Chapter Text
Jonathan Sims was late for work. This was highly unusual of him, of course, as he was usually a workaholic who barely even left the Archives. However, his damned alarm didn’t go off, so here he was, running through the streets of London with a piece of toast in his mouth. It was a particularly nice day though, Jonathan wouldn’t dismiss that. He eventually found his way towards a tram leading to where his work was located, and he took a second to breathe. He was never the athletic kind, and the run to the tram had tuckered him out quite a lot. He opened his phone, looking through the texts his co-workers had sent him.
Tim blabbering about lunch, Martin being the useless schmuck he usually was, and Sasha texting about some findings she had. He closed his device, as he really only used it for work purposes and when he occasionally needed to order food to the Archives when Tim, Sasha, and Martin pestered him about not eating properly.
He sighed, looking at the buildings passing as he was transported across London, when he noticed something in the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look at it, but it had apparently fled, since there was nothing there. He blamed it on a trick of the light, and went back to gazing out the window wistfully. Before he knew it, his stop had arrived, and he got off, clutching his satchel tightly.
He was most likely going to get a light scolding from Elias, as ‘The Head Archivist should have more decorum’, or something like that.
Jonathan didn’t like Elias all too much, so he usually tuned him out when it was something like being scolded. He stepped into the building, greeting Rosie quickly, before speedwalking to his office. Tim and Sasha made a few comments on his late arrival, but he ignored them, his grip tightening slightly on his bag. Martin offered him a cup of tea, which Jon reluctantly accepted.
The man’s tea really was something else. After the shared greetings, Jon finally entered his office, the old wooden door creaking as he shut himself in. He flicked the lights on, looking at the disorganized mess of an archive, and he sighed. Time to get to work.
He sat down, skimming a few statements and deciding which ones to put on his computer. He got through 3 until one decided to be a little shit and not record. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
“Great,” he murmured, reaching in his box of cassette tapes and pulling one out. He quickly checked that there was nothing on it and hit record.
“Statement of Phyllis Brewer, regarding a strange encounter in a graveyard. Statement given February 22nd, 2005. Recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement Begins.”
“I have always hated the idea of being buried alive, of your screams for help being unheard as you suffocate in a box meant to store your body, which it eventually will. Of course, I never thought I’d actually get buried alive. It happened, sure, but it was pretty much only in movies and books for me. A woman, or a man passes out, gets buried, and then she or he dies. Though the specific book I’m thinking of is one by Edgar Allan Poe. The one where the woman gets buried and has her teeth stolen? I read it after my school had assigned ‘The Telltale Heart’ to me for a reading. I quite liked it, so I sought out other works of his.
But… I should get back to the topic at hand. It was a late night, and I was going to go place flowers upon my mother’s grave, as she had died not too long ago from a fall where she had hit her head pretty badly. I was carrying a bouquet of peonies, white ones specifically. The plastic of the wrapping they had been placed in was crinkling far more than I would have liked, but it was what I had paid for, so I decided to just. Ignore it.
I got to my mothers grave, kneeling down to place them in a way I liked, as me and my mother had always preferred objects put in specific places. She had requested they lean against her grave, so I was focused on making sure they didn’t fall over, when I felt something brush my leg. I turned to look at whatever it was, however all that was on my leg was a smear of mud. I wiped it off with my hand, grimacing a bit at the texture of the mud on my hand. I stood up, pausing to give my mother the proper respects.
I was in the middle of this, when I heard the sound of squelching mud. I shivered slightly, the sound grossing me out. I turned once more, and saw nothing. At that point I was getting uneasy, because the sounds and touching was starting to become a pattern, and I’m not stupid. Or… I don’t think I am. I started to walk away, as I wanted nothing to do with whatever had decided to stalk me through the graveyard, when my foot got stuck in the ground. As if it were quicksand.
I tried pulling it out, but that only made it worse, and I had started panicking. I tried to yank my foot out of the ground more forcefully, but that only sent a shock of pain up my leg, so I relented, trying to look around for a shovel, or something. I saw a piece of metal glinting in the moonlight, and my chest lit up with hope as I leaned over to grab it. But before I could, the ground ate it. And-”
Before Jon could finish, a chill ran down his spine. It was awfully cold all of a sudden…
He presumed it was a problem with the heating, so he got up to go ask Sasha if she could fix it, as he trusted her abilities to do so. The door to his office groaned loudly as he opened it. He didn’t see Tim, Sasha, or Martin, so he presumed that the group went out to lunch. Great. He walked through the institute while rubbing his arms together to produce some extra heat, because goodness it was cold. He exited to the streets to see… nobody?
The streets of London were… entirely empty. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. He could see fog circling around, and he stared at it in confusion. It was summer. Definitely not the season for fog. It licked against his legs coolly, and began to rise. He ducked back into the Archives, where there was no fog. His breathing was quick, as the thought of how nobody was out on the streets kept circling in his mind. How was that possible? Even if it was oddly foggy out, there would still be people walking around. It was around lunch-time, afterall. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense!
And then to make things worse, an eye- literally just a large green eye- with wings appeared infront of him. He blinked at it a few times before screaming, because a floating eye should NOT be possible. And then to make things even WORSE, it began to speak to him.
“hiiiii archivist!!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) so ur probably like ‘eeek!!!! a floating eye!!!! how is that possible!!!!’ and yes we are reading ur mind lololol. anyways. we’re here to tell u that ur a cool magical person!!! we’re gonna give u a thing nd then ur gonna go kill a guy!!!! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜”
Jonathan stammered for a moment, the information being far too much too fast. Magic? KILLING PEOPLE???? “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean I’m magical?!”
The. Weird eyeball thing giggled. “u have powers silly!!! well. not yet but we r gonna give u sum!!! ₍₍⚞(˶>ᗜ<˶)⚟⁾⁾”
Jonathan flinched as a bright, glowing light blinded him, and when he could finally open his eyes again without getting blinded, he saw a pendant. There was an eye shaped trinket at the end of the chain, and it floated into his hands.
“aaand now all u gotta do is put it on!!!! do it do it do it!!! (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)”
Jon hesitantly did so, and… nothing happened. He looked at the eyeball, his expression being very unamused. “And. Now what, can I shoot laser beams out of my eyes? You’ve given me no information, which makes me very hesitant to trust you-”
“aaaapapapapapp!! we’re gunna give u more info!!! now!!!! so basically you gotta say ‘Ceaseless Watcher, Transform!’ and then ur gonna have an awesome transformation sequence and then u can go kill ppl!!!!”
He looked down to the pendant. And then back to The Eye. And then back to the pendant. “You can’t be serious.”
“we r!!!! do it gayboy!!!!”
Jonathan sputtered and blushed red at that. “MY PREFERENCES HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!!!!”
“yea yea yea TRANSFORM.”
“Okay, okay!!! God. Uh. Ceaseless Watcher, Transform-”
The moment he uttered that sentence, a bright light erupted around him, and he was now in a sparkly void of green. He looked around, utterly baffled at whatever had happened to him, and the weird eye thing popped back up.
“yayayayay!!!! good job archivist!!!! ok now u gotta pull on dat pendant and get the energy out of it!!!!”
Jon had nothing better to do, so he did as instructed, and a green ball was extracted from the pendant, which now sat in the palm of his hand. Out of instinct, somehow, he made a diamond with his hands, the ball sitting in the middle, making the shape of an eye. He pressed the diamond to his chest, his outfit changing into a poofy green blouse with a bow that was far too big infront. The light that now covered his body spread down-wards, his trousers being replaced with a poofy green skirt, his shoes turning into heels, and his sleeves turning into gloves. He did a little hair-toss, and his hair became a lot longer, being tied in a ponytail, and also becoming forest green.
He landed on the floor of the void, and placed the diamond he had made earlier with his hands over his actual eye.
“For all to see, with Justice and Beauty!”
“I am The Archivist!”
And then he was out of the void. In the same poofy outfit, with the same forest green hair. He looked down at himself, and then back to The Eye. “What the hell am I wearing?” He gritted out. The Eye simply flew around him, making little happy sounds.
“yaaayyyyy!!!! im so proud of u!!!!!! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و”
He grumbled, before noticing the eye pendant had stuck around, though it was tucked under his ridiculous outfit.
“ok so now u go out and kill that lukas loser”
“Lukas?” Jon pressed. “Like. Peter Lukas? The person funding the Archives?”
“yupperoni!”
“YOU ARE TRYING TO GET ME FIRED!!!!”
“elias wont knoowwww.”
Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache starting to form. “Okay! Fine! Whatever! How do I. How do I ‘kill him’. Because I still barely have any information, and while I am inclined to believe you due to you sticking me in this atrocious outfit, I’m still skeptical.”
The little eye thing floated in front of his face, far closer than he would have liked. “u just have 2 summon ur cool awesome wand!!!! hold ur hand out stupid (¬_¬")”
Why was this eye thing being such a little shit. He still does as asked, because, it’s not like he has anything else he can do, and as his open palm is extended beside him, a ball of energy, much like the one that appeared during his transformation, appeared in the palm of his hand. It extended into a long pole, and then a wand appeared. The handle seemed to be made of some type of pipe, with an eye placed on the top. Or- Placed wasn’t exactly the right word. It was more like a string of energy in the shape of an eye which was floating above the pipe. Jonathan spun it around, as a little test. It was very evenly weighted. He gave it a test swing, nearly nailing the eyeball in its… well. Eyeball. The little thing dodged, circling around Jon like a gnat.
“u seem 2 like ur weapon!!!! yayay yippee!!!! ok now go get him!!!!”
The Eye disappeared, and Jonathan was left alone. He took a deep breath, and stepped back out into the street, the fog curling around his legs. He looked around for the figure that The Eye had talked about (presumably Peter Lukas), his grip on the wand he had been given tightening slightly as the cold made him shiver. For some odd reason, he just… knew where to look all of a sudden, and he turned to his left, seeing a figure in the distance. The fog was more abundant around them, and Jonathan knew that this was Peter. He started approaching, his heels clacking against the concrete of the streets. The figure turned, his sailor’s coat flaring in the breeze that blew through the city. Jonathan was far too cold for this.
Peter looked at Jon for a moment, before humming in thought. “Hm. The Eye found an Archivist? Well that makes my job… difficult.”
Jonathan squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh. Did it not tell you? Huh. It does like its secrets, I suppose.”
He was. Very confused. But before he could ask further, a javelin of fog was thrown at him. He yelped, dodging out of the way, and steadied himself slightly.
“It would be great if you came out and helped!” Jonathan called out, expecting the Eye to stop being a useless bum and tell him how to handle himself, because he had NO CLUE what he was doing. And due to his pleas, the Eye appeared.
“oh my me!!!!!! what do u want ( ,,⩌︿⩌,,)”
“HELP!!!” Jonathan screeched, dodging another spike of fog. The Eye seemed to take pity on him.
“fffffiiiiiiiiiiiiine we’ll beam the info into ur head rq (¬ε¬)”
And true to their word, Jonathan was suddenly given all the information he needed. How to beat people with the wand in the most efficient way (for???? Some reason???), and how to do a special attack. He steadied himself, his grip on the wand turning his knuckles white. He took a deep, shuddering breath… before having another thing of fog thrown at him. It nicked his side a tad. He wailed in pain, but then it… healed. Completely, no scar or anything. Jonathan looked at his side, his eyes wide with surprise.
“What in the absolute bloody fuck.”
Well. No time to question it! He had a weird fog man to fight! He took a running start, dodging the projectiles being shot at him. He didn’t know how to run in heels. How was he doing this?!
He took a swing at Peter, but apparently it was a fake version made of fog. Smarmy little asshole. He looked to see another one, and took a swing at him. Also fake. Goddamnit! Where was he!!!
Jon eventually gave up and tried ‘Knowing’, as The Eye had put it, and he turned to the end of the street, where a more corporeal Peter Lukas was waiting for him. Jonathan took a mad dash at him, and raised the wand up. Before Peter could dodge like the slimy little rat he was, Jonathan yelled.
“CEASELESS WATCHER, TURN YOUR GAZE UPON THIS WRETCHED THING!!!”
The tip of the wand he had been given glowed a bright green, and with the power of a fireman’s hose, sent a giant laser at Peter. It seemed to do the job, but Jonathan wasn’t sure. Something itched at his mind, saying he’d come back… but that was unlikely. Jonathan had just blasted the man with a laser beam! You don’t come back from that! Right?
…It wasn’t worth dwelling on. The streets were clearing up, the people coming back from. Wherever they had gone. Jonathan had also gone back to normal, the pendant still hanging around his neck. He was a little thankful, as the outfit he was forced into was ridiculous. Who could even fight in so many layers? (Ignoring the fact that he did so. He was an outlier.)
He was… suddenly very exhausted, now that he thought about it. As if he had just worn off from an adrenaline rush of some kind (though with all the running around he was doing, he probably had been on an adrenaline high), and he… probably should sit down. He walked back to the archives, and nobody seemed to really remember what happened, so he decided to not bring it up. Maybe that was for the better. Tim and Sasha would tease him to no end if they found out he was a… crime fighting vigilante, of sorts.
He stepped into his office, sitting down and rubbing his hands down his face in a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
“What has my life become…”