Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A story becomes a warning, which becomes a legend, which becomes a myth, which becomes forgotten. You could have the truth engraved within marble tablets, and those scriptures will eventually be lost to the sands of time. This is what happened with any who entered The Mist. This is what happened to Kelvin Mars.

Kelvin Mars was born into wealth, incredible luxury that spanned across generations. He had everything you could want on the shallowest of surface levels. What he didn't have was a life. Technically alive, but only for the sake of a thousand people before him and a million people after. His life was pre-planned, and frankly, it was fucking annoying. 22 years, from the day he was born, it has felt like he was in some stuffy room, and you're inhaling all of the pretentious atmosphere because otherwise you suffocated on dollar bills. This entire charade, the various demeanours you had to display for a million different pointless events, the inarguable truth that there were some things you couldn't change because that's just how they are. There was nothing special about his life, regardless of how easy he'd have it, or debatably because of that fact. Kelvin wanted something to make of himself. He wanted purpose, and in a life like this, your purpose was to keep the family name up, make sure a bunch of rich snobby bastards look good. Call him selfish, but he wanted to live for himself. So he left, grabbed his father's card and booked it.

That's when he met Sanjana, the cruelest bitch alive. God-given nerves of steel, that woman had. And Kelvin loved her. Sanjana tolerated him back. They had been partners in crime, literally, for a few years up to that point, and that's when Kelvin would change one thing about his life; He'd tell Sanjana to drop the contract they had gotten and run for the hills. That was the contract that had gotten them arrested, and the contract that gave them two choices: Join ‘The Mist Agency’, or go to prison for a long, long time. 

The Mist Agency. He had learned the general gist; They were trying to open a portal to this weird “mist”, some kind of alternate dimension that had, supposedly, been abducting people for decades. Centuries, possibly. They had ancient records from when some prince and knight disappeared from a castle dungeon, or some kids in the 1900’s who vanished from some kind of orchestra massacre. 

Kelvin brushed it off as some mass conspiracy that stupid people came up with and even stupider government officials bought, or maybe some elaborate money laundering scheme. And it's not like he could complain, either. He was going to give up his life to take up the noble position of ‘government pawn’, but it's also not every day that you take up a stable job in order to get out of jail. Kelvin's crime wasn't one you could get away from with a slap on the wrist, and he was sure his entire extended family found it easier to disown him and ignore his existence rather than actually get him out. That's how serious the crime was, the ‘reject-your-sole-heir’s entire-life’ kind of serious. Regardless, the thing was about as fake as conspiracies could get.

Something felt off , though . Why were they spending billions of dollars on something like this, and why were they so keen on keeping it under wraps? I mean, they're getting criminals to take care of this crap, like it was dangerous . Nothing ever happened, and yet they never risked anyone higher up to deal with it. It felt like some elaborate joke or prank that everyone was in on besides him. Not that he didn't appreciate the job, mind you. It beats going to jail. But the secrecy, the interrogations, the torturing, the spying, the hacking, all of it; The hell was going on? Who did this kind of stuff for some fictional alternate dimension?

Not only that, but there was The Watcher. Some hacker-terrorist who must have completely lost it. The guy had skills, real, raw skills, talents that could topple entire government systems, and they sat here and fucked around with their foundation. What were they doing? You could be one of the most powerful and terrifying people in the world, you could control the entire globe, and you're fiddling with a bunch of conspiracy theorists with a damn good budget. There had to be something going on underneath the surface, because this type of person wouldn't goof around with a bunch of bogus. They knew something. 

Except there wasn't anything to know. Nobody knew what was going on in ‘The Mist’. There were rumours, like how it was some kind of alien research program to learn about humans, but most of these were for irony’s sake. Nobody knew, or really cared for that matter. That's probably why most of the employees are criminals, they don't ask questions if the reward pays enough, and let me tell you, having a stable government job with all the benefits? They were keeping dead silent. But they told secrets under their breath to keep the magic alive, because if they didn't, you could feel the resentment. Everyone here gave up their lives to study a hoax. It was best to spread the lies than face that particularly nasty truth. Stories spread. Warnings spread more. Legends spread even more. And then you got to the myths and then everything was forgotten.

Kelvin didn't believe it, not one bit. Even when they let him go through the files of confirmed ‘mistings’, as they called it, to see all of the ‘evidence’, it was just a bunch of nonsense. Through one ear and out the other. More than nonsense, actually; It was false hope. Kelvin liked nonsense, he enjoyed that stupid, convoluted rubbish. He swore up and down that the Earth was on the back of a turtle and the moon was made out of cheese. He gave in to all the dumb yet whimsical rumours they made everyone feel like they were a part of something. But this? Giving families and friends optimism that the people they loved and lost were still out there? This was stomach-wrenching, heartless even. It made him sick to his core. They were dead, it's been over a hundred years for some of these people and they were dead. There wasn't anything fun about this. Just a bunch of weeping echoes. He enjoyed and appreciated the job, for the most part, but times like this made him consider burning the place to the ground. He just kept on flickering through corpse after corpse, a fuckin’ paper graveyard, and these people kept on swearing up and down that they were out there. It was cruel. That's all it was. It would've been easy for Kelvin to buy into the cause, him more than anybody, because he wanted to have something to strive for. And who wouldn't want a magical fairytale land where all your missing loved ones just happen to lounge around to exist? It was supposed to be digestible, something you want to get behind, but it rang hollow.

Chapter Text

He remembered the day clearly. He had spent the entire day looking through missing person reports, looking for anything ‘mist’ or ‘fog’ related, going from person to person. A monotonous task, but an easy one. He found stuff about the weather and that's about it, basically. It wasn't hard to forget, but it happened so often that you can make the day up and it'll be exactly the same, so he remembered the day. But he remembered the night even more, really remembered it. That night, he had his first dream. He was on a dock, overlooking a beach. It seemed to be some kind of tourist destination, with small buildings, cars and businesses, stacked upon each other. Most of his vision was misty when looking out across the ocean, though it seemed to be clear near the streets. Jesus, the thing was haunting him even in sleep now, huh? He knew he was in a dream, oddly. He was never one to lucid dream. The docks he stood on looked old, the wooden creaked under his boots, and they appeared battered and withered. Oh, these were knee-high boots. What? The wooden docks felt slightly soft, malleable, probably from all the water splashing on it constantly, soaking and rotting it away. He was on a beach, overlooking the murky ocean, a deep indigo, which was covered in mist. Not fog, mist. He didn't really get the distinction, just knew. He couldn't see any stars, the sky was a cloak, void of any colour. It was too eerie. He wore knee-high boots.

“ Emery. ”

He was holding wires. He felt them curve around his fingers. They were a vivid blue and red. His fingers? These fingers were slender and darker, and less hairy. These weren't his fingers. Why was he holding wires? What was in front of him? It looked like some bright yellow mechanical box, sunshine yellow. And there were wires attached. Whatever this was, it was incredibly loud. A low rumble, shaking the boards that held it up, constant and unrelenting. There was a spotlight of some kind above him, attached to the machine, an artificial white light shining down on them both. It was night, but the area wasn't pitch black, odd for the lack of stars. There weren't many lights on, from what he could see at the corner of his vision into the far distance, but he could still see fairly well. The moon was much too dim for this, and he didn't wear his goggles to bed, so it couldn't be that… No, wait, he was dreaming. He looked up to see who was speaking to him. They did. Emery. His name was Emery Rivera, and he was working on a generator on the docks of Cliffmack Beach. Only 4 have been done, and the match timer was going down fast . They'd have to focus on the generators. He looked up briefly to the man before them. His name was… Gavin. Yeah! His name was Gavin Prescott. He was a cop. He didn't pay much attention to the man before, his job status made them queasy. Emery had always been the type to stay out of trouble, follow the white lines and keep looking ahead, no questions asked.

“Oh- Uh. Hey, Gavin!” His voice wasn't his own. It was higher pitched, less nasally. And it had this air to it, something that demanded attention. It was perfectly crafted to draw eyes. A performer's voice. His name wasn't Emery Rivera. Who was Emery Rivera? He'd heard of them before. He thought so, at least. What happened to him? Why was he holding wires? Where is Cliffmack Beach- How did he know that name? And how did he know this guy? The hell is with a match timer and generators? These can't be generators . Gavin Prescott had brown hair, though there were silver streaks within it. He didn't look that old, though, and from his officer status, he guessed it was from stress. It lined up with his dulled eyes, seemingly numb from years of his line of work, framed by bulky eye bags. His broad, bushy eyebrows were tilted downwards, no doubt annoyed. He looked somewhat built, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a beige polo with a badge on each arm, and a loose, black tie. His pants were dark, almost a forest green, but more muted.

“You shouldn't be doing this generator. We're going to get genlocked.” His voice was hoarse, he must've been yelling a lot during this match. It was more coarse than normal. Emery hadn't talked very much to the man, but their interactions always had him gruff. The killer was ‘The Android’, technically his namesake but Emery liked to call him ‘calculator’ or ‘toaster’, made the whole situation sound less dire. Made you forget he had a laser sword. He was always spouting stuff about how terrible humans are, and it's like, we already have Finley, thank you very much! How many more killers are going to be racist against humans? Or, well, speciesist? Their bottom lip stuck out in a pout. He couldn't do the generators in the middle, The Android was probably patrolling them for a genlock, and he didn't have the running speed to be going back and forth constantly. their teleport couldn't help either, due to the time it takes to prepare and the close proximity he'd be with the god-forsaken tin can.

“I'm not trying to get killed out here! I'm not supposed to be out in the open! Plus, the rooftop isn't done so it's fine.” He was huffing, turning back towards the generator, tense eyebrows sunken low into their head. Sweat was dripping down the sides of his temple, greasing down his black curls. He would get killed. He was going to die. Why didn't he care? What was a genlock? Who is ‘The Android’? His head was reeling, and yet his eyes remained on the generator in front of him. Did they say teleport? He kept tugging on the wires. Why was he tugging on the wires? They were on the docks of Cliffmack Beach, fixing the dock generator, because if he did any other generator they would die. That's what he was doing. Their name was Emery Rivera, he is a magician, and they were doing the generator on the dock of Cliffmack Beach because if he did any other generator, the android with a sword would kill them, and Gavin Prescott was berating him for doing the generator while he just sat there and complained. Why wasn't he on a generator? He had a gun. He could be doing the generators in the middle. They didn't have time to be wasting with this. Emery opened their mouth to say something, but Gavin grabbed his arms and shoved them into the nearest locker before he could let out anything more than an ‘oomph’. His back slammed into the metal, spearing pain through their spine. He had to grind their teeth to keep him from cursing out the man.

“He's coming, teleport out to the generator in the middle. It's almost completed. I've got 3 bullets, I can distract him for a bit.” Emery's head nodded rapidly, hopefully fast enough for him to see as he closed the door. Their heart was bruising the inside of his chest, violent thumps drowning out the noise of the outside world as they stabilized himself and prepared to teleport. Okay, yeah, Gavin was being a dick, but also they didn’t want him to die. He was on one life. He couldn’t die. Would it be his fault if Gavin died? The blood rushed straight to their ears when he heard yelling. Don't think of the yelling, Emery. Don't think of the yelling or the sound of splashing water or the shot that rang through the air. He was fine. He said he had 3 bullets. He would be okay. Tears were flowing down their freckled cheeks before he could attempt to stop them. Gavin wouldn't die, right? Don't think of the yelling. They could see the auras of the lockers ahead of him. He could hear the crunch of metal hitting bone. 

Chapter Text

And then he woke up. Kelvin Mars did. Kelvin Mars, an agent of the Mist Agency, woke up. Not Emery Rivera. Who was Emery Rivera? What was that ‘generator’? He had never seen a generator like that before. Portable generators, the smallest ones being able to power entire cities for weeks, were much smaller than that yellow box. They were more like fans, and they did not have any wires, or at least ones you would be tugging freely. He wasn't an engineer for this kind of stuff, but there's no way you never knew about these things. Not the type of stuff you learn in school, just unsaid, like new words. He knew large generators were usually the size of two-story buildings, so it couldn't be that. It couldn't be either of those. He had never seen a generator like that before. Now that he thought about it, Gavin Prescott didn't even look like a police officer, or one that he's seen, which he’s seen plenty enough. He had a beige uniform. Cops don't wear beige uniforms, their uniforms are black, and they often have bullet-proof, high-resistance vests on. The man had only a beige polo on. And yet, he knew he was a cop, for some reason. He knew it like he knew the sky was blue, even if he wasn't looking out the window to get exact proof. It was like, memories . He remembered, even though he had never seen the guy once. Gavin Prescott was a cop, and Emery Rivera was a magician. Emery could teleport. Gavin had a gun. He said he had 3 bullets. He continued staring at the eggshell-coloured ceiling, not bothering to roll over on his stiff bunk and check the time. It must've still been late, as no light sifted through the shutters. And yet, he couldn't fall asleep. The dream was too… Real. The dream felt way too real. He's had dreams where he was convinced that it was all real, until the moment he woke up, but this was different. Kelvin knew it was a dream, and yet it also felt completely real, like events he had lived through before. He fiddled mindlessly with his thumbs. He couldn't look away from the ceiling. Why wasn't the dream fading away from his memory? They always did, you could often recall a few bits after awakening, but if you hadn't bothered to remember the dream, you wouldn't. And yet, the man had a sinking feeling that this wasn't a dream, and he wouldn't be able to forget it.

Kelvin stayed aloof that day. Kelvin the Goofball. Emery Rivera the Magician. It was the same as any other day; Carrying out orders without a second thought. Not that they bring much to think about to the table. But he was hung up on that generator. What was that generator? More than the two people, more than the docks of Cliffmack Beach, more than the killer robot chasing them supposedly. He could imagine all of that. How did he imagine that generator? Was it a real generator? It didn't look like something you could just make up. It felt like it was invented with realism. He had to know.

Kiat was staring at the heater behind him, tapping the kitchen counter impatiently as he watched his food warm up, rhythmically and almost to a beat. Kelvin strolled through the door, bag in hand, and plopped down on the plastic chair in the break room. He unzipped his luggage, but rather than pulling out his lunch for that day, he pulled out his laptop. He didn't even think about lunch. He could feel Kiat’s gaze burning into his skin as his fingers swiftly plugged away on the keyboard. 

“You're not going to eat?” Kiat sounded shocked, but it was that type of over-exaggerative shock, his tone seeping with mockery. “Are you doing work on your break? I'm calling security. Intruder alert!”

“You can have my food, if you want. I know you can't get enough.” A slice of cheese slapped the back of his head, cold and clammy.

“HEY!” He whirled the chair around, slinging the slice off his dirty-blonde hair and hurling it back, slamming directly into the man's face before he could move out of the way. Kiat's cackling was muffled by the aged dairy assault, and Kelvin whisked back to his computer. He had searched up ‘generators’, but none of them looked right. They were too small, much too small. The generator was about half the size of him, or, well, Emery, and they weren't a dwarf. Still didn't know who Emery was, but not a dwarf at least. His scrolling continued as Kiat leaned over him to look at his screen, to find out exactly what had been so enthralling as to pry Kelvin away from his lunch; Generators.

“ Generators. ”

“Generators!” Kelvin's mouth curved into a dumb grin. It was more of an automatic response to anyone finding him confusing. He enjoyed their dumbfounded expressions. 

“What do you need a generator for? And why's it so important?” Kiat was trying to pry for some hidden meaning. He knew that the man wouldn't just waste his break to search for generators. And he was right! Kelvin wouldn't give in that easily, though.

“No reason. Why’re you asking? Going to buy it for me? How kind! I'll take cash.” Kiat thumped him on the head, forcing a heavy ‘ Eugh! ’ sound out of his throat.

“What do you have for lunch?” Kiat was shuffling through his bag now, hauling the lunch box out of it. 

“Fried chicken. Go ahead, I have more.” 

“‘Course you do.” Kiat swung it back and forth lazily, stalking over to the heater and pulling out his food. Kelvin continued scrolling. No, no, no, none of these were right. They were too… Modern. Kelvin stopped typing. His fingers wouldn't move, it felt as if ice had frozen them solid from the inside-out, brittle chills tearing through his nerves. Modern. Yeah. The yellow box generator was old. It looked old, it had coloured wires, it was loud. Kiat was poorly humming some trashy pop song in the background, though you couldn’t guess which one it was. It almost sounded like low whirring. Slowly, as if he was doing some kind of puzzle, Kelvin typed out a word before ‘generator’ in the search bar. ‘Vintage.’ The moment he clicked enter, he felt his entire blood run cold. It's like frostbite consumed his entire body. No. This wasn't right. He hadn't seen these before, had he? He shivered, a shiver that chills you to the bone regardless of the temperature. All of them were right. Some had different colours, but it was all generally the same look. A hundred years old, or so. Vintage fuckin’ generators. That's what he saw. Who was Emery Rivera, and why was he fixing a vintage generator? How did they even know how to? 

He shut his laptop and packed it into his bag in a frenzied haste. He hadn't bothered to hear what Kiat had to say, or to pick up his lunchbox. He needed to go back to work. This was stupid. Why was he even so focused on this? One dream, man. Emery Rivera was a magician on Cliffmack Beach, and he was fixing a vintage generator when Gavin Prescott came up to them and complained about a ‘genlock’. But how was he supposed to do any other? They would get killed, he was slower than most of the other survivors, and The Android was pretty fas- What the fuck . No more. God, what was he doing? He had been talking to Sanjana about a recent assignment. Yeah, that's what he was doing. He was fixing a generator- No. Emery Rivera was. Jesus fucking Christ. He felt sweat pooling across his forehead as he stared at the papers in front of him. Why was a stupid dream worming inside of his head like this? Why wasn't Gavin on any other generators? The crunch of bone against metal was deafening.

“Focus on the assignment, man. Come on.” His teeth grinded against each other as he stared at the words. He couldn't read. He couldn't do anything besides think of Emery Rivera, the vintage generator, the docks of Cliffmack Beach, Gavin Prescott berating him instead of getting on another generator, ‘The Android’, the mist surrounding the area, the genlock, and death. He wiped his temple with the palm of his hand, but it only made it worse. His hands were clammy and sweating too. The phone in his pocket was vibrating softly, and he fumbled around in the cloth before pulling it out. ‘Psycho Bitch’. He answered.

“Hi ‘Jana.”

“Have you reviewed those sheets yet, Kelvin?” Cold as always. She'd make the Antarctic warmer.

“Yes, Mom.” 

“Kelvin, you are a grown man. Quit calling me that.” He could tell that her teeth were grated. It was too easy to rile her up. Much too easy. He'd pay for this later.

“Sorry, Mom.” He was staring at the print. Emery Rivera was doing a generator on the docks of Cliffmack Beach. He hung up. 

He had trouble falling asleep that night. He kept thinking about his dream. It didn't make sense. He hadn't seen that type of generator before in his life, and it showed up picture-perfect in his dream, and he knew Gavin Prescott was a cop even though he wasn't wearing a cop uniform. Except he was , he had a cop uniform on, Kelvin knew that, but it wasn't a cop uniform. It couldn't have been. Cops wear black long-sleeve jackets with heavy-duty, bulletproof vests. Gavin wore a beige polo with two badges. That's what he wore, and he was a cop. There was no doubt about it. Emery Rivera, the magician, could teleport, and was doing a generator that was around 100 years old. How did he know how to teleport? They hadn't figured that out even now. Oh, piss off. It was a dream. Of course he could teleport, and of course Gavin Prescott was a cop who didn't look like a cop. It still didn't explain how the generator, which he had sworn he never once looked at before, showed up perfectly in his dream. Maybe he just forgot. He tossed and turned restlessly, scratching his messy stubble until he could drift off. And when he finally did fall asleep, it only got worse.

Chapter Text

Pain. Searing, blazing pain. Blood was pouring out of her abdomen, pooling all over the floor, and she had to stare at it. Her gut was slashed open. She could see her insides. Holy shit, she saw her goddamn muscles. The inside of her flesh. Sarah Lindholm was never the type to be scared of blood, she couldn't be scared of anything. It only made her weaker. Yet, even after all this time in the mist, she couldn't stare at her own blood. She's had to look at it thousands of times before and it made her terrified each and every time. God, she really was weak, wasn't she? After all this fuckin’ time, she really was just a scared little girl. She could see her organs pulsate. It reminded her of squirming maggots.

“Fuck that bitch. Fuck that bitch! ” She was furious, ballistic . Taliyah Mehta. The girl who shoved her in a river for stealing god knows what, she can't remember. Some damn pencil or whatnot. Who gives a shit. She was psychotic. She almost killed her. Probably would have, if the mist hadn't taken her first. She would've preferred the former. Now she was stuck in this stupid fucking game with her, and she got to giggle and quote little children's games while she stabbed people with her tiny ass prick knife. If it weren't for the mist giving her a goddamn piggyback ride, half of the people stuck with her would've killed her by now. Fucking psychopath. The only solace Sarah got was when the softball girl dented her empty ass skull in with a bat, and even then the mist just said made her get stunned. Stunned. She was hit with a softball bat , full-force, and she was stunned. Fuck the Mist. Fuck Taliyah. Annoying ass twat. The pain made her vision red. She only saw fire, it was scorching her head. She wanted to kill Taliyah Mehta.

Kelvin wanted to scream, and yet his teeth stayed clenched together. When was he ever this tough? His hands were stained with his own blood. He was bleeding out. He saw his own body ripped open. Was that his intestines? He didn't want to know. All he knew was that he was going to die. And yet, he wasn't worried about dying. This wasn't his blood. This was Sarah Lindholm’s blood. She was stabbed by Taliyah Mehta. She must've known Taliyah somewhat before entering the mist, because she stole something from her and Taliyah shoved her in a river for it, aiming to kill her, but the Mist got her first. The Mist? The Mist doesn't exist. It doesn't exist. Where was he?

Sarah Lindholm heard light footsteps, nearly silent. Her eyes seared over to the frame of Taliyah Mehta.

“Oh no! Has nobody come to save you? Poor Sarah! All alone!” She was putting on a pouty baby voice. She always had it on, to some degree. She must've found it funny in some bullshit, mocking way. It drove Sarah up the wall. Fork scratching on a plate. Everything about her was so fucking irritating. Her shitty fashion sense that made her look like a slut, her annoying ass baby voice, the fact that her chosen weapon of choice were two pathetic looking knives. With how short she was, Sarah thought she could kick her down the stairs and she'd just fuckin’ die. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Taliyah was laughing again, that stupid little girl laugh. You’re- You were in highschool, you shitstain. Act like it. 18 years old and you want to act like a toddler? What a pick-me creep. Sarah clenched her stomach. Her entire body was bursting in flame. A part of her wanted to scream when her fingers brushed over what was undoubtedly bone. It felt stiff and hardened and was surrounded by stuff that was way too wet. Like, wet food in a sink. Her skin crawled. She didn't want to know what she was touching.

“Poor wittle Sarah! Is that the best you got?” Taliyah was stalking off now, towards her generator. Fuck. It was so close too. Did she seriously come back here just to kick it? Jackass. Go hunt one of the loopers for Christ’s sake. It's not like they're doing anything important, like healing her . Sarah let the back of her head meet the wall. Taliyah’s near silent footsteps did not go unnoticed by her, though luckily she had given up her assault and was instead actually trying to play this dumbass game . She was already downed, why bother her more? Just fuck off already. Speaking of those loopers, where were they? She was the closest thing to a genrusher this round had and they were just going to let her bleed to death. Tabitha was already dead, for some reason Taliyah really wanted her gone, so it was up to them to put their goddamn heads together and get her up. Fuck, man. She can't even tell anyone where her generator is before she dies. Oh yeah, go to the sewer. It's near, let's see, some rooms. She hated Wastewater Treatment with a passion. If dying wasn't enough, you got to smell like death the entire round too! The place looked like a real shit show, smelled like one as well. There was actual sewer water everywhere. It was disgusting. Sarah grinded her teeth together. You either breathed the muck in or smelled it. She was kind of glad the scent of blood was so overpowering. It reminded her of pennies. Jesus fuck, where were these guys?

Kelvin blinked, and he looked down at his abdominal wound, even though he didn't want to. His wound? No, this was Sarah’s. Sarah Lindholm. She was bleeding out in Wastewater Treatment. Her generator, the same bright yellow box generator, the one from decades ago, was kicked. She was the only person close to a genrusher. ‘Genrusher’. It must've had something to do with a ‘Genlock’, and generators. Damn it, he was having one of these dreams. Taliyah Mehta had stabbed her. Taliyah Mehta didn't like her because she stole something from the girl a long time ago, and then she pushed her into a river for it. Sarah would've died if the mist didn't grab her first. She would've appreciated just dying. Sarah Lindholm wanted to die. It was better than being in the mist. ‘The Mist’. What the hell is going on? So ‘The Android’ was real. There were killers, real killers, after them. Why weren't they worried about dying? Why was Sarah thinking about the generator? Who cares about the generator, your gut is spilling on the floor. Nobody should care about the generator. These people knew something he didn't, they had to. Emery Rivera was doing a generator on Cliffmack Beach, and for some reason, Taliyah Mehta and The Android person didn't want these generators done. Sarah Lindholm was pissed off that she was stuck in Wastewater Treatment because it was confusing, a maze, and she couldn't let anyone know where her generator was, and it also smelled terrible, though she couldn't tell right now. The smell of blood was too overpowering. Her blood. She was dying, and wasn't she thinking about the generator? Who were ‘Loopers’? His vision was blurring. No, not his. Her vision was blurring. Sarah Lindholm’s vision was blurring. She was the one with the stomach slash, not him. Would anyone save Sarah Lindholm? What about the generator? 

Chapter Text

Kelvin woke up in a cold sweat, and his hand reached towards his stomach. His stomach. Kelvin Mars, an agent of the Mist Agency, that guy's stomach. There was no open wound. There was no blood. He didn't smell the metal tang of pennies. He didn't feel the warm, syrupy stickiness of it on his skin. No bone. No maggot organs or wet food in a sink. He felt nothing but the soft skin of his belly, pristine and untouched. Sarah Lindholm was left to feel it all. He gulped harshly, forcefully, at the sight of his belly, at how easily the skin could be sliced. The Mist was fake. This wasn't real. I mean, who thinks of generators while they're dying? It's that dreamlike trance, that's all. Nothing makes sense in dreams. Emery Rivera and Sarah Lindholm wouldn't get out of his head. Just dreams, he told himself. Get it together. You're letting nightmares screw you over this bad? 

“You look like shit today. Something up?” Kiat was sipping his coffee mindlessly, running his thumb up and down the ceramic handle. It said ‘World’s Best Grandma’. Kelvin had gotten it for his birthday last year as a prank gift, but it backfired when Kiat turned it around and pretended Kelvin was pregnant, and now he wouldn't stop using it. They had a whole baby shower and everything. It had the tacky, bright red heart against a white background, and the lettering was black comic sans.

“Jesus, dude, what’s wrong? You're staring at my mug like it's diamond.”

“Zoned off. That's a pretty damn good mug though. Props to whoever gave it to you.” He grinned and gave Kiat a wink before focusing back on his computer. 

“I haven't been getting much sleep lately.” He continued. Maybe he could use the coffee, he might snag some later. Kiat wouldn't mind. What was he doing? Right, something about location The Watcher. Not that anyone could find them. They evaded everyone, an entire government organization. They were good. It was meant more as menial, grunt work, on the off-chance the guy slipped up and dropped a clue. He wished he had something that required his full attention; He couldn't stop drifting off. Sarah Lindholm bleeding out on the floor of Wastewater Treatment, Emery Rivera doing a generator on the docks of Cliffmack Beach. Sarah's generator was kicked by Taliyah Mehta, the girl she stole something from long ago, the girl that pushed her into a river and got her sent there in the first place. Emery Rivera was doing a dock generator, and Gavin Prescott was worrying about a genlock. The generator was buzzing loudly, there was a spotlight above it, Emery was holding the blue and red wires. Sarah was holding her abdomen, clenching her wound to stop some of the blood flow. Emery Rivera was a magician. Gavin Prescott was a police officer. They were being chased down by ‘The Android’.

“ Kelvin! ” A booming clap in his ear awoke him from his daze. He glanced up at Kiat, mouth curving into a light smile.

“Rud-”

“What the fuck , man? Go to the nurse or something. You're not- You.” It was true. Kelvin wasn't himself. If he was tired, he'd moan and whine dramatically, laying his head on his desk until Sanjana booted him in the ass. 

“I’m fine, I'm okay. Really. I'm tired, that's all. In one hell of a sorry state. No sweat.” Kiat looked unconvinced, but he didn't care. He should go to the nurse, though, his gut hurts. No. His gut didn't hurt. Sarah Lindholm's gut hurt; It had been sliced open by Taliyah Mehta’s knives. Not his. 

“You're on Watcher Duty?” Kiat leaned over his screen.

“Yeah. Like I have any chance of finding them. Me. Pro-hacker Kelvin. That's what they call me, man!” Kiat laughed weirdly. He kind of sounded like a cartoon villain. Kelvin wasn't the worst hacker ever, but in the Mist Agency, he was very easily outclassed by his peers. Kiat included, though he didn't seem to be put on Watcher duty often.

“What was that, Wicked Witch of the West?”  Kiat flicked his ear.

“Why do you think The Watcher wants to know what we're doing?” He took another lazy sip of his coffee, more just to do something than actually drink it. It gave Kelvin the time to respond, he was quiet for a few brief moments.

“I'm not sure. Maybe this whole mist thing is like, you know, a cover-up. Maybe they know the truth. That's why they want the guy so badly.” Kelvin almost instinctively pulled a wire. He moved his hand to rub the middle of his forehead, above his nose bridge. No wires, no generators, no slashed open stomach, no nothin’. Focus.

“Maybe. What if he’s just after blackmail, though? I mean, this is a government organization. Seems more likely.” Yeah, that made sense. They were after blackmail. This stuff wasn’t real. Sarah Lindholm wasn’t going to be saved. Oh my God, what the hell was wrong with him? You’re on Watcher Duty. Think about that. Hey, hadn't Kiat used ‘he’ to refer to The Watcher? Kelvin turned to look at Kiat, giving the man an inquisitive look, unfamiliar for his face. 

“How do you know The Watcher is a dude? I was really hoping it'd be a hot hacker chick. Boo.” Typical straight-guy fantasy. He didn't like girls, but Kiat didn't need to know that.

“Girls would have more fun with this stuff. He's a total straight-laced weirdo, so definitely a dude.” Kelvin hummed in response. True, the guy was a weirdo, but girls could be weird too. Look at Sanjana. Or the nurse he found eating dog biscuits on break.

“Hey. Do you believe in The Mist?” Kiat was staring at him, hard. Kelvin wheeled around to stare at him with wide eyes, before tapping his fingers on the desk. Kiat's forwardness caught him off guard. He bit his bottom lip, chewing it mindlessly and closing his eyes 

“Nah. Everyone in there would be dead anyways. How old are some of these people?” His eyes flew back open, fogging up. Yeah. Some of these people were over 100 years old, yeah?

“Most are from the 2010’s and 2020’s, I think, so they'd be like, what, over 100 years old? Maybe the place ages differently, though. Straight sci-fi shit.” Yeah. Why hadn't he thought of that? No wonder the generators were old. Damn, man. Why hadn't he thought of that? No. His dreams weren't The Mist. Just random dreams. That's all. The Mist wasn't real. He had delved too far into those alien rumours. 

“You wanna go check?” This was stupid. Like, real stupid. Who cares? Work on the task. That's all you have to do, Kelvin. Work on the task. He shouldn't be tempting himself like this, going off to see the survivor- No- Confirmed reports. Sarah Lindholm was fake. Emery Rivera was fake. Gavin Prescott and The Android and Taliyah Mehta were fake. 

“You're just trying to get out of work.” Kiat shook his shoulders violently, shoving him into his chair. Kelvin swatted at him and burst out laughing. Truthfully, Kiat, he would like nothing more than to be doing Watcher Duty.

“I'll bite. Let's make it quick though, Sanjana's been up my ass”

“Up mine, too! I think she hates us. Wants to see us go through hell.” Kelvin knew the woman didn't actually hate them, but he couldn't lie, Sanjana took this whole job a bit too seriously. She was always serious, you could tell her the job was to kill Santa Claus and she'd ask you for the details, regarding it all with pure sincerity, but come on. Kelvin knew it was because she cared. She didn't want him throwing away this opportunity because he didn't believe in what they were doing. He was always an emotional man, somewhat. Not one for tears or sappy monologues, but emotional in the sense that he wanted to matter. He wanted purpose, and this wasn't it. He strolled down the hallway, grabbing the doorframe and swinging into one of the offices that held the documents. He scanned the room for a moment, spotting a name tag with ‘Confirmed’ stuck on one of the drawers. He slid it open, a loud bang erupting from his half-hazard pull.

“Woah man, chill.” Kiat called out from behind him as he sifted through the folders. Something about seeing all the pictures, missing posters, details about their lives, it felt wrong. Like you weren't looking at a dead person. It's hard to imagine these people were, well, people when you're looking at the outside view. Not confirmed reports. Not survivors. Real, blood pumping, heart beating people. He went back to the start of the file cabinet, picking out the second folder he could see and opening it up. A girl with huge, black hair and a red hoodie was taking a… What were they called, ‘self-ease'? Something like that, he's heard it before somewhere. The name didn't make sense, what about this was self easing? Maybe some self love kind of thing. She was taking one of these ‘self-ease’ pictures with another girl, a brunette in a tracksuit. They seemed to be in front of a coffee shop. Kelvin lingered on the photo for a few moments. Real people who've gone to spend time together in front of a coffee shop. What did they talk about? They didn't look super young, maybe highschool or college age. The girl in the red hoodie was smiling, a perfect smile, the ones famous people put on, but it didn't seem fake. Manufactured maybe, but not fake, she was genuinely happy with her uncomfortably perfect smile, bright white teeth and a symmetrical curve of the lips. The other girl, the brunette, seemed to be more mellow, not focusing on the camera but instead on the girl in the red hoodie. Her eyes were tilted low, almost dreamy, and she had a bubbly smirk, as if she was trying to look irritated but couldn't keep herself from smiling. He continued slipping past folders. It looked as if the files were alphabetical. Once he got to ‘G’, he flicked out the first folder he saw, not taking the time to read the full name until it was already out. He flicked out the folder of Gavin Prescott. Fuck, man. He found one of them. Kelvin shoved that thought to the back of his mind. He went through these folders before, right? Dreams can do tricky things, bring up stuff you didn't even know you remembered. That's all. Kelvin turned to Kiat.

“Didn't know you liked the silver foxes. Hey, that's a cop! Thought you'd hate those guys.” Kiat rested his forearm on Kelvin's shoulder, dangling his cup lazily over his uniform. Watch it asshole, I do my laundry tomorrow.

“Maybe he can bribe me out next time. Does he look like a cop to you?” 

“Honestly? He looks dead.” Kiat ran his hand through his blonde hair. Kelvin squinted at his photo. Grey streaked his brown hair, and his eyes looked just as tired as the last time he saw him. 33 years old? Christ, man, get a new profession, this one's killing you. ‘Taken sometime in March, 2024.’ 

“2024 for this guy. Right on the money.” He glanced over the file. His sister got misted two decades earlier? Rough. A shadow crossed Kelvin's eyes. It wasn't right to be talking about these missing people like they were still out there. They weren't. There was no ‘Mist’. This guy was dead. Crunching bone against metal. Gavin Prescott was on the docks of Cliffmack Beach with Emery Rivera. He nearly slapped himself silly.

“Well, I’ve got a Watcher to find. And maybe a cop boyfriend! Glad I didn't make any bets on it.” Kelvin gave a dumb grin before sauntering off. What did The Watcher even want with them? This wasn't real.

He was exhausted, the type of exhaustion that made your bones ache and eyes sore, and yet he couldn't sleep. He leaned against his headrest, listening to Sanjana shuffle every now and then in her bed. Sanjana had given some lecture about how he can't get out of work by staying up late; He didn't blame her. He's done it before. Kelvin couldn't remember what she had said, he kept thinking about Gavin Prescott and how he was berating Emery Rivera instead of getting on a generator. Sanjana must've noticed, because after about 10 minutes she completely gave up, letting out an exasperated sigh before climbing into her bed. Kelvin nestled under the covers, away from the chill of the night, and slowly drifted off.

Chapter Text

His hands were covered with blood again, but not his own. He was wrapping bandages around someone. Silver armour, scuffed and smudged with remembrances of past brawls, was lying next to him.

“Rayner, you cannot keep doing this. I shall never allow this. You have pledged yourself to me, as my knight, and I tell you this now. You must stop!” Tears were welling up in his eyes. He could not bear the sight of the love of his life, cradled in his arms, smothered in bandages, nor the guilt it burdened his shoulders with. He had fallen for him. He lay on the ground for him. This was his fault, was it not? What was he to do? It always was Rayner's duty to protect him, sworn to him by the King when entering knighthood, but Crosby had never appreciated it. It was not that he felt coddled, but more that if there were any treachery against him, he may lose Rayner. There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to stay beside him, he would throw away his own aristocratic lifestyle and kingdom just to keep him safe, but they doomed him to throw away his life, just for Crosby. He could lose him any day. 

“My Prince…”

“No. No. Do not call me that, Rayner Byrne.” He used the sleeve of his undercoat to wipe away his own tears, avoiding the formerly pristine cuffs that were now stained with gore. The gore of his knight, his love, all over him. The blood-stained cloth ran cold against his skin. 

“What if you never wake up…?” He was sobbing now, a deep, guttural sob, from the depths of his chest, wallowing out of him, pouring from his heart. He could not take it. The thought was ripping him from the inside out. It was as if his ribcage bloomed out like a rose spreading its petals in spring. What if he never woke up? He had never heard of a survivor dying permanently in The Mist, but he would not risk it. Could not. 

“Of course I will awaken, my love. I always do-”

“What if you do not? What if it takes you away? What will I to do? You are all I have, I cannot go on without you. I cannot imagine a world without you. I- I will not. ” He had cupped the knight's hands within his own, gripping desperately. He could not risk losing him, not again. Every memory haunted him, seeing the man who turned his world every day, lifeless and covered in his own blood. Ghosts of each match wouldn't ever leave him alone. His eyes held specters. He leaned into Rayner's palm as he pressed it against his cheek. The way he was dragged off from his bedroom, his lips pursing in a silent confession, the bruises that painted the same body he had embraced just the night before whilst locked away in the dungeon. Like he had deserved it. 

“I worry the same as you, Crosby. I feel as if I do not protect you, I will lose you forever. You are not alone, my dear. We must not let these thoughts consume us so. Look at me, my love. I shall return.” His eyes were so captivating, a million beautiful things locked behind them. He watched as a strand of auburn hair fell over his face, his locks often tucked backwards in a way that reminded Crosby of a swan’s wing. Rayner's hand slowly drew across his cheek, wiping away his streamed tears. He could make Crosby feel so safe, even within this torture they reside in. His palm was so rough, weathered skin from taxing labour brushing against his smooth cheeks. His skin never felt so much like his own than when Rayner was holding him. 

“I love you, Ray. I have loved you from the time we first met. You are my everything, you are the sun in the sky, you are the light that ignites my life. I beg of you, never leave me. That is a command, my knight.” He leaned in to kiss him, embracing him before he could attempt to reply. The softness of their lips melting into one another, the two men shared each other for what felt like eternity, a place forever in bliss and passion. This was all either had continued for; Eachother. Like two halves of a whole. He pretended he could not taste the blood among Rayner's lips. When he eventually let go, he could feel the tears streak his face. 

Holy shit. Kelvin just kissed a guy. Well, he didn't. Crosby Aldrich, a prince, did. But he was in Crosby's body. Rayner Byrne was his knight and lover, and he was bleeding on the ground, much like Sarah Lindholm. He somehow knew he was in Camp Clearwater, whatever that meant. They were on some dusty trail, surrounded by brown fencing. There seemed to be different coloured rags hanging from random spots. Why wouldn't he grab one of those? There were cabins strewn about the area, sprinkled with pine trees, though they didn't look very tall at all. He thought he saw a beach area in the corner of his vision. Was that Cliffmack Beach? Damn, a real prince and knight, in love? This had to be some kind of fairytale. This was a dream, there was no other way.

“Let us go now. We must complete the generators.” Crosby stood up, hand-in-hand with his soulmate. He had felt in that moment that, if the gates of hell stood before them, he would follow his knight through without a second thought. Anywhere was perfect as long as he was within arm's reach. He helped the man put upon his garments, letting his hand run down the rough silver of his chest piece, tracing the grooves of the forgery. 

“I wish it did more in this place. How… queer is it, that these killers can pass through it like wind?” The prince’s muscles sagged. He wanted nothing more than for Rayner to be safe, and yet each time, it seemed the forces worked against them. Rayner took his hands and led him off towards the doors of a sprawling cabin, the largest of them all. Crosby glanced at the window, not out it, but at his faint reflection.

Woah. Kelvin realized why the knight was so madly in love with this prince guy. Talk about pretty, the man was gorgeous. His dirty-blonde curls fell over his temple, no doubt shining gold under sunlight. That's something odd Kelvin had noticed, it seemed as if it was always night. Did The Mist hold the same daytime cycle as here? It seemed way too improbable. The man's eyes were a dreamy, honey-yellow colour, they seemed to be shimmering like rays passing through a tree's branches. It was captivating, how light passed through them. Why the hell was he sitting here gawking at some fake prince? Kelvin was not this gay. He walked over to the yellow, vintage generator, to join Rayner Byrne. Always a generator. What was with the generators? And why did everyone need them fixed so badly? Kelvin, or well, Crosby, grabbed the wires and started twisting and pulling. How did a medieval prince know how to do this? Actually, since there was a prince, that means the other survivors- Survivors? Survivors. The other survivors might've not been from the same at all. Has Crosby Aldrich been here for centuries? Nothing was making sense. He was busy mulling over the situation when he felt a sudden, piercing pain shoot through him, straight from the heart.

Crosby let the wires flop loosely out of his hands, bringing his palm to his chest. Every inch, every flesh of his being, was incinerating with pain, but it only flashed in his widened eyes. His movement was just as elegant as always, a graceful poise. He watched the cloth of his garment bleed red. There was something sticking out of his back; It must have been a blade. His mouth opened futilely, no words coming off his tongue, and his vision was utterly encompassed by shadow. No. He could not go yet. He could not let Rayner be alone. Oh, Rayner, I am so sorry. Nothing was coming out of his mouth, his jaw was locking, he couldn't see anything. His skull throbbed, his weakened limbs gave way, and his entire mind went blank. Forgive me, forgive me, I beg. The last thing he heard before falling to the floor was the distraught, hysterical scream of Rayner Byrne.

Chapter Text

Kelvin lurched upwards, gasping for breath, patting down his heart in a feverish frenzy. There was no blade in his back. He was not bleeding. And yet, he couldn't help himself from sobbing. He could faintly picture Rayner Byrne’s corpse a hundred times, no doubt a memory of Crosby Aldrich. These people, these… Survivors, as they called themselves, were dying. Over and over. That's why Sarah Lindholm wasn't afraid of death, and why they were all so focused on generators. He clutched the flesh covering his heart, feeling the trembles of each beat pulse through his skin. Crosby Aldrich was dead, but alive. Too alive. He was stuck alive. So was Rayner Byrne, Sarah Lindholm, Taliyah Mehta, Emery Rivera, and Gavin Prescott. These were real, flesh and blood people, weren't they? They couldn't be. He didn't want to imagine that. He didn't want to think about how he had said, ‘Hey man, the aliens got them. They're strung up on some galactic operating table. Real aliens, I'm telling you. Abducted by aliens.’ Like some kind of fucking joke. He didn't want to remember all the times he spun around in his office chair and talked about The Mist, and how it must've been a real damn pleasure, they all had it easier, while he sat and looked for some dipshit hacking dope. He couldn't stop crying. He could still see the blood all over his hands, all over Crosby Aldrich’s and Sarah Lindholm's hands. He heard Sanjana groan just above him, and then the hitch of her breath.

“Kelvin, are you crying? ” He tried muffling himself, to no avail. Sanjana leered over at him, scanning him over. He could only give her a pitiful glance back. 

“What the hell happened?” Her usually stern demeanor only grew the tiniest bit softer. How could he explain himself? Was he even actually seeing the mist? How could he explain that he was crying over a prince who fell over dead in front of their partner, or a young girl who bled out on the floor that nobody would help, or the magician being berated for not wanting to die? It wouldn't make sense. 

“Fucked up dream. That's all.” He gave her a watery smile, begging with his eyes that she wouldn't ask any more questions. She didn't. 

All day, he heard the scream. Rayner Byrne’s, the knight's, scream. It replayed in his mind, over and over, a broken record of despair. He never even realized someone could make that kind of noise. A scream from the very depths of one's core. It was heart-shattering. Kelvin pictured the way Crosby Aldrich reached out to touch the tip of the blade sticking out of his chest. It pierced through his entire body, a straight shot, and yet he touched it so softly, as if the prince himself could not believe what had just happened. Did that happen every time? If the survivors have been dying constantly, why weren't they used to the death? Though, Sarah Lindholm had thought about how hard it was to see her own blood, so maybe there was no way to get used to it. Jesus Christ. What did the government hope to gain from the Mist? It wasn't just to save whoever was in there, that's too moral. Did they know what was inside it? Maybe they knew the people in there were immortal. It sent a chill up his spine. They wanted to go in there, didn't they? Kelvin felt queasy. He couldn't go in there. Nobody should. Fuck the immortality, man. You're being chased by killers, and for eternity. You'd go straight mad. 

“Kelvin.” Ah, shit. She was asking questions. 

“Heyyyy…” He was sitting at his desk, dozing off, head in his hand and leaning against the flimsy office divider walls. He didn't look up.

“We need to talk. Something's wrong. I'm not stupid.” Her eyes were hidden, metaphorically. You could look into them, but you couldn't see anything, you know?

“Never said you were. I'm smart enough to know that some facts, you just can't say out loud.” He tensed his muscles to prepare for the incoming impact, not that his defenses ever worked; Nothing came. That was even scarier than a sock from her. 

“I… I know how you are, Kelvin, and this isn't it.” She was still staring at him. Sanjana was always unreadable, unless you somehow pissed her off royally, or you were Kiat, but this was different. It wasn't exactly that all her feelings were hidden, though. It's almost like she had so many thoughts going on at once, that you couldn't identify any of them. At least, that's how Kelvin interpreted it. Sanjana was a mystery. He brushed away some stray curls from his eyes, rubbing them. 

“Yeah, I've been avoiding work, I kn-” Sanjana crouched down to meet his gaze. He felt like one of the people she was interrogating. A chill ran up his spine, and even though he knew that Sanjana wouldn't torture him, he felt like it'd happen. 

“I know that's not what this is about. Talk to me. Don't try and lie.” Damn, she was good. 

“It's really nothing, ‘Jana. I've just been having bad dreams.” He jolted up when she slammed her fist on his desk. Nobody would pay attention though, they were used to Sanjana giving Kelvin all kinds of shit. 

“I know that. I hear you. I can hear you every single fucking night, tossing in your goddamn sheets, and then waking up in a frenzy. What the hell is going on?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but her eyes were blazing. His stomach felt hollow. He couldn't say. He couldn't even begin to describe what was going on in his dreams. He couldn't even tell if they were real or not. 

“I didn't know you cared so much about me!” He tried cutting the tension with a goofy smile. It didn't work. This is Sanjana we're talking about.

“Kelvin, knock it off. I'm serious. Either you tell me or you tell the nurse, and she's more than over your shit.” She stood back up, leaning on the walls of the cubicle and forcing it to tilt to bear her weight, arms crossing her chest. 

“I know what you're doing with Kiat. With the mistings and such. I thought you didn't believe in it. What gives?” Damn Kiat. That fuckin’ snitch. Something flickered in his gaze. He hoped she didn't notice. She did.

“Are you dreaming about the Mist?” Her eyebrows furrowed. She was staring hard, almost a glare. He could feel it crawl under his skin. 

“Just nightmares. I gotta stop listening to the rumours, man. They're messing with my mind.” He heard Rayner Byrne’s scream again, sudden and explosive. It went not fully silent, but muffled, for at least the length of the conversation. He knew his eyes were glazing over. They must've been watering, too. He didn't really care what Sanjana saw or thought at that moment, he could only remember Crosby Aldrich's hands brought up to his chest, tapping the edge of a blade that had struck him through his heart, his own beating, pumping heart. It was a courtly movement, his hands looked so delicate in that moment, soft and untainted even if they were dripping with blood, like a swan's wing. A swan's wing. It moved like a swan's wing. He felt the syrupy warmth of blood on his hands. He almost felt as if he looked down and saw his own abdomen split open, gore pouring out of it. He could smell the pennies, and felt the rage that Sarah Lindholm held for Taliyah Mehta, the girl who sliced her gut open with two tiny knives. He heard waves crash against wooden beams holding up a dock, the low rumble of a generator, and felt the smooth rubber of two wires tumbling through his grasp. He listened to Gavin Prescott calling Emery's name, gruff from all the yelling he had been doing. He felt himself being shoved into a locker. He heard the sound of bone against metal. He felt the blade strike his heart. He heard Rayner Byrne's scream.

Sanjana said something, but Kelvin didn't hear her. He was somewhere else. The entire room was spinning, and his vision was blurring. He opened his mouth to say something, something dumb and funny that would make everything go away and get a few chuckles and hide all of these thoughts deep down. Maybe something about how Kiat spiked the coffee he had earlier because he was tired of hearing him talk. Something stupid like that. 

“I think… I think the Mist is real, no shit.” He didn't mean to say that, but that's all that would come out when he toppled over.

Chapter Text

Rage. Blind, fuming rage. Fire that wouldn't quench. She did this. It's her fault that Rose died. All of this is because of her. She killed her. She killed Rose. Daryl barreled down the halls, footsteps slamming down and sending a thundering echo against the walls. He didn't care about winning. He needed to see her suffer. He needed to watch her bleed. She took his baby girl, murdered his daughter in cold blood. He saw her take her first steps, say her first word; ‘Dada.’ He saw her off to her first day of school, cradled her after her first breakup, drove her to her first dance at prom, and he saw her hung up on the tree. Her black high-tops swinging ever so slightly against the wind. Her entire body was limp. It was so, so limp, like a prop, like she never even really existed. The daughter he had been eating dinner with just last night, talking about how gross dissections were, and how the smell of fish wouldn't get out of her favorite jacket. It didn't help that he happened to make salmon for dinner that night, did it? His voice was cracked and shattered as he knelt into the ground. He couldn't look. He was staring at the grass, but could only see the way the rope twisted around his daughter's neck. Not her necklace, a fake gold chain with a little heart pendant, the one she has begged him for weeks to buy after her best friend got one, the one she never took off, with the little heart pendant she fiddled with whenever embarrassed. It wasn't a necklace, but a rope wrapped around her throat. 

Yronica Ayala. That was the name that popped up in her last text messages. That was the name of the girl that had gotten a heart pendant. He knew the girl was bad news, but Rose loved her, and who was he to rip her from her friends? Maybe Yronica was just a hurt young girl. He wanted to believe she could be helped, that with enough love and encouragement, she'd change. It was the worst mistake of his life. And he would avenge her. He would make Yronica suffer the same way his daughter had. He was a fool, to let her trust the girl. He just wanted to see her happy. All his life, he just wanted Rose to be happy, it was what drove him to get up in the mornings and push so hard every day. He wanted to see her grow up, become her own person, live her life to the fullest, and Yronica Ayala took that all from her. He didn't care about the games. He didn't care that Yronica would just wake up again. Daryl needed her to be torn from the inside out. She killed his fucking daughter. He felt his heart beating outside of his chest as he swept into the room; It seemed to be some kind of office area. He didn't really care what it was, all he heard was the buzzing of a generator. That's all he needed to know. His storming steps rushed into the room before anyone in there could get very far, and he spotted her running towards the exit. Her. He didn't even notice the other two survivors scrambling away from the generator and out of his way.

“You fucking lunatic! I didn't make her do that! She did it herself!” Daryl’s head thundered. She was blaming her? Rose? Rose killed herself and she blamed her? His fury was overpowering, like a matador’s bull. She knew what she did. Don't avoid your guilt, Yronica.

“It’s your fault, it's all your fault! You will rot in hell! ” His ruler lashed out towards her, scraping the air in front of her face. She was dead meat when he caught her. He was never one prone to violence, he always opted out of the horror movies Rose would beg him to watch on Halloween or Friday the 13th, but now… He needed to see her bleed. If she was still recognizable, it wasn't enough. He needed to make her feel hell. Nothing could bring his daughter back, his sweet girl, but he could get his revenge. For him, and for her. She took everything from him. She took all the nights they celebrated a difficult test by grabbing ice cream from the local ice cream parlour, walking down by the river and talking about nothing. He could still remember her favorite ice cream, rocky road with strawberry syrup. She dubbed it, ‘Strawberry Shortcake’, a name that had made no sense at the time, but she was only 9 years old and liked how the name sounded. She took their weekly Saturday movie nights, with cheap microwaveable popcorn and Starburst Gummies, her favorite candy. She took away all of the bedtime stories he had read to her when she was still young, all the theme park rides they had shared together, all of the dinners where he forced her to sit with him even when she was in the worst moods, the ones where Daryl would stare at her with some goofy expression until she burst out laughing. She never could keep a straight face when he did that. But now, it was all gone, stripped away from him just like that. Because of some selfish, vile girl. She didn't care. She probably enjoyed seeing Rose hung up on the tree. There are some people who are better off dead, and Yronica Ayala was the poster child for those people.

Kelvin was panicking. No, no. There had to be something he could do. Even if this was a dream, he had to do something. He couldn't just let this man murder Yronica Ayala. She seemed like a top-tier bitch, no doubt, but he was going to kill her. She was just a girl! He couldn't do it. He had to stop this. His feet kept throwing him forward in pursuit of her. Fuck, man, what could he do? He couldn't control Daryl Ross. He was going to murder her, and fuckin’ brutalize her at that, and he couldn't do a thing. They must've been in some kind of subway metro; There were a lot of stairs and even more escalators, none of which actually worked. The flooring looked like a dirty off-white, and he couldn't tell if it was from grime or just terribly designed. Yronica was breathing heavily, no doubt becoming exhausted.

“I didn't do that! I didn't make her do it! I can't just bring your fucking daughter back!” Yronica was screaming now, hurling herself over vaults and nearly toppling over them each time. Daryl’s chase never faltered. He was dead set on killing her. Kelvin felt a lump grow in his throat. He wanted to hate Daryl, he really did, I mean, targeting a highschool girl? But he also saw the corpse of Rose Ross hanging from a tree, and the way her black high-tops swung ever so softly against the wind, or the rope that replaced the necklace with the heart pendant around her neck. Did Taliyah Mehta or ‘The Android’ or whoever slung the knife into Crosby Aldrich’s back have a reason behind their killing? Maybe not Taliyah Mehta. She seemed psycho crazy. 

“No, you can't. But you can pay for what you've done.” His voice was lower now, malicious. His ruler swung, slamming into the side of Yronica’s head and sending her screaming and reeling into a metro car, desperately hanging onto the grooves of the metal plates. She looked back at him with shadowed, hateful eyes. The only thing you could see was rage. They reminded him of his own. Why was she mad? She had caused all of this. It's all her fault.

“Boo-fucking-hoo. She's dead. Get over it.” She seethed through grinded teeth. Wow! Okay. Kelvin's eyes would've widened in surprise, but Daryl's eyes continued staring bloody daggers into her. Has she said this before? He had the feeling she did. This girl's evil. Not death-worthy, though. 

“She did it herself, she-” Daryl knew he couldn't kill her. Every fiber of his being wanted her dying a slow, painful death, but he knew The Mist wouldn't allow it. Not yet. He planted his foot over her leg and stomped, listening to the crunching of bone beneath his heel. Screaming erupted from her throat, filling the metro with agonized shrieks. It was exhilarating. It was the same scream that came from himself on the night he discovered Rose. He shifted the heel back and forth, grinding deeper into the now crushed bone. Do you feel it now, Yronica? This is a fraction of what you caused Rose for all those years. Do you feel it? She was crying, sobbing against the floor of the train, letting out excruciating screeches every time he drove his shoe deeper. 

“This is what you deserve .” Fuck. Kelvin wished stars would spin inside his head or vomit to rise up in his throat, that's what he would be feeling if he weren't seeing through Daryl's mind. Instead, he was forced to watch as the man crushed a little girl's leg, and felt excited about it. I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. He was pleading silently to the girl, as if she could hear, or even see anything besides hate. The feeling of his leg pressing deeper into her calf would undoubtedly tear holes through his body if it were his body. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't even look away as she wept on the floor. His heart beat no faster than it had before. There was no tremble in his nerves. He just had to watch as the ruler plunged into her other leg, the way she screamed, ear-piercing and frightened. He smelled the blood. It didn't smell like pennies. It smelled like something far worse, unexplainable, like vengeance, like cigarettes in an ashtray. This was just a highschool girl. He couldn't pretend that she wasn't a terrible person, bullying a girl to suicide, but he also couldn't pretend she deserved death. This was no Emery Rivera avoiding a killer robot, or sickened Sarah Lindholm being ridiculed by bloodthirsty Taliyah Mehta, or someone flying a knife into the heart of love-filled Crosby Aldrich. There was nobody to hate, nobody to blame, and nobody to stop them from ripping each other apart like dogs. A grieving father versus the girl who took his daughter away, and yet also a highschool girl who made a terrible mistake, one that'll haunt her for the rest of her days, and one she won't ever get the chance to grow from. This was the real horror of the mist, wasn't it? They couldn't open The Mist. They couldn't go through. Kelvin wasn't a hero. He felt bad for everyone in The Mist, he really did, but in that moment, he didn't care. He wanted to get out. He'd do anything to get out. He couldn't be another victim of its games, he couldn't watch this go down. Get me out. Wake me up. I'm done. I'm sorry. Please stop this. Get out of my head. He could only regard everything in cold sobriety as Daryl twisted the ruler that was still inside of her thigh. 

Chapter Text

“Kelvin. Kelvin!” His eyes flew open, every limb shaking uncontrollably, driven gasps intaking all the air around him. It was stuffy, sterile, and it didn't taste like blood. His entire mouth felt dry and crusted. His eyes slowly unblurred, flickering over to Sanjana.

“Jesus Christ man, you went out cold. What happened?” He sat there for a few moments, just staring at her. Not at Yronica Ayala and her eviscerated calf, or the tip of the blade that had pierced Crosby Aldrich through the heart, or Rayner Byrne’s bandages stained red, or Sarah Lindholm's guts spilled on the floor, or the generator on Cliffmack Beach with the red and blue wires. No. None of that. It was just Sanjana. He burst into tears. 

“Sanjana, I can't do this. I'm done. I'm quitting. I'm going to jail. I'm sick of this.” His nose felt clogged. Kelvin attempted to get up but two arms struck him firmly in place.

“The fuck are you talking about? What's going on?” Kiat was in the background, eerily still. He didn't usually stay in one place. It seemed to be just the three of them, though Kelvin didn't really care who heard at that moment.

“This Mist shit? It's too much. I'm not dealing with this. I'm not risking it.” Both of their eyes widened.

“ Risking it? Risking what?” Sanjana seemed to interrupt Kiat before he could parrot her, his mouth left ajar. 

“I'm not risking being misted. I've seen the shit that goes on in there. I'm not going. It's worse than hell, and I'm not going to keep poking it further until it comes to get me too.” 

“You've seen The Mist? No shit?” Kiat looked way too invested in this revelation. Who could blame him, he hasn't seen what Kelvin had.

“Yup. Believe me or not, I don't care. I'm not going to continue looking into it. I'm not risking it. I can't go in there… I just…” He had kept himself from breaking somewhat throughout the chatter, stifling any more cries, but the eventual thoughts overwhelmed him and left him a shuddering, weeping mess. 

“Kelvin, if you're actually seeing the mist, we ought to tell someone-” 

“Oh yeah? And then what? He gets sent to an interrogation room and hounded about it? Look at him, Sanjana. Look at him and tell me you think he should deal with that right now. Use your fucking brain.” Both Kelvin and Sanjana looked at him in a dumb trance, shocked at his outburst, Kelvin particularly being slack jawed. Kiat was being way too defensive about something like this. Sure, he maybe would've argued against it, but to get angry? Like, real anger? That wasn't Kiat. But he wasn't necessarily wrong. Sanjana was rational, though a bit too, you know. 

“They'd help him, Kiat. How about you look at him? Do you think we should just let him have a mental breakdown every time he falls asleep? Shit, he's passing out now! I'm sorry, but you're not the one who has listened to him wake up every night in a cold sweat. When's the last time he got to sleep for a full night, Kiat? You wouldn't fucking know, because you didn't even realize, did you? Thought he was faking being sick to get off work, right?” Sanjana whipped around to face him, eyes ablaze. Oh shit.

“ When.” Not a question, a demand.

“I- Uhm.” Kelvin didn't know what to say. His mind was already flickering in and out from the present to the Mist's memories. 

“ Yeah. Sorry for not wanting my colleague to go fucking crazy, Kiat! Let's just let him keep hallucinating! Look at him! It's gone great so far!” Colleague? That's a new one. That's Sanjana language for ‘I’d die for you, man. ’ Yronica’s screaming was bellowing in his eardrums. Sanjana called him a colleague. That's real sweet of her. 

“You think they're gonna help him? Use your goddamn senses. They want information, they couldn't give two shits whether or not Kelvin’s fine. That's why you both got the job in the first place. We're all replaceable! I'm looking out for my friend. ” His breath hitched. Was Yronica Ayala fine? There were at least two other survivors on that generator with her. They'd help her, right? Though, nobody helped Sarah Lindholm. How do you even help them in that state? Sarah was thinking about being rescued, so there must be something they could do. Oh, Kiat called him his friend. Kelvin already knew they were, same with Sanjana, but it was nice to be reaffirmed. He really needed that right now. 

“Yeah, I'm looking out for him too, jackass. That's why I don't want him losing this fucking job. You don't care about that, though, do you? It's a brand new story to tell. That's all it ever is. New shit to talk about! No fucking way!” Crosby Aldrich was helping Rayner Byrne, right? So they could be saved. Maybe Yronica was alright after all. Maybe even Sarah, too. Rayner was wearing bandages, which means they have some medical supplies. Why didn't Crosby take the little coloured towels off the fencing to help clean Rayner up? Could they use those?

“You think this is just gossip material to me? I'm worried about him, you bitch! You think I haven't noticed how in the past week he's become a walking corpse? Do you think I'm fucking blind?”

“I just murdered a girl and you guys are arguing about jobs!” Both of them turned to look at Kelvin after his outburst. Their gazes bore into him and hollowed him out. A seemingly new nurse shuffled in for a second during the staredown before deciding to shuffle right on out. Smart kid. 

“Not me. I didn't. Felt like it was me, though, so what's the difference? Shit, man, she's dead. I didn't even kill her. Not yet. I know she is going to die, though. She's probably dead now. He wouldn't let her go. I crushed her leg. It looked like- Like ground beef. Meat. It was a pile of meat. He wouldn't stop crushing it, man. She kept screaming and he kept grinding her leg to a pulp. A meaty, bloody pulp. I was grinding the bone to mush. Straight meat. I don't know how she didn't pass out.” Kiat and Sanjana continued staring. Just staring. He couldn't make out their faces very well through his tears. Kelvin wasn't ever a sentimental man. Emotional, but not sentimental. He didn't cry at sad movies or dog deaths. This, though? These were real people. And he had to watch them kill. He had to watch them die. All for some game. No wonder they were doing generators. It all made sense. It was a game. The match timer Emery Rivera, The Magician, mentioned. How Sarah Lindholm didn't care about dying. It was a game. Who was running it, though? No. He didn't want to know. He didn't care. Fuck the Mist. Kiat leaned forward.

“What's in the Mist?” His eyes glowed. It made Kelvin want to hurl. 

“So much for not hounding him, yeah? Let's not hound him now, you asshole!” Sanjana was pacing rapidly. He had never seen her pace. What time was it, anyways? The nurse offices always had the same stingy lighting at any time of the day, an unwelcoming fluorescent white. Made you want to leave faster; it was too effective against people trying to skip out from work. Like Kelvin. 

“You wanna know what's inside the Mist? Death. All you do is get killed, over and over. That's it. We shouldn't be researching this shit. We need to go. Go away, I mean. I'm not going in there. I am not going in there, goddamn it!” Kelvin threw his head back onto the stiff, limp pillow. His heart was beating straight out of his chest. He thought his chest pulsated. It looked like a maggot, and it smelled like pennies and it felt like wet food in a sink. He closed his eyes and pictured auburn hair that swept like a swan's wing, or red and blue wires. Or the ruler he drove into a highschool girl's thigh. His breathing was becoming rapid, uncontrollable. Kiat put a hand on his shoulder, making Kelvin jolt up and grip it within his own, cupping it.

“You see this? This is what Crosby Aldrich did. He cupped his knight's hands within his own and said ‘I love you’ and other sappy shit. Poured his fuckin’ soul out, yeah? And then he died. Knife, straight through the heart. He tapped his chest like he couldn't believe it himself. He's dead, man. But he isn't. He's still in those goddamn games. And a knife is gonna stick through his heart again, and again, and again, for the rest of time. That's the Mist. That's what we're looking for. You wanna go do that? You wanna die like that, forever? Be my guest. ” Kelvin flung himself off the bed, starting to stomp out the door, when Sanjana gripped him by the arm. 

“ Kelvin- ” She had the stern mother voice, the one that threatens to beat you with a wooden spoon. Usually, that'd work. Not this time. 

“I'm not going to die like a dog. I'm not going in there. I've seen what it does. I've seen my own guts spilled out on the floor, not my own but it felt like it. And the only solace I got was that it wasn't me. I'm not going to be the one bleeding out on the floor, or the one with the broken fuckin’ meat leg, or the one who died in front of his lover boy, or the one who sat in a locker and had to hear a gunshot and bone on metal. ”

“Kelvin, will you listen to me-” She was almost pleading. Almost. He attempted to tug away from her locked hands. 

“Listen? Listen? I've heard enough! I've heard enough screaming and bitter last thoughts for a goddamn lifetime! I don't care what they do, I'm not going to risk my life looking for this damn Mist! The people in there wish they were dead! I'm not joining them!” Kiat was standing at the back, leaning against the wall, in a daze. He looked right through the two of them.

“So you're just going to sit in jail? What if the dreams never go away? What if they're fake-” Kelvin wheeled around to face her, shoes squeaking against the tile floor.

“They are not fake. I know they aren't. I wish they were but they aren't . Those people are in there.” He looked down at his shoes. Fuck, man. She was right. What would he do if they didn't let up? It's easier to deal with it here than in prison. If he was at risk of being fired, he could tell the truth about the dreams. They'd probably take him. They'd take anything. A lump grew in his throat. He had to stay here. Maybe he could just stay on Watcher duty. Didn't the guy have access to the security cameras? Were they listening in? Whatever. Let them listen. Let everyone listen. Get him out.

“You're right. I'll stay. But I'm not sure what to do about the sleep situation. I'm barely getting any of it.”

“Melatonin. Tell me about your dreams when you wake up.” Sanjana was back to her stoic demeanour. Did a shadow cover her eyes? It's like the world is working to make her the scariest bitch alive. Regardless, telling someone about his dreams would help. For once, he felt a weight lift off his shoulder. He let them sag lazily before twisting towards Kiat, still in his elbows-up pose straight from a shitty highschool rom-com, a glaze covering his face. 

“Kiat.” He let out a grunt in reply, before blinking and staring at him. That caveman.

“I saw my silver fox. He's a dick though, so we're over.” Kelvin gave the man a watery smile, he could feel the slight stickiness of salt on his cheeks, and the hardened stubble on his chin. The last part of his sentence sounded reminiscent of a teenage girl, about as close as a 22 year old man could get. 

“He's a cop. Fork found in kitchen.” Kiat finally laughed. Sanjana finally scoffed behind the both of them. Normalcy. Kiat and Kelvin goofing around and Sanjana cracking down on them. It felt normal. It felt like Kelvin was going to go to bed tonight and actually sleep. 

Kelvin dissected the ceiling above him, all the grooves and intricacies he could decipher in concrete as he attempted to fall asleep. Sanjana was still, but he knew she wasn't asleep. Her breathing was too quiet, as if she was controlling it. Eventually, he closed his eyes.