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Mike wasn't quite sure he belonged here, looking up at the old pillared building that seemed to stare at him back. It was perfect, of course. But it was
too
perfect. He had heard of The Magnus Institute through researching anything that could help him understand, or at least get rid of, the Lichtenberg figure. It was 'an institution dedicated to the research of the esoteric and the paranormal.' It had a giant library, which could've contained Leitners, albeit how unlikely. And if it didn't, if Mike could somehow get into the staff, he could get access to everything behind the scenes. Statements that could clue him in to the locations of powers that could free him, or just simple items taken and stored that could help. And he had just the right certifications to get employed, somehow.
Mike had never stopped researching the being, despite how foolish he knew it was. But who could get a normal degree when at any moment his tormentor could show up? He doubted he'd make a good doctor, or even librarian, if at any moment he'd have to take off and run from a behemoth of strobing light. So, parapsychology it was. Again, it was something that seemed almost too perfect for him, being able to study psychic phenomena and other paranormal events. Unfortunately, despite how much it all lined up, Mike was sure he wasn't having 'Apparitional Experiences'.
So there he was, somehow ending up with a parapsychology degree and no helpful answers. A pseudo-science degree wasn't going to help him get any jobs, unless he wanted to pick up the pan and start flipping burgers at the local Wendy's, so there was really nowhere else to go than The Magnus Institute.
Mike took in a breath before finally walking into the building, trying to ignore the spike of cold that ran up his neck, making the hairs there stand on their ends. It was just his paranoia that made him feel like someone was watching him, he knew that, but it didn't make the feeling any less unsettling. He looked around as he walked to the front desk, noting the emptiness of the waiting room before finally turning his gaze to the woman sitting at the front desk. 'Rosie', her name tag said.
"Hello, I'm uh, here for an interview?" Mike said, stumbling through his words slightly as he felt her gaze focus on him.
"Great! May I have your name, please?" Rosie replied, voice cheerful despite the unease Mike felt from speaking to her. It was almost definitely just in his head.
"Michael Crew, please. The interview was scheduled for ah, 2:30?"
"Yes, I can see it scheduled here. Mr Bouchard should be ready to see you in just a few minutes."
"Alright, thank you." Mike responded, holding back a sigh of relief as he left the interaction, sitting down on a dusty green chair as he listened to the ticking of a clock, trying to make the buzz in his mind go away.
It took around three minutes for Mike to get called up to the office, though it felt more like thirty. He felt another shiver crawl its way up his spine as he saw the man sitting there, examining some files in front of him. The mans eyes rolled up to meet Mikes, and he could see a pleasant smile resting on his lips as he motioned him over.
"Michael, am I right?" He asked, sitting up straighter in his chair as he held his hands together in his lap.
"Mike, please." Mike responded, licking his tongue to the top of his mouth in a vain attempt to keep it from drying out, taking in a slight breath.
"Let's see…you're here to apply for one of our researchers, am I correct?" Elias, Mike assumed from the nameplate, said.
"Yes, I am." Mike responded, sure that there was something he could add, but missing it.
"Well then Mike, I do have to say that you have quite a portfolio for this job. Not many have degrees in parapsychology." Elias commented, eyeing Mike like he could see into his soul, which Mike didn't completely doubt.
"Yes, I suppose it was always a fascination of mine, the paranormal. I'm sure many share the sentiment, but have opted for a more…regular, degree."
"That, they have." Elias agreed, with a bit more knowing in his voice than Mike was comfortable with. "-Well then," he said, stopping the pleasant small-talk that technically counted as an interview. "Let's move onto the actual questions now.
“So, tell me Mike, what are you afraid of?” Elias asked, and his tone didn’t change. Still casual, but Mike couldn’t help the feeling that he knew the answer to that question already. That he was reading him like that grey book did, some time ago. Mike briefly wondered if it was still buried, before realising he’d been silent a second too long.
“Lightning.” Mike blurted out, the first thing that came to mind. He couldn’t mention the figure directly, that would only give him the reaction of a man who thought him crazy, with the best emotion possible being sympathy.
Elias had looked at Mike's scar for a second, and for a second he was sure that he could also see it. See that the wound went farther than skin, than flesh or bone, farther than he could ever conceive. But then he looked up again and the hope Mike felt quickly plummeted into dread and terror.
“Yes, I can see why.” Was Elias’s only response, shifting slightly so that he was sat completely straight, back against the velvet of his chair. “Now, tell me, Mike.” Elias started to say, and Mike could swear that it was smugger than before, though there still was no actual change in tone. “Have you ever had an experience you would consider supernatural?”
Mike felt his blood turn to static, buzzing through his veins and causing his entire body to feel like there were pins and needles throughout his limbs, like if he moved he’d get stabbed in a hundred different ways. The headache he already had spiked too, and he could swear he heard a storm outside, but he couldn’t run. Not now.
“I- I uhm,-” Mike stumbled through his thoughts, trying to retain the image of normalcy. His heart felt like it was flipped upside down, and suddenly he was a kid again, curled up underneath his bed, staring at the man made of light that stood just outside his window, despite his bedroom being on the second floor. He could hear the crackling of the lightning as it repeatedly struck itself, coupled by the heavy punches of raindrops against his window. He could still hear himself stifling his breathing, afraid that if he moved even a single breath the light would somehow find him and finish him for good.
"I don't-" Another rumble of thunder. Mike was older, 16, and more accustomed to the thing. He had been by his window, trying to spot it, to see it, as if that would help. Instead he only found a gate where there shouldn't have been one, and his parents were already asleep. He'd gone out to look at it, of course he had. He was always curious, wasn't he? Good thing he wasn't a feline.
Mike remembered opened the gate, the charred wood rubbing off on his hands, smudging them black as he walked into the forest. It was impossible, of course. He lived in the middle of the city. But nothing was impossible now, as he stared at the twisted trunks and branches of birches that stared at him, reaching towards him out of the corners of his eyes. Mike should've felt mad, probably did, but he didn't have any magic tea or biscuits to make him grow bigger. He wondered if that would've helped, being big. But tall things were always the things struck by lightning.
Age 17. Baby's first Leitner. He remembered finding it well, cover somehow sludge-like as he pulled it open, drawn to it despite the mush his stomach had turned into. He was entranced reading it, before finally shoving it away, revolted, in the living room. it must've stayed for an hour too long, because the roof collapsed with a mould that ate away at everything. Including his parents. It was his small revenge, chucking the thing into the sewer grate that was next to his used-to-be house.
Another flash. The fractal was back, and Mike had given it a nickname. 'Litchy'. It was juvenile, but it was really all that he could do. Plus, it rhymed with 'Bitchy' which made Mike giggle for just a second before his heart was grabbed and squeezed again by the thing, forcing him under the nearest piece of furniture to try and not relive that night.
Age 18. The Boneturners Tale. The cause of his first murder(s)? The owner looked dreadful, entire bodies stitched together like a cell in the middle of mitosis. He couldn't tell the few apart anymore. It didn't matter in any case, because once all of their throats were slit they bled out all the same. It didn't do much for Mike in the end, which was a shame because it was so much effort to get. All the book did was give him a slight disfiguration on his right breast and neck, alongside eternal soreness.
Then there it was again, hunting him. Mike would've liked to say that the figure was more of an annoyance than anything, but he knew that the sweet smell of ozone that mixed with his sweat and adrenaline was enough cause for nightmares that would plague him for the next few weeks. He was pretty sure he was losing his mind, trying to figure the thing out. He might have already.
Another book. Gray, small, and Mike really thought it was his salvation. The more Cyrillic he learned, the more of it he could read, and the more answers he got. It was until the book started to tell him everything wrong about himself, every horrible deed that he had made, every
single
one of his horrible thoughts. Well, there was no other choice than to bury it 'alive'.
Another chase. The streets had a few people, despite the sky's rare sunny weather. That didn't stop Mike from thinking it was storming, though. As far as he knew, the thunder in the sky was chasing him, and it was catching up.
Another stalking. It had been following him all day, and he had been moving all day. He just wanted rest, but he wouldn't get that for a while yet.
Another appearance, watching him atop a car as Mike stumbled out of a bar. Foolish of him to get intoxicated. That was one of the worst apparitions in years.
Another sighting, Manchester, he was leaving the local library,
Another game, a small book store, he was there-
Again. Back at the hunt.
Again. Run away from your problems.
Again. Piece together the fractals.
Again. He'd never be free.
"I think it's up to interpretation, what is supernatural." Mike found himself saying, tone somehow steady. He was calm, collected. How did that happen?
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Elias mused, and this time he definitely did look satisfied. "Well, I think that'll be it. The job is yours. You'll start as an Archival Assistant tomorrow."
And Mike just nodded, smiling as he took Elias's hand and shook it, standing up from his chair. He did not argue, despite having only applied for a researchers role. He did not mention anything to those dark grey eyes, that somehow reflected the storm right back at him.