Chapter Text
The thing’s claws were buried deep inside her chest. Her mouth was wide open, screaming, and there was something running down her face that was far too hot and sticky to be tears.
She simply stood there, unable to move, as she felt herself being sucked away through those claws and into that thing made of shadows. She finally felt its arm pull back and the holes in her chest were suddenly empty. She collapsed to the ground in a heap and curled up, whimpering softly. The thing seemed to be… changing. It was shrinking, turning paler, growing hair. It was beginning to look like a woman, like a human, as its mouth opened into an animalistic grin and it moved in towards her for the kill.
Then the floor beneath her swung open like a trapdoor and she was falling, falling, falling.
The last thing she remembered were flashing, pulsing lights as her brain blacked out and she waited to die.
When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was that she was not dead. The second was that she hadn’t been hallucinating when she saw the walls shifting, oscillating. Colours were not a concept that seemed concrete here. Everywhere she looked hurt her head, but when she closed her eyes, all she could see was that shadowed creature sucking everything she was out of her.
She chose the colours.
She looked down the hallway she was sitting in, slumped against a wall. It was lined with paintings, and photos, and… were those mirrors?
She tried to stand, and her legs gave out under her before she even came close. So she crawled forward on her hands and knees until she was in line with the closest mirror she could find. The picture in it was horribly distorted, but she stared at it for long enough and was able to make out some sort of picture.
Her hair was a tangled mess. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dried blood was caked onto her face, running down her cheeks like tears would. Not only from her eyes, though - it had flowed from her nose, the corners of her mouth, even her ears.
Her clothes were crumpled, but mostly undamaged - except for her blouse, which had three ragged holes ripped into it directly below her right collarbone. The three puncture wounds that she could clearly see beneath them did not bleed. They were filled with a shadowy substance that swirled and danced inside her.
She didn’t look into any more mirrors.
She wasn’t sure when she realised she wasn’t alone anymore. Between the colours and the memories and blacking in and out of consciousness, time could not be tracked. But eventually, it was there.
Michael.
And not the convincing imitation of a human that she’d spoken to in the coffee shop. This was the real Michael, the Michael she’d only gotten glimpses of in warped glass and car windows, with its massive hands and its wavy, boneless structure. It was standing in front of her as she lay against a wall, and as soon as she saw it she flung herself to the side, trying to get away.
“What did you do to me?” she asked, fear shaking her voice, and the look on its face confused her more than any changing corridor could. It looked confused, surprised, and even - was that hurt?
“I saved you.” it said, with something strange in its voice. Desperation? Despair? Betrayal? “They were going to take you. It is - far - more comfortable here than you would be inside I Do Not Know You.”
None of that made sense, so she tried to ignore it. “Let me go. Let me out.”
Michael shook its head slightly, sending ripples through its body. “That would be… difficult.”
“I don’t care. You said you wanted to help me. Let me out.”
Michael shook its head again. “It is not so bad here. You can walk. You have a face. You may even die.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.” she muttered.
The look it gave her told her that yes, it most definitely was.
She sighed. “Look, I need to get out of here. Please.” Prentiss was attacking. Martin and Jon and Tim- oh god, Tim-
“You don’t understand- ”
“I don’t care!” She cut it off. “Let me go.”
It stared at her, a withering look in its eyes, but she didn’t back down. “ Fine. ” it snapped, and its face contorted in something that looked like anger. Suddenly, Sasha was very afraid.
It wasn’t anger, though. It was pain. She watched as Michael folded, collapsing inwards, limbs twisting until the place it had sat just a second ago was now occupied by a small, simple yellow door.
Hesitantly, she reached out and turned the handle. The door swung open on its own.
She stepped through.
-
The door opened onto a street empty of pedestrians as the sky was growing dark. It was evening. Maybe she could still get to the Institute in time to help. Hopefully Elias had turned on the fire system, but if not…
She walked towards the road on unsteady legs, nearly falling but catching herself, and hailed a taxi. It pulled over and she got in. “where to, miss… are you okay?” the driver asked, clearly noticing her face and blouse.
“The Magnus Institute.” She said, ignoring the second question.
She didn’t remember much of the drive, but it took longer than she felt like it should. She gave the driver the money he asked for and got out just as the sun was setting. Her badge let her in and she ignored the few people she encountered, clumsily making her way to the Archives. She didn’t see any worms at all, which was both comforting and unnerving. Elias must have gotten to the CO2. but how had they cleaned it all up so quickly?
She reached Jon’s office, and flung the door open. The first thing she noticed were the new scars that pockmarked his face and arms, small, circular holes. She knew immediately what had caused them.
The second thing she noticed was the look of utter confusion on his face.
“Can I… help you?” he asked, with indignation clear in his voice.
“Jon?” she asked, her voice soft. “Jon, it’s me.”
“Miss, are you sure you shouldn’t be at a hospital? There’s one nearby.” He said, sounding confused, suspicious.
“Jon, this isn’t funny.” Sasha said, worrying now. What was he doing? This had to be some sort of joke, but… why?
“Miss, I’m going to call security and get them to take you to the hospital. You’ve clearly lost a lot of blood, I don’t think you’re thinking straight.”
“Fuck security! Where’s Tim?” she demanded, backing away.
Jon looked irritated now. “The whereabouts of my assistants are really none of your concern.” He reached for his desk phone and began to dial someone, security presumably, but Sasha turned around and stumbled out of the office, her head spinning. What was happening? Why didn’t Jon recognise her?
Tim. She needed to find Tim. He would know her. He would know what was going on. She called his name, but got no reply. Jon was the only one still working. What time was it? What day was it? How much time had gone by inside those corridors?
She didn’t know. She didn’t care, not right now. She knew Tim’s flat was within walking distance from the institute. That was how he got to work. She knew the way, or something close enough to it, and so she walked, or maybe ran, but her legs moved and she was carried away by them, and even though the streets twisted and lied to her, she made her way to a familiar door outside a familiar house. On the way she had found a public bathroom and washed the blood off of her face, so at least she looked slightly less deranged. It was fully dark now, and the moon was full and shining. It definitely had not been full the night before the attack on the institute. She pushed the thought to the side and reached out to Tim’s door, knocking. She waited for almost a whole minute before it swung inwards. Tim was wearing pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt. His hair was messy, his eyes had bags under them, and his face and arms were covered in those same circular scars. He took a moment to take in her no longer bloodsoaked but still very bedraggled appearance before his face shifted in confusion.
“Can I… help you?”
Something broke inside of her then, something deep down that she had been holding down ever since she stumbled out of that impossible door onto that winding narrow street, something she had pushed and shoved into the corner of her so deep she hadn’t even realised it was there, but now it was shattered and it was all she could do not to break down sobbing there and then, on the doorstep of her closest friend in the whole world who was treating her as a complete stranger. She tried to speak, tried to make any noise at all, but the only thing that didn’t catch in her throat was a single word, whispered almost imperceptibly. “Tim?”
“Are you okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “Do I know you?”
“Tim, it’s me, it’s…” she paused, body freezing. ‘It’s Sasha.’ she tried to say, but if he heard her, if the words even left her lips, she couldn’t be sure.
With one last look at him, she turned abruptly and ran, sprinting away from that house, that man, running until she had no idea where she was and then she saw a park bench and collapsed onto it, legs giving out, and she wondered how she had remained upright for so long. She began to sob, heavy, raking breaths juddering through her entire body, and lacing them all was a question, a horrible, awful dread. Her friends didn’t know her. Somehow, they didn’t recognise her.
What was she going to do?