Work Text:
Nothing.
Poor Michael stumbled through the endless halls that twisted and turned with seemingly no order. He couldn't think. It was all so impossible and yet it was real all at once. It felt like everything he knew was flipped upside down and shaken until it was no longer something he recognized.
It was nothing.
---
"Michael," the assistant startled when he heard his name and swiftly turned around.
"Y- Yes, miss Robinson?" he addressed the older lady with a caring but nervous smile. She never really spoke to him unless she needed something, and he was happy to oblige!
"I have to go to a place named Zemlya Sannikova, and I want you to accompany me."
The man was now confused. "Zemlya Sannikova? I've never, um, heard of it before."
The archivist waved a hand dismissively: "It's hidden quite well and we discovered it only recently. That's why we need to head over there." She then turned on her heel and left.
The assistant stood there a second longer before returning to his desk.
---
There was a map in his hands.
Right, she gave him a mission.
There were words on the paper. They told him to do stuff. Were they from her? They must have been. Who else would give him these instructions?
He just had to follow her orders, and it would all be fine, right? He can trust her, she knows what she's doing. She knows what's best for him.
Michael followed the map.
---
He didn't like this.
Gertrude was talking with someone, a man younger than herself but still quite older than Michael. It felt like there was cold fog all around him, not visible, but sending shivers down the assistant's spine. He seemed uncomfortable being around the archivist.
After a few more minutes, Gertrude beckoned Michael over. Even though he wanted nothing more than to go away from the man instead of toward him, he listened.
"Miss Robinson?" he inquired as he stopped at her side.
"Mr. Lukas will be taking us to our destination on his ship, isn't that right?" she sounded calm as ever, looking over at the man, Mr. Lukas, who only nodded. He still looked uncomfortable, now maybe even more so.
He wanted to ask if she was sure, to press on whether this guy manipulated her in some way, since he seemed like the type to do that.
But...he just couldn't. The way she looked at him shut down any concerns he might have wanted to voice. It was only reasonable, after all.
He trusted her.
---
The loud shatter of a malformed mirror echoed throughout the halls, the only thing that Michael could trust to be real. He pulled his fist back, ignoring the stinging ache of shards cutting deep into the flesh that made his body.
A shaky breath left him.
Those were his instructions, he reminded himself. She asked him for this, and so he would do as she said.
He has to trust her judgement.
---
The chill bit into his bones as the assistant sunk into himself for some scraps of warmth. It had been a while since it started getting gradually colder, and it was not pleasant to say the least.
He looked over to the old woman standing next to him. Her eyes had long since turned ice-cold, no longer even symbolizing any of the gentle lady he once saw her as. She seemed certain, like she knew exactly what was to come.
After a few moments of hesitation, Michael spoke up: "Miss Robinson? Where are we going again?" He had to make sure, because even though he wanted to believe she wouldn't lie to him, he was unnerved.
She didn't even glance over when she responded: "Zemlya Sannikova, or Sannikov Land, if you wish. There will be a great evil there, Michael." Her piercing gaze finally landed on him, although he guiltily wished it didn't: "And you will help me fight it."
And even though he was afraid, the man still trusted her.
---
There was a door.
He turned to the map once again, studying it, before giving up as the mess, that was only lines that didn't make sense, confused him more.
But then this should be it. The last one.
She...didn't write what would happen next. But- he has to trust her, right? She wouldn't send him here if it was...dangerous.
...She couldn't have. No, she's Gertrude, she's the archivist, the person who always knows where to go and what to do.
He doesn't have another choice.
---
Michael had gone mad. There was no other explanation that made sense.
The scene before him was not real, it couldn't have been. It was twists and shapes and stairs and colour and angles that shouldn't be and everything that seemed illogical to a mind so inexperienced.
She grabbed his shoulder and shoved something in his hands. She said he knew how to stop this. She said he had to walk through it, through the thing that stood among the others and made the world seem wrong.
She pushed him forward, guiding this naive sacrificial lamb to his doom. And yet...
Even though he lost his mind, even though he felt more afraid than he was ever made to feel...
Michael Shelley trusted Gertrude Robinson and took a step forward.
---
He twisted the handle in his grasp and opened it.