look in her eyes stirs as much as the disturbed puddles underfoot. She’s not like him in the way they problem-solve. She thinks it over, agonizingly , for hours and days. When that kind of time isn’t available, she does what she believes is best for everyone.
She pats his back. “No need to thank me. It’s the right thing to do.”
And Marvin? He tries to do what’s right, but a harsh worst-case-scenario never stops biting at the corners of his mind like a hungry rat, too glaringly painful and obvious to take with a grain of salt. The possibilities have only gotten worse after the incident at the pitfalls. And last night, this morning…
The meeting hangs in forethought, clinging with razor sharp claws.
I am terribly sorry to inform you all, but Mr. Tench was found deceased halfway down the hillside.
If they lied once, they could lie again.
The result of an extreme blow to the head. It appears that, while running through some brush, he failed to anticipate a sudden dip in the ground, and tragically fell forward into a large rock.
Peter isn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t die that way. Not after…
…Was a brilliant man who gave his all to this project. He would certainly not want us hindering it in his name-
They took my life from me. My wife and kids think I’m fucking dead-
Marvin, just tell me. Did they hold a funeral?
Peter’s funeral might not be the last he’s attended this year. Not if Mark-
Please stop thinking about it please please-
Cold rain sprinkles his shirt. Marvin stares at the ground, Kim a few steps ahead of him. She stops, looking back, waiting. He doesn’t look up. Cold begins to set in, not from the rain.
Wordlessly, Kim returns to his side. Her suitcase falls to the ground with a quiet thump. She wraps her arms around him, protectively holding the umbrella over them both as she squeezes him warmly. He hugs back, blinking away tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
“Go home , Marv.” She hugs him a little tighter. “Go home and rest.”
Something slips into his pocket as she pulls away.
“I’m sorry- I…” He stammers, back under the safety of Kim’s umbrella.
“You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that it’s impossible to question.
Kim holds up the umbrella between Marvin and his car door. He fumbles for the keys, fishing them out of his pocket with whatever Kim slipped to him. He holds the paper slip between his middle and index finger, shakily unlocking the door and sliding into the front seat. His suitcase is tossed into the back of the car, less troublesome than the keys.
“Drive safe, alright?” Kim rests her hand on the door, a weak smile on her lips.
He tries to copy the expression, tries whatever he can to look like he’s not about to break into a million little pieces. That’s the goal now, go home and rest.
“...I will. Thanks, Kim.”
Kim nods in return. The car door is gently shut, Marvin watching out the window as she walks to the other side of the lot. He watches until her car meets the road, disappearing down the hillside.
His watch stays vigilant until a flash of lightning snaps him out of it. Thunder rolls heavily through the sky. Marvin won’t let it remind him of anything else. He won’t. Not when he’s sleep deprived, hungry, and feeling the fresh ache of grief.
Especially not when he almost just broke down in front of his coworker. His friend.
Go home, get sleep, get a bite to eat, feed the neighborhood cats- then flowers. Then visit Mark.
And then everything else, one thing at a time.
Keys turn with a satisfying click. The car rumbles to life, front beams shining on the pavement and the faintest sound of music drifting from the radio. He motions to turn off the overhead light before he remembers the slip of paper from Kim.
Carefully, he unfolds it. It’s too thick to just be one sheet.
Kim’s carnations unravel in his fingers, scratchy gray petals given new life in the yellowish light of his old car. More space on the page was filled after the meeting, it seems. Marvin huffs, smiling.
The carnations are carded to the bottom of the collection, three slips of paper in total. The second somehow manages to get a half-laugh out of him; It’s Anthony’s drawing of the not-person. Only, now, the drawing is actually finished, with the thing’s arm surrounded by motion lines to simulate a friendly wave.
‘ Your friend wishes you well’, smooth, professional handwriting reads. ‘ Sorry for the unfortunate reminders.’
That’s one way of saying it. It’s better to laugh than to cry, at least. He’ll have to keep this one in the car. Mark’s gonna get a kick out of it.
The drawing is set aside in favor of the third.
Petals strewn from their flowers are scattered about the page, as if blown by the wind. It looks like a study of their shape. At least, it would be, if not for the hastily scribbled message in the middle.
Marvin’s heart stops.
‘They’re both alive. ’
Kim is a woman of few words. There’s little she says without a damn good reason.
Marvin absently sets the page in the passenger seat. He shuts off the radio, pulling out of the parking lot to only the pitter-patter of rain. He gazes to the face of the hill, to the brush and the rocks, the throne that Async rests on.
No police tape, nor cars, nor people. Nothing.
He drives on, following the designated path.
Go home, sleep, eat, feed cats, call Kim, flowers, Mark. Peter.
Knock Knock Knock.
Knocking incessantly at the heavy door is a difficult urge to resist. He’s waited hours and days for this moment. Hours spent praying to a God he barely believes in, crossing his fingers, pacing, hurrying through meals. The neighborhood cats were crabby with less attention than usual, but how could they know how important this is?
Maybe they did know, and they were just trying to comfort him when rubbing up against his calves. He’s not too sure about the one who bit his ankle, though.
Marvin’s had a lot to think about since lockdown.
He’s had more to think about after being turned away from the hospital the first time. It was bad timing; Mark was going through another surgery at the time. By the time surgery was complete, it would be past midnight. More operations meant a better shot at survival, but it became clear that Mark needed time.
So Marvin waited.
He’d gotten a call from Ivan Beck, of all people. He drove all the way back to Async. He returned home with a tape in hand, label harshly written in red: “CONFIDENTIAL”. The directors figured Mark deserved to know what the KV31 team learned on that rainy morning. Delivery of that information was designated Marvin’s assignment.
“Your actions have shown us that you’re the best person to trust with this, Mr. Leigh.” Clyde had said, studying Marvin. “ Your eagerness to visit him only makes this decision logical.”
‘There will be Hell to pay if you fuck this up’ was a statement that went unspoken. Ivan’s silence on the matter was heard loud and clear.
After that, Marvin kept waiting. Watching the clock obsessively, thinking about time. Trying not to think of how (or why ) someone could jump forward in time, like that wasn’t something that was supposed to belong in movies and the sci-fi books lining Marvin’s shelves. Waiting for Kim to call and distract him. Waiting for hospital staff to call him back already. Checking his bag every few hours as if the tape were going to disappear. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Knock knock.
He’s getting really tired of waiting.
If Mark’s asleep, at least he’s got a way to make waking up worth it. Plastic crinkles beneath Marvin’s fingers as he holds the bundle of fresh-cut black flowers tighter.
“ Mhm. ” From inside the room, Marvin can hear the slightest shift of blankets and equipment. “Y’can come in. Not like ‘m contagious.”
Yep, definitely woken up. He sounds so weak, so tired. It’s not like Mark, but it’s still him.
Marvin holds the orchids behind his back. The door creaks open to a dark room, blackout curtains sealing away setting sun rays, giving way to a dim blue glow. A heart monitor beeps like a metronome. Already it feels like he’s been here for hours.
A figure shifts in the darkness, partway under a comfortable looking blanket. Mark absently reaches for the bedside table until he finds what he’s looking for. Click. The top of the mattress pulls up at an angle, sitting Mark up without him having to move. Another button is pressed, and a light behind the bed flickers to life.
Just like that, Mark is sitting there in front of him. No blood, no agony, no final dying breaths. Just him .
Marvin would go through a thousand more nightmares and a million more panic attacks if it meant he’d never have to watch his friend dance with death again. That song is over now, leaving the two of them here, now, amidst the fading coords.
He can only hope this is the start of a better song.
For as alive as he is, Mark is far from full recovery. His skin is pale, save for the dark circles under his eyes. Fluffy dark brown hair is unkempt from days of bedrest. Every move he makes is made with limbs of lead, weakened in weathering surgery after surgery. Even his breath is labored.
Still, Marvin can’t help but crack a smile.
“Someone sounds a little loopy.”
By some miracle, Mark smiles back.
“Enjoyin’ the morphine high while I can.” He points to a button hooked up to a nearby IV, pressing it for emphasis.
For the first time in days, Marvin laughs. For that moment, he lives in a world where none of this ever happened. That moment is brief. “Hah- come on, don’t get yourself addicted.”
Mark laughs too, but it immediately twists into a groan of pain. He almost doubles over, hand moving to his side, resisting the urge to press down where he’d been shot. With the blankets moved aside, Marvin can see an assemblage of bandages covering the wounds, several of them wrapped completely around Mark’s midsection.
Marvin rushes to his side, roughly setting the orchids down on the nearby table. His hands hover over Mark as he twitches in pain, looking for some way to help while Mark looks for his bearings.
“ Fuck- ” He coughs, sobered. “Okay… okay. No being funny until this kicks in. My guts are still too scrambled.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry- can I help?” Marvin glances between Mark and his healing wounds with guilt. Waking him up felt bad enough, but-
“Don’t worry about it.” Mark waves it off. It’s good to know his faculties are still in order. He reads Marvin like a book by the look on his face alone. “If you wanna make it up to me, pull up a chair.”
And Marvin does, lifting the tacky green chair in the corner of the room as quietly as possible. He sets it down with the same grace, determined not to risk waking anyone else in the adjacent rooms.
Mark nods in approval. Marvin lets his shoulders relax as he settles down next to his friend, smiling weakly.
Years have passed since Marvin was last in a hospital, but there’s one thing he remembers well: Absolute boredom. Unassisted by pain, unaffected by whatever happened to be playing on the dingy TV tucked in the corner of the room.
He can’t imagine how much worse it must be in Mark’s case. Appendicitis was agony, but this? It’s gotta be a special, quiet Hell.
While Marvin’s mind stirs, Mark’s attention finally drifts to the flowers on the side table. His smirk makes a welcome return.
“Huh. Whose funeral are those for?” Mark jokingly asks, gesturing to the black blooms.
“Oh- sorry, I almost forgot. Surprise?” Marvin puts the flowers in his lap, adjusting them so Mark can look without having to strain. “Remember our trip with Kim? I- y’know, I was thinking about when we went to that flower place, and-”
Mark’s eyes widen as the realization dawns on him. Their familiarity clicks, memory bubbling to the surface, and his reaction is as priceless as Marvin was hoping for.
“You drove to L.A. on a fucking weekend for these? Marv .”
It was worth every red light, every blare of horns and every square inch of scorching road.
“But you like them, don’t you?”
Marvin remembers the day as if it were yesterday, the three of them walking single-file through the different stalls and isles overflowing with colorful foliage. ‘ What’s up with those things?’ Mark had laughed , pointing at the orchids. ‘Reminds me of those metalhead guys we saw. They’re… actually pretty cool looking.’
Mark reaches out to touch the orchids, twisting the tallest bloom around to get a good look at it. He knows, from the smile in his voice, that Mark’s words come with no bite.
“Very tasteful. Totally don’t scream ‘widow in mourning’ or anything like that.”
He likes them. He loves them, and Marvin allows himself to relax with that, leaning back in the stiff seat. They can joke around, can’t they? The pain reliever has probably kicked in by now. Hopefully.
“Oh, I also got them in case we needed to raincheck for your funeral.”
The laugh that comes this time is pain-free, relaxed and happy. A little bit of dark humor was always Mark’s favorite.
“You should have gotten some for your other friend.”
Well, okay, maybe the morphine’s a little too strong. As long as Mark’s not in pain.
“You mean Kim?”
“No, no, you know the one. Tall, dark, handsome…” Mark’s grin becomes downright devilish. “Met him on a blind date.”
Oh.
His ‘ friend.’ That one.
“Fuck off-” Marvin sputters, lightly slapping Mark on the arm. At least the mental image is funny, of some oversized not-person erratically waving a bouquet around. He’ll give Mark credit where it's due, and pay him back in full. “ Okay, okay, that reminds me- Anthony gave me this little drawing, let me show you…”
Marvin reaches into his bag, fingers brushing past the plastic edges of a VHS tape to grab the slip of paper he’s looking for.
There are other things they’ll have to talk about. Right here, right now, should be cherished. In another world, they might have never gotten to spend it together. Peter, doubt, terror and lies come later. This moment is theirs to have. Marvin refuses to take that away. Not yet.
And so the night crawls forward, the two of them stifling their laughter about drawings of things that shouldn’t exist. Mark doesn’t ask and Marvin doesn’t tell of what he’s missed. They cruise through better memories, from the impossible sprawl of the Complex to the wonders of the world they belong in. Who else has visited? and Remember that really weird pillar in room 7A?. The tacky chair is scooted even closer. Mark teases Marvin and he halfheartedly teases back. The stars keep moving, and their conversation drifts. Not from lack of subject matter, but in contentment.
After some time, the bed light automatically turns off.
The night is untroubled.
His watch reads 8 A.M.
Randall Tachi is just on time, exactly the way he likes to be. There’s been too many disruptions lately. Way too many.
His pace is brisk as he leaves the elevator, navigating numbered corridors to the right room. For a hospital, the atmosphere is friendlier than he’d expect. Morning sunshine dapples through the open windows, workers make their way to where they’re most needed. Two nurses are gossiping at a desk where no one waits for them.
A notation repeats in his head like a mantra:
Second floor, room B24, Mark Blume.
Ad infinitum until the wall plaque is in sight. Patient Room B24, Mark Blume.
He takes in a deep breath before carefully turning the knob. It’s still quite early, he wouldn’t want to wake up the poor man. If Mark is sleeping, he’ll just have to…
Huh.
Randall peeks through the crack in the door. Mark is still sleeping, but he’s not alone.
Marvin Leigh rests right next to him, awkwardly curled up in an uncomfortable looking chair pushed up against the bed. There’s no mistaking that he’s asleep too, limp and leaning towards the bed with his hand resting on the edge of it.
Even in sleep, Marvin’s fingers loosely intertwine with Mark’s.
Randall quietly shuts the door.
He’ll come back later, then. They need their rest.
It’s the best sleep Marvin’s had in weeks.
Sure, he aches down to his bones from sleeping in such an awful position, but this time the nightmares were absent. No waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, no trouble getting to sleep or problems waking from it. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure when they passed out.
They , because Mark agrees that it’s the best rest he’s gotten since being rushed to the hospital. He’s in pain too, just in harsher places. Much harsher places. Ones that call for medical intervention and constant need for assistance.
Marvin hadn’t planned on staying overnight, but that’s not a bad thing when it helps Mark relax through invasive morning check-ins. He’s learned a lot about just how badly Mark was hurt, and how lucky he is to have survived. Mark’s own complaining and venting after breakfast was welcome in its own right.
Thank God, Marvin’s lost count of how many times he’s thought that to himself. Thank God he’s here to say it.
Apparently, a kidney transplant may be in store for his future. His intestines are worse for wear, making eating an apparent ordeal, and his liver took a hit from a stray pellet. Part of his pelvis was badly damaged, but Mark tells him offhandedly that the doctors are thinking about calling in a specialist for that. He may yet walk again.
But it’ll be at least a few months. After that, there’s no guarantee he’ll ever be back to ‘normal’.
If he wants to go back, at least the Complex made itself wheelchair accessible.
“Whatever you need, I’m here for you.” Marvin’s hand rests on the bed not far from Mark’s. His fingers twitch. “We’re still on the same team.”
Quietly, Mark rests his hand on top of Marvin’s again. He looks down, then away to the window.
“I’m not the only one sitting out.” He says distantly. “We’re still missing one. I figured, last night, you didn’t want to focus on that-”
“I didn’t.” The confession is quick and clean. There’s no avoiding the elephant in the room, or the shadow of that night looming in their memories. It was better not to talk about it for Mark’s sake. Maybe his own, too.
Marvin can only run from this talk for so long.
There’s no better way to say this other than just saying it-
Mark looks startled when Marvin stands up suddenly. It scares away the creeping feelings of dread. He locks the door to keep the thoughts, and the rest of the world, away.
“Uh, Marv?”
There’s no way around this. Only through.
He reaches into his bag. The tape is the first thing to meet his fingers. With the room secure, he holds up the tape where Mark can see it. CONFIDENTIAL .
“There was a- a presentation, a few hours after everything happened.” Marvin explains as he walks across the room, dragging another chair with him to reach the VHS player on the TV’s high shelf. “They told us everything. About what happened, about you- ab- about Peter. And they recorded it.”
Mark’s brow furrows. “And Beck wanted me to see it, I’m guessing?”
“Yeah. I was- I mean, I think they assigned me to tell you, if that makes sense.”
Mark doesn’t respond, instead staring intently at the TV as it lights up. Sharp blue hue is reflected over white tiles. The VCR whirs and growls, joining the quiet cacophony of equipment in the room. Marvin pushes frazzled locks of hair behind his shoulders as the longer strands drift to the static of the screen.
Mark’s heart monitor beeps faster.
“Alright. Let’s see it.”
The heart monitor hasn’t slowed down. If anything, it’s ringing faster now. Mark’s look is one of betrayal when the tape clicks to a stop and the screen goes blue again. His fingers rest stiffly over bandaged wounds, resisting the urge to scratch and claw at them, like answers can be found in his own blood.
Marvin can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. When angry, Mark is best left to his own devices. That’s not an option now. There’s more than just anger to deal with here.
Their livelihoods and mortality sit on display, echoed in the blue pixels of a story now finished. It’s prose, hollow hopes offered in the end of a tragedy that can’t be undone. Mark deserves better than to deal with this, deal with what Marvin had to deal with on that rainy morning, to be told that Peter-
“ Bullshit. ” Mark growls through gritted teeth. “Do they actually take us for fucking idiots? He got away!”
Marvin is forced to swallow the nausea wriggling its way up his throat. He won’t look at Mark, can’t, not when his mind is out in the rainy lot again, every thought moving a mile a minute while time crawls forward.
But he has to say something.
Potential words and phrases walking the line between ‘ friend talk’ and ‘ coworker talk’ grapple with one another on the precipice of what could be a disaster made worse.
“...Marv. Relax. ”
He lets go of breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. An attempt to look at Mark is made, Marvin’s eyes darting between the floor and a person he can’t bear to disappoint. Despite it all, the anger in Mark’s voice is weighed down in a wet blanket of exasperation.
“This is- I just… I should keep my cool, but you need to keep yours. I need you to have a clear head for this.”
There’s a sense of importance in that, something greater than what Ivan presented to him in cold words. ‘ You will deliver this without another soul hearing it’, as if the orders were reccountings of an event that already happened.
Steeling his heart and mind, Marvin forces himself to look up. “For what?”
Mark doesn’t give him the chance to look away. He stares him dead in the eye, a fire in his gaze.
“Marvin. What are you gonna do?”
A lot of assumptions could be made with such a simple statement. It’s an important question all the same. There’s been too much time to think in the last few days. Think and wait, think and wait, nursing the gnawing urge to escape. Marvin chooses the easiest path. It’s not a lie, but it can’t be the answer that Mark is looking for.
“I… I don’t know.” But he does , doesn’t he? “I’ve been thinking of maybe taking some time off, after all this-”
Mark, doing his damndest not to look frustrated, still pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. “Marvin, no. What are you going to do? About Peter?”
A large rock. Now, a hard place.
“I… I don’t know if my hand belongs in this.”
Kim knew. Mark knows. Marvin knows. The directors know, and yet they still lied to everyone.
Those implications chill him to the core. Heat crawls up his neck, fear taking hold in his throat. Marvin begs to nothing that can listen- Why me, of all people? Not-persons, an endless sprawl of yellow hallways, a death covered up, government conspiracy, a man forsaken- this shouldn’t be his story. The heart cries, you know better. The head screams, run away.
And Marvin?
Marvin knows what’s right and wrong. Company policy be damned, the Complex be damned, the Project be damned.
Mark be damned, because he laughs. Curt, short, to the point. He shakes his head while reaching over to an array of buttons, raising the bed as far as he can sit up without it hurting like Hell.
“You’re the asshole who ran into the Complex untethered to save a stranger. You’re the one who met whatever the fuck that thing was and lived to tell the tale.” Mark laughs again, a lighter huff. His gaze moves past Marvin, back to the window. “No, no- you’re the idiot who carried my dying ass to Standard. You saved my life.”
Emotions surge like wildfire blown down a mountainside. Marvin feels like an animal, scratching and scrabbling at nothing, trying to run, to hide from heat biting at his heels.
He snaps, voice louder than he wants it to be. “And Peter almost took it from you!”
They can’t ignore that little detail, can they? The barrel was pointed at Marvin, too. Peter was willing to take the most dangerous path at that moment. He refused to put down the gun, almost fucking killed Mark- what’s stopping Peter from doing it again, in the name of protecting himself? He could he could have just talked to them, it would have-
Marvin feels himself flinch as Mark yells back.
“Because they fucking TORTURED HIM!” In the same breath, Mark whimpers. His hands find his wounds again, crumpling in on himself as he cringes in agony. “ Fuck, fuck… ”
The wildfire is gone in a puff of smoke. Marvin rushes over from where he’d been pacing, fumbling for the bed’s adjustment buttons, one arm embracing Mark’s back while the other quickly works to lower the bed again.
Marvin starts, “I’m-”
“Sorry.” Mark coughs, wheezing for the both of them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He carefully lays Mark back in a comfortable position, handling him as if he were glass. “I’m… I think I’m scared.”
Mark hums. A few moments pass as his breaths become stable again, Marvin passing the time with reassuring rubs to his friend’s shoulder. The kindness is supplemented with an occasional squeeze.
“...I know you are. I am, too.”
It’s hard to tell where the truth ends and the lies begin, complicated by not knowing where to start searching for Peter, if searching is even possible. He may not want to be found. He could do whatever it takes not to be found. He was a cornered animal then, but now he’s gotta be on the move, far away from the shadows that won’t hesitate to tear away his tongue. His family. His life.
Peter was unstable, but…
“Peter did what he had to do.” Mark’s voice is raspier this time. Anger is gone, reshaped into a sense of purpose. He sounds the way he does when they’re planning an expedition. “He’s still our friend, and you know it. You’re not a fucking idiot, you know this isn’t right. I’m gonna be locked up here for a while, but you…”
Mark lets out a sigh. His expression is pointed like an accusation.
“I know you, Marv. You’ve never not done something.”
Mark is bullheaded, impulsive, and sometimes an asshole… but he’s rarely wrong. He’s always had the best intentions, for as much fear and blood his worst decisions have wrought.
Marvin E. Leigh, researcher on project KV31. The one who found John Doe. The one who watched Peter turn a corner and disappear. The one who met a monster and lived to tell the tale. The one who carried Mark back to Standard, near collapse from exhaustion and covered in gore.
The one who drove to Los Angeles on a weekend to get flowers for his friend.
Mark, team leader and dear friend, who trusts him.
Who is Marvin to let trust falter when it’s gotten them this far? If they can’t trust the directors, who can they trust but each other?
Still his heart beats like thunder in his chest, a deep and primal rhythm. Mark’s heart monitor chirps in lockstep.
One more time, Mark takes Marvin’s hand. He props it up firmly this time, elbow resting on the bed rail while their palms are clasped, like they’re making a deal. Maybe they are. Dark brown eyes peer right into Marvin’s soul.
“So, tell me.” Mark’s lip quirks up in a familiar smug smile that Marvin will never get tired of. “What are you gonna do?”
There’s a lot that should have been done already.
An image of the rainy hillside manifests. No blood or bodies ever soaked into that ground. The bushes and shrubs may have felt the grip of desperate fingers shoving them aside, an animal running through them for its life. Prey with too much to lose.
Marvin was prey, too, in that dank shadow of a house where no person lived. In desperate flight, there was one place he wanted to be more than anywhere else.
Home.
“I don’t know, but…” Marvin mumbles. Sunlight glares between the window shutters, nearly blinding, but he can see the hills beyond these white walls.
“I think I know where to start.”
Get the tape, kiss Mark goodbye, go home, nap, eat, shower, dishes, make sure VCR records Law and Order, feed cats, back on the road.
That’s most of the checklist done. Marvin reviews it once, twice, three times as he pulls out of the driveway. He pats the satchel in the passenger seat to check for the tape with absolute certainty.
Seatbelt. Can’t forget the seatbelt. One of the strays with a half-bitten ear stares curiously as he pulls out of the drive, her two friends happily feasting on the kibble they’d been given. With any luck, it’ll hold them over for most of the day. As long as they share.
It’s a little easier to think about cat politics than his destination.
Marvin fishes out an old invitation from the middle compartment as his car glides through the neighborhood. Asking anyone else for this is too risky, and for once his habit of hoarding papers in odd places is paying off. The invitation is neatly handwritten, Peter’s address inked down with clarity.
‘ Barbeque at the Tench house ’ is a beacon for memories that Marvin fails to ignore. ‘ Hope to see you there, Marv! ’ is written more sizably than the rest of the note.
He wills his gaze to stay glued to the address, memorizing it.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
An impossible task, at any rate.
Marvin’s friends laugh in the heat of a summer evening, sharing drinks and stories. Smoke rises from a nearby grill, carrying with it the scent of hot dogs and burgers. Mark passes him a cold beer, winking, but Marvin passes it back, playfully shoving him. They both laugh a little more. Mark comes back with sweet tea instead.
Clyde keeps distance, looking to the setting sun and the shadows that stretch across the mountains.
Two kids chase each other around the porch, a little girl prodding her brother with a plastic toy sword. The family dog ambushes them both, tackling the brother and jumping back up just as quickly to snatch the girl’s toy. Peter looks on at his children warmly, settling next to Marvin.
“You know, we’re really lucky to work where we do.” he says, clinking his glass with Marvin’s. “The world is gonna be a better place here soon.”
“Let’s hope so.” Marvin nods. “We’re lucky already. I know we’re not really supposed to talk about pay, but- it’s nice. To be comfortable, I mean.”
“You betcha. It’s a privilege we were lucky to earn.” Peter pauses to take a sip of his drink, glancing back at Clyde as he does. “It’s funny how I can’t answer questions about work, though. My kids think I’m a secret agent.”
That gets a laugh from the both of them.
“Don’t you wanna settle down at some point?” Peter asks innocently. Still, the question chases away the lax feeling that Marvin was enjoying. “Find a girl, have a couple of kids? They’re an adventure.”
Marvin laughs nervously, feeling interrogated. Circumstance is merciful, to his relief.
Peter’s wife, Christine, calls her husband’s name from the back door. He gives Marvin a quick nod and a firm pat on the back before hustling to her aid.
Traffic isn’t so bad today. The amount of roads that needed repaving and bridges that needed repairing after the quake can’t be counted on two hands, but things have gradually improved. Driving is usually a way of clearing his head, but today…
The radio hasn’t helped. Sports commentary, new songs, old songs, talk shows- it’s all more cause for headache than distraction.
Marvin checks the address again. He’s on the right track. A long stretch of highway ahead, his mind drifts again.
Peter turned the corner and couldn’t be found. They searched, searched, days on end, Marvin reaching the ends of multiple tethers all on his own. Kim had to practically drag him out of the Complex on the final day.
Days became weeks. A missing persons case became the lone fatality of a car wreck. It was almost justifiable, standing on the line of closure and deceit. The Project would be safe. The family would allow themselves to mourn.
He’s seen what the Hallways do to bodies. That kid, sitting up with his eyes still open, body deflated by creeping black rot…
No matter which story was told, truth or lie, Peter’s casket would have been closed.
At the funeral, Peter’s pastor spoke, but no comforting words about compassion and heaven would chase the images of endless hallways and the thrum of the Threshold from the back of Marvin’s mind.
God is not here.
Peter’s daughter sat stone-faced. His son cried in his mother’s arms, and Christine, faced now with raising the two on her own, willed herself to be strong for them. Insurance would only cover so much. They’d have to leave their home after some time.
“I’m sorry”, Marvin felt himself whisper as he and Christine hugged. He’s sorry for so much more. For not being able to find Peter, for the life they’re about to lose. “I’m so sorry. ”
YOU HAVE TO TELL THEM, another memory screams. MY WIFE AND KIDS, THEY NEED TO KNOW I’M-
Marvin swerves, car lurching violently and nearly hitting the tail light of a nearby truck. Instinctive anger provokes him to push down full force on the horn, berating the corvette that just cut him off.
The corvette driver responds with a middle finger out the window, leaning his head out to give Marvin a full view of the smug little shit’s stupid hairstyle and infuriating existence.
He’s tempted to respond in kind, knuckles white on the steering wheel, but he knows better. Some things are a blessing in disguise, if disrupted guilt is anything to go by.
There are more important things to focus on. The corvette eventually disappears into a sea of traffic with all the other things that are best left forgotten.
Not the address, though. Marvin impulsively checks it again.
He’s close. Too close to get lost in memories again. The radio comes to life, turned down a few notches but loud enough to hear the words. Being annoyed is a lot easier than thinking of anything that’s going to make this more difficult than it already is.
The Tench family’s driveway is empty. A maple tree towers high in their front yard, its highest leaves drifting in the breeze, shadow cloaking the front yard in shade.
As he pulls into the driveway, newspaper images of a totaled car drift at the edges of Marvin’s thoughts. Christine is lucky they got an extra car for her when they did. It must be in the garage.
His car slumbers again with a turn of the keys. Marvin shuts the door quietly, hoping not to startle anyone in the home.
If Peter is here, he’s not going to be keen on a surprise visit.
Marvin meanders up to the entryway, satchel over his shoulder and thumbs in his pockets. The shadow of a plan is recited in his head several times over with the little time he has until it unfolds.
Find Peter, show him the tape, don’t be stupid, don’t get shot.
If he isn’t home, show Christine the tape. Tell her everything. Don’t get caught.
Don’t get caught, don’t get shot. Act naturally.
You’re walking on even ground.
The front door looms over him, a fisheye peephole staring down in imminent judgment. Marvin takes in a deep breath, slowly blowing it out through his nose, before ringing the doorbell.
One second passes. Two. Three. At least a full minute goes by before Marvin dares to knock on the door. They must not want visitors, but this is too important. The first knock is weak, but the second two are as firm and reasonably loud as he’ll dare to make them.
On the third knock, the door creaks open.
Marvin steels his terror, strangling it in hands neatly held behind his back.
No one appears from behind the door, though. Christine isn’t waiting for him there, nor is Peter or even one of the kids.
“Uh… Hello?”
Nothing.
The back yard is silent. A family dog that should be there hasn’t made the slightest peep at Marvin’s arrival. She’d barked to the whole neighborhood about him, and every other arrival, back at the barbeque.
So what now?
Don’t get caught, don’t get shot, don’t get caught, don’t get shot-
The door hadn’t been locked, let alone closed. It could mean someone broke in. Or maybe the kids forgot to shut it when they left for school. It’s not safe either way.
“Hey! I’m- I’m coming in now.”
Another deep breath in, another deep breath out. He reaches forward and pushes the door wide open, hesitantly stepping headfirst into the hall.
“Christine?” Marvin calls out. No response. “Carter? Nicole? It’s me- I work with… your dad…”
The words trail off as the realization dawns: No one is home.
Their house was always a beautiful one. Christine’s eye for interior decorating is impeccable, but her hand-picked paintings and designer lamps now rest unobserved by the family she placed them for. Every step forward feels like that of a thief’s. A familiar feeling stalks him. Something deep inside whispers, you aren’t supposed to be here.
I think I found them-
Hello? Can you hear me?
Marvin shakes his head, shooing away the memories. Whatever could be waiting for him here, it’s not a… well, not a not-person.
The signs of life are less than assuring, though.
He walks through the hall, past the vacant living room and to the kitchen. White tile remains unswept. Dishes are still piled in the sink, a small swarm of gnats fluttering around them and fighting with flies for the remaining food scraps.
This isn’t right.
The wall phone draws his attention. If he needs to, he could call Kim- Marvin creeps up to it, pulling it from the base, but the tone is silent and the coord has no give. He pulls further to find that it’s not even attached, wire sliced in half and dangling lifelessly.
Absently, the phone is set back on its resting place. This really, really isn’t right.
As he moves further through the house, Marvin realizes that almost all of the doors are open. Some of the lights are still on, too.
“...Hello? Anyone?” Still no response. Better to make sure, though.
In a kid’s bedroom, belonging to who Marvin can only guess is Carter, clothes are strewn all over the floor from an open closet. On the bedside table rests a molding bowl of cereal with a spoon still in it. Some toys are strewn about, too, but he’s not sure what to expect from a little kid.
With every step, a clear order of events takes shape. Marvin doesn’t like where this is going. He might not have to tell Christine much of anything at this rate.
Heart pumping too loud for his own comfort, Marvin rounds the laundry room and finds himself in the master bedroom of the home. Closet open, and the dog’s crate is missing from the corner of the room where it’s supposed to be, where he watched Peter kennel up their pooch at the end of a wonderful night.
He starts to turn, a pit in his stomach growing heavier, but a glint of metal near the bed catches his eye. Marvin takes a few apprehensive steps into the lion’s den, examining what remains.
An open lockbox sits on the floor, reflecting sunlight beaming in from the window.
The box is empty. Mostly.
Two bullets gleam at the bottom, forgotten in what must have been a rush. Small, maybe 10mm. They belong to a handgun that isn’t there.
Peter’s familiar with arms, and by the looks of it, won’t be afraid to defend himself again.
Goosebumps crawl over Marvin’s skin, but he soothes them down with a slow swipe of his hand. Peter’s desperate, but he’s not a vicious killer. Not a madman. He’s got every reason to run and hide, and even more reason to not want to be found. His family is part of that now. Prey on the run.
But like fast-acting venom, a single thought seizes him.
One wrong move, and what’s to stop Marvin from becoming another liability?
What’s to stop the predator from wrapping its jaws around prey that got too close, too curious, too careless of the paths of those that came before it?
His hand moves back to his satchel, checking it again for the confidential tape.
…They trust him. He can blend in, for now, hopefully for a long while. There are too many good people working on KV31 to turn tail and bail on them, not when the danger isn’t immediate.
Not yet, memory of the not-person whispers.
Stop thinking about it. Shut up.
Maybe you should think about it, the memory replies.
Marvin walks back out, retracing his tracks down the hall. Every possible detail to observe makes the story clearer; a peek into the garage confirms suspicions that Christine’s car isn’t there. Most of the blinds are closed, or sloppily pulled down.
Peter didn’t die on that hill. He kept moving through the wilderness and on the sides of roads, ducking through shortcuts. On foot, if he was fast enough, he would have made it back to this area at some point after dark, Marvin guesses.
Dishes left in the sink. Lights left on. Clothes all over the kid’s room. Master bedroom closet left open. Lockbox left open. A quick glance into the bathroom confirms more suspicions- the kids’ toothbrush cups are empty.
Peter got home sometime in the early morning. He told them everything, or as much as he could, gathered his bearings, and the family scrambled together what belongings they could before getting the hell out of dodge. Peter took his gun, hopefully to protect his family. He’s no detective, but Marvin dreads the off chance that this could have been another hostage situation with that gun involved. But that route would have shown more of a struggle. Maybe?
Hard to tell, at this point.
Two things are clear: Peter got away, and Marvin shouldn’t be here.
Just like that, the plan slips between his fingers.
Don’t get shot, don’t get caught. There’s no better time to leave than such a time as this. Goosebumps creep back up, and this time, Marvin listens to them, hustling to the door.
Except.
He missed something.
Marvin stops dead in the middle of the kitchen. On the counter, shards of… some kind of gadget are piled next to a VHS tape. A corner of the tape is dented, but nothing on the inside looks unplayable.
He creeps closer, dragging his feet like there’s a trap waiting. That’s what it feels like. That’s what all of this has felt like.
The tape weighs down a slip of paper. Notes are hastily scribbled across its surface, some partially scratched out. Marvin reads it first, eyes darting for something that’ll tell him more, about where Peter could have gone. He refuses to go back to Mark or Kim empty-handed.
Around the top of the page are sketches of a dark figure, peeking awkwardly around corners and bending in a way wholly unnatural. Not a person.
That’s not right- that’s- Peter couldn’t have seen one when he escaped into the Complex, could he? No, no, he would have mentioned it during the ambush.
‘The Complex - Async halls - exit sign. Copying us?
Walking corpse? Mirrored Twisted. Arrows. Second lateral division. Chair.
It hunts.
Exit in the sky
Fate or luck?’
‘I know you’re reading this, friend.’
Marvin’s blood runs cold.
‘They will spill more blood. Show the world.’
Breath shaky, Marvin’s gaze drifts to the tape. He picks it up as if it were made of glass. Its label is unremarkable, written in faded sharpie.
‘7/4/91
Scene 7
Kane Pixels’
Peter isn’t the only liability. He found something. He knows something that they don’t. Kim’s going to want to see this. Mark, too.
Marvin snatches the tape and starts for the door, shoving the note into his bag as quickly as possible, locking and shutting the door behind him.