Case #0170413 || A TMA fanfiction

A͜͡R͜͡C͜͡H͜͡I͜͡V͜͡I͜͡S͜͡T͜͡.͜͡.͜͡.͜͡?͜͡

Click.

"... Abandoned as of mid-2016... A wrongful calculation, an experimental error... If what Malachi Dean claimed in his statement is correct...."

Jon rounded the corner, his voice raspy and low into the tape recorder as he took in the establishment, attempting to shake off the feeling of his every move being watched and analyzed. At first, he had grumbled over no one else volunteering to personally scan the property (Martin, who was supposed to months ago), as it held vital information to... certain people who held connections to Gertrude - There was a break in her consistency of years worked at the Institute. She had somehow taken off for a year-and-a-half, meaning that her position had to be filled, due to how much... responsibility... the woman had taken on.

Perhaps that was why when Jon had gotten there, the archives were so painfully disorganized. Ha.

The new tapes Basira had given him was a sort of insight on the matter. Two unfamiliar people, an Archivist and Archival Assistant, Kristen Myers and Xavier Rivera, working at the Institute in the early 2000s. According to her research, as little as she found, they had been off the grid since their employment, therefore, none of their activity was recorded. Much to Jon's dismay, the more statements he uncovered, the more mentions of them there were.

H͜͡o͜͡w͜͡ c͜͡o͜͡m͜͡e͜͡ E͜͡l͜͡i͜͡a͜͡s͜͡ n͜͡e͜͡v͜͡e͜͡r͜͡.͜͡.͜͡.͜͡?͜͡

Uncovered, though, was information as to where they were all those years, from one of their victims... Apparently, Rivera had entered into the medical industry, using his knowledge of the paranormal to his advantage.

Jon had no idea what that meant, but he took into account what he could.

In that moment, there he was, at a small establishment that had been run by the two, where the victims claimed they were kept. Now, he could understand the feelings they had undertaken, of being consistently watched, under supernatural control.

Jon paused in the middle of the hallway, holding his breath. His mind was somewhat scrambled, his eyes unable to focus on one thing.

"Unsettling. That's what this is, unsettling. All of it. I do not plan on staying long, as there simply seems to be nothing here that we could use to find out more."

He clutched the tape recorder, feeling his heart sink as paranoia engulfed him. Again.

Though, as he was about to turn back and forget about this whole experience, his gaze was back in focus, and in the corner, he couldn't help but notice a... dark crimson color clash with the tile floor.

Oh, God... Was that...?

It looked fresh. Too fresh.

"Scratch that," He breathed, forgetting his original plan as he dashed down the hall, turning another corner. There were more splotches, the deeper he went. Everywhere. What had gone that wrong? The supposed accident?

If it were that, though, then the blood wouldn't look... like that.

It was when he paced down an area with separate, small rooms, that the watching, the more intense it got, was making the back of his neck throb.

Once he finally paused, and time seemed to stop, he realized...

He wasn't alone.

In the room to his right, not only was there a lot more blood, but there was a girl. She looked around sixteen, not even that. The pool of liquid surrounded her, but left her untouched, despite her own injuries. She lay on the floor, her back propped up against the wall, almost in a comatose-like state...

Jon couldn't even speak, horror clear in his entire being.

Christ...

He hesitantly stepped in the room, walking in a path around all of the stains, faintly reminding him of some sort of treasure map. He wanted to check if she was alright. He wasn't a monster, and from what he had gathered, this place was meant to be completely deserted.

He knelt down in front of her, awkwardly shaking her by the shoulder.

"Ah, hello? Uhm, I'm Jonathan Sims, I'm with the... Magnus Institute-"

He hadn't expected any response or reaction, yet she was very much alive. Her eyes snapped open in panic, widening inhumanely, as if some sort of spell had been broken, for lack of an expression.

Then, the scream.

He hadn't found her,

She had found him.