Tragedies
You’re back at that couch where you fell asleep, where you almost caught the Watcher, but this time you’re not alone. Your roommate is with you, looking wary. They’ve been worried about you. Of course they’ve been worried about you. You’re worried about you. You barely eat, you haven’t slept in a week, and when you close your eyes you see letters and numbers, puzzle pieces arranging and rearranging themselves.
You didn’t want to tell your roommate everything – you’re afraid they’d think you’re going insane (are you going insane?) but you needed backup. So you told them that someone stole a USB drive out of your bag when you fell asleep here earlier, and you’re hoping to catch another glimpse of them. Together, you can watch more angles.
“This place is so weird,” your roommate says after you’ve settled in. “It feels decrepit. Half empty. Exactly the kind of place some creep would hang out.”
“I dunno,” you reply. “Maybe people have the wrong priorities. Maybe things get overlooked because they’re not shiny and new, but that doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach us.”
They shrug. “You don’t have to get defensive,” they say. “It’s just an old building.”
Nothing, you think, is just anything. There’s so much below the surface, so many memories, so many stories, everywhere you look – and so many places you don’t. You had no idea.
The two of you sit for a while. After some pestering, your roommate convinces you to help them with a problem set. The equations feel so straightforward compared to how you’ve been spending your time. For the first time in more than a week, you let yourself relax for a while, let the tension ease out of your shoulders. It’s nice, being with someone else. Doing something straightforward. Feeling less alone.
Your quiet reverie is shattered by your phone buzzing against your hip. You know, even before you pick it up, that it’s him. “Hello?” you say, voice shaky.
“It’s almost time,” comes the deep distorted voice. “Here are your directions. Come alone.” Ignoring your roommate’s worried look, you make an excuse and pack your bag, staying on the phone the whole time. Could this finally be the end of your journey, the escape from the labyrinth?
You follow the Watcher’s terse commands until you’re standing in front of a bulletin board emblazoned with the words “Department of Knowledge Integration.”
“Okay!” you say out loud. “I get it! I get it! You want me to put it all together?”
“One more piece, little puzzler,” he mocks. “Memento mori.” Then the line goes dead.
Memento mori? You google the phrase quickly. “Remember you must die.” Why would he take you all the way here, just to remind you of your own mortality?
Then you see it: a black and white photograph pinned to the bulletin board, tombstones like jagged teeth in a historic graveyard. And beneath it, blending into the background if you weren’t looking for it, but unmistakeable now that you’ve learned to see with new eyes: another puzzle.