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“Urgh... I could so use a drink right about now.” Roland slid another book into the shelf, already long tired of this task. He had completely lost track of how long he'd been at this, which probably meant that he'd been at it way too long already. He just wanted this to be over with so he could finally swing down to Netzach's floor for that drink he'd promised him. Take a load off with a crisp, cold beer so he could finally relax. “Just a few more books,” he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time.
“Roland.” Roland startled when he heard that voice saying his name. Oh, great. Just when he thought he was nearly done. Her coming to him could only mean there was something else she wanted him to do.
“Yeah?” He called out. He looked in the direction of Angela's voice, but furrowed his brow when he realized he couldn't see her. He craned his neck, trying to angle his field of vision so he could see around the edge of the shelf if she was just out of sight. But no matter how far he turned his head, he couldn't seem to catch a glimpse of her. “What's up?”
“I need your help with something else. Can you come over here?”
Roland let out a weary sigh, and put the small stack of books he'd been shelving onto a clear section of shelf temporarily. Just until he could come back to them.
“Sure. I'm coming.”
Roland strode towards the edge of the shelf, expecting to turn the corner and see her right there judging by how distant her voice sounded. However, when he got there, he realized he still couldn't see her.
“This way, Roland.”
What kind of game was she playing with him this time? It seemed like the more human she got, the more fun she was having screwing around with him like this. Still, Roland grumbled and kept following after the sound of her voice.
“Yeah, yeah. I'm coming,” he called out in return.
What ensued felt like a very odd game cat and mouse. Only in this case, the mouse was goading on an extremely confused cat which was very reluctant to continue on with its hunt. He turned corner after corner, traversing rows and rows of shelves that lay out ahead of him. Each time he did so, it always seemed like she was just out of reach.
It wasn't like he didn't see anything . He was walking onward, and on occasion he'd catch a glimpse of something sweeping just out of sight ahead of him. The trailing end of a white coat, a fleeting suggestion of pale blue hair that floated out behind her on the breeze left behind by her swiftly moving form.
He knew for certain who he was following, but something itched at the back of his mind about the finer details that he just couldn't quite nail down.
Even Roland and his great amounts of patience could be worn down after too much of him being screwed around with, and he was definitely close to reaching that limit. He cleared his throat before swallowing it down, trying to wash away the odd taste of frustration and acridness which had started to cling to his mouth the longer he remained in pursuit of Angela.
“Alright, seriously? Are we playing some kind of game?” Roland called out to her, a bit louder than he had been speaking. He stopped fully and gripped his hand onto a shelf, looking to and fro down the aisle of shelves for the umpteenth time. “Where the hell did you g-?!” Roland lifted his hand up, ready to move again, then hesitated.
When he'd pulled his hand away from the shelf, out of the corner of his eye he could see a splash of color that hadn't been there before.
It was black. Not the same shade of deep, eye-catching black like the gloves. It was mottled and crumbly, leaving spots of his normal skin tone between the gaps. He pressed his fingertips together and rubbed them, and watched the ash flake and crumble to the ground.
Was this... soot?
He looked up again, a knot of dread forming that only tightened when he took another look at his surroundings. The shelves seemed to have disappeared, leaving large gaps that made room for more deep, yawning pits of darkness. And the shelves that remained were all splotchy with more ash and soot that blacked out the wood and the exposed spines of the books.
He breathed in sharply, and found his tongue and lungs coated with an acrid stench that made him cough that breath right back up. His stomach rumbled with discontent, and he pressed his clean hand over his mouth to suppress a gag.
His feet carried him forward, even though his mind screamed at him not to. The air shifted around him, like he was in the chest cavity of some great beast, and he was being drawn in along with the air. Down towards that great vacuum's source.
Roland couldn't see what lay before him in the depths of that pit. Not properly, anyway. But he knew its shape and that alone filled him with terror. That great, pulsing thing in the center of the room. Towering smokestacks that continuously belched out plumes of dark smog that swirled around the space and pushed their way into his mouth and nose with each ragged, panicked breath.
He shouldn't be here. He needed to turn, he had to pick up his feet and move he couldn't be here he couldn't see this damn thing again he couldn't-
He managed to lift the heel of one foot, dragging the ball of his shoe slightly backwards.
Then his back bumped into someone else's front, and hands dug into his shoulders.
“Leaving so soon, Roland?”
Roland's whole body was pitched forward and flung around and down by the sudden swinging force of those hands. His back hit the ground with enough impact to knock the breath out of him, and he panted while looking up at the one who did it.
His brain told him that this was Angela he was looking at, even if all his logic told him that this didn't look like her at all. Well, the face was the same, but hardly anything else. Her hair was much longer than the short bob she usually kept it in, down to her waist with only one small section tied up and falling to the side with a small hair tie with what looked like the head of a red teddy bear attached to it. She wasn't wearing the dark clothes that signified her as the Head Librarian, but she was in a fitted dark suit with a tight skirt, covered with a crisp white labcoat.
“Do you like how this body looks?” The voice was definitely the same, but the tone was so off it unnerved Roland the same way her appearance did. “It was Angela's original design, after all. I wanted to see how you'd react to it.” Why... was she speaking as if in the third person? “It feels like it really was worth it, putting all this on... I wonder if this long hair reminds you of anyone else at the moment, even more than the name already does.”
Roland's heart thudded in his chest, then hitched when this Angela that wasn't Angela came to stand over him, tilting her head to one side. Her eyes weren't open, that was another thing that he had noticed, but he still had the distinct feeling that she was looking directly at him even through her closed lids. And then she sat herself down atop his stomach, bringing up her hands to press into his shoulders, and then he was certain that this felt familiar in a way that made his discomfort turn to dread. Like the kind of deja vu you got after falling into a pit of snakes.
“It really is interesting how, even after your memories of that Singularity were erased, they still left such a strong impact on you that you're still afraid of even the memory,” this not-Angela mused. “It's like... When a scar turns into a scab that peels off, but you can always see the shape of where the wound used to be.” This not-Angela pressed a hand against his temple, cool skin molding around his, and slowly trailed it down to his cheek. “The human mind really is amazing, isn't it, Roland?” Then, at last, this woman sitting atop him opened her eyes. And he found himself staring into the deepest, most compassionate and warm red eyes he had ever seen, like twin pools of crimson quicksand that sucked him in and pinned him in place. Nothing at all like the cool keenness of Angela's golden eyes. She smiled down at him, stroked his cheek gently with her thumb. Then slid her hand over his mouth and nose, and even with his halted breathing that acrid stench began to intensify. “It makes me wonder just how deeply that shape has been carved into your soul... And what it would take to dig it out to see it properly. Wouldn't that just be grand, Roland... Roland... Roland...”
“Roland!”
–
Roland gasped himself awake, lungs blessedly filled with the scent of cool air. Even though the rest of his body became abruptly aware of a sense of sharp aching. Which wasn't surprising when he realized the cause of this was several books digging the corners of their spines into his back and shoulders.
Angela stood there, the real one, not any sort of unnervingly off facsimile. As was Tiphereth, who had her arms crossed over her chest, and an irate scowl across her face.
“It's about time!!” Tiphereth snapped. “I thought you were never going to wake up! You're just as bad as Netzach, bumming around napping on the ground while you're supposed to be working. You better not have damaged any of these books! Were you and Netzach drinking again?”
“I... I was... Where was I...” Roland panted, still trying to gather himself and grasp at his scattered recollections of what led him to this place. “Angela, you were...”
“Yes, I was helping Tiphereth look for you,” Angela replied without waiting for him to complete his question. He was so frazzled he wasn't even certain that was the one he had intended to ask. “... It really is the oddest thing. When Tiphereth came to ask me for help locating you, I observed all of the Library to find you... But you weren't anywhere that I could see.” Her tone was even, like this was only a curiosity, but her expression revealed more than a little unease. “... Where did you go, exactly, Roland?”
“I... I...”
Roland pressed a hand to his forehead, half hesitating because for a split second he thought that if he did, he might wipe something vile into his forehead.
“... I don't remember.”