Quoted By:
This thing shouldn't exist. It's you, it's literally you. Not a copycat, not a doppelganger, it's YOU.
But that doesn't make sense. You're still here. You would know if your mind cracked, right?
The City's Archivist doesn't seem to notice or acknowledge this discrepancy. "Nicole?" It even knows your NAME? No, no, it has to be stress getting to you. "Did you leave? I can't let them hurt you, you know." It can't see you- Oh god you lost your eyes somehow FUCK-
"I-I'm here, uh...Archivist." It's better to think of this thing as separate from you.
"That's not my true name, you know." The entity lowers its head down to stare at you. Its face is still hidden underneath its hair.
"Wait. You. You remember your name?"
"I have to remember everything. Every mission, every scar, every death, every mistake. A latticework of numbers and names." The long hair covering the entity's face moves on its own, as if pulled by some telekinetic force. The only thing left of its head is a melted mass and formless keratin with half-formed antlers growing out of it.
Each of them has a different symbol carved into them. Your brain SEETHES at the mere sight of them.
"What's with the occult symbols? Is there a purpose to them?" You feel like you have to know. You doubt they're just meaningless scribbles.
"The voices got too loud, so I had to carve them out of me. To condense my true self into one, unified ideal. I am a perfected Seeker, after all." You suddenly feel an intense heat building up in your antlers. "You won't survive in this world without power. Without knowledge. Submit, my former self."
Your body immediately seizes up. You immediately slam into the ground below like gravity was increased a thousand fold.
The only part of your body you can move is your jaw. You clench it shut as the intense burning only gets worse and worse and worse.
"I'm sorry. Any help I can offer will only hurt you in the future. Any association with me will only bring pain and their attention. Yet I still love you."
[PERSON OF INTEREST] Yet, don't they deserve to know about them too? To know that they could be at risk too? It was never you.
Every inch of your skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat. Tears pour down your face. Blood trickles from your lip as you desperately try to hold back your screams. Every neuron and atom in your body is on FUCKING FIRE. Seconds blur into hours, which blur into days. Time means nothing at the constant and unyielding pain seething throughout your system.
>-3 RESTRAINT!
"If you hate me after this, that's fine. I wouldn't blame you."
Soon, you regain control over your body. You can wiggle your fingers and toes now and with some concentrated effort, you can move your head around but FUCK. THIS. Your antlers feel like a million tiny needles are still being stabbed into them.
"W-why." That's all you can ask this false you.
"I carved in some symbols. People need symbols, icons, to look up to. To hide behind. To rationalize the world with."
