Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The camera focused slowly on a bulletin board laden with missing posters, traffic cam stills, and drive-by photos of two blurry faces. The air hung still, disrupted only by the rhythmic clicking of an analog keyboard just beyond the camera until a figure barely stepped into the frame. The man sighed and tidied a stack of papers with hurried, angular handwriting covering each page before sitting in the office chair. The man stared distantly at the stack of papers before him, eyes ringed dark and weary. He tugged at a limp strand of bleached hair, eyes scanning the neat stack of documents to avoid the video camera set up on the desk.

The voice behind the camera cleared his throat, and the man let out a huff of indignance before facing the camera.

“You’ve gotta just start talking, Thatcher. It’ll get easier.”

The man–Thatcher–shot a tired glance just past the center frame, eyes narrowing into a glare that lacked any bite. He rubbed a hand over his face, a limp attempt to rub the years of insomnia from his eyes to get his report on tape. He sat up, straightening his shoulders in a last effort to seem professional like he knew what he was doing.

“My name is Lieutenant Thatcher Davis, Mandela County Police Department. The date is January 2, 2009 and the time is 6:23 AM,” he hesitated, looking back at the papers. His sharp letters seemed to fade off the page: was it tiredness? Was it that there was a part of him that just wanted to ignore the problem and disappear back into the dark hallways of his house again?

“I am recording an account of the discovery and subsequent recovery of fugitive Jonah Marshall from along the Mandela-Bythorne Highway at 5:23 AM.” Thatcher’s back grew rigid, the biting cold dripping down his spine as it had an hour earlier. He remembered the way his hands shook when he felt desperately along the boy’s neck and wrist to find a pulse. It wasn’t clear if it was the kid shivering or his own veins thrumming with nerves and adrenaline.

“Jonah Marshall was located ten minutes past the Mandela County bypass into Bythorne, laying just outside a stolen vehicle pulled onto the highway shoulder.” The boy’s body was curled tightly into itself in the snow drifts along the road, just outside the radiating warmth of the car.

“It was…” he sifted through his thoughts to come up with a word that kept up his professional demeanor. “Strange? The suspect was afflicted by M.A.D., and attempted to succumb to hypothermia by exiting his vehicle and sitting outside, but still showed attempts at self preservation by curling up for warmth and avoiding direct contact with the snow. I suspect that if he was left any longer his body temperature would be unrecoverable.” Thatcher would not forget the dull pulse of blood under his skin, nor the way he had to wrench the boy’s hands away from his head: the heels of his hands digging into his ears to block out whatever was screaming at him. He left out the frenzied weeping and desperate pleas for everything to just shut up. He knew what that felt like to just want everything to blend together into soundless static, a faint buzz behind his ears that he didn’t have to think about.

“Sergeant Weaver escorted the suspect to Mandela County Hospital to restore his internal temperature and fluid loss and will be staying with him overnight to ensure he is awake to understand the deal we plan to offer him and the nature of his role.” He racked his brain for any further details, the offer was drafted quickly and he wasn’t keen on filling out the paperwork for a legal investigation if Marshall hired an attorney. “Should he not agree to the provided terms, Sergeant Weaver will proceed with booking Mr. Marshall.”

Thatcher straightened his posture and made direct eye contact with the camera, the determination he had as a young recruit present even in the deep lines etched on his face.

“Our investigation team is confident that suspect Jonah Marshall will be instrumental in the ongoing investigation into the activity associated with Bythorne Paranormal and the suspicious behavior of one of its core members: Adam Murray.”

The camera clicked off, and Thatcher slumped back in his chair. The words settled back onto his notes, lines of questioning and areas of interest circled and underlined. Things his department had no way of answering without a witness or participant. He looked back up to the camera, and with a tone he hoped was optimistic, spoke to his reflection in the viewfinder:

Because we’re out of other options.

Chapter Text

Everything felt warm. It wasn’t, in reality: the hospital room was drafty and drenched in the bitter smell of cleaning spray and the handcuff linking his wrist to the bed frame was cool against his wrist. He felt the goosebumps rise along his arms, and he pulled the threadbare blanket up around his shoulders. But that was warm, cozy, comforting even, compared to the icy numbness of that night. It was uncomfortable sitting there, with aching pains in his chest and residual numbness in his fingers, but it was grounding pain. He was alive to feel any pain at all.

He looked at the chair next to the bed and saw a woman sitting with her eyes closed. She wasn’t sleeping though, her chest wasn’t rising with calm breaths, he knew that trick. It got him out of talking to his dad when he wanted to discuss his future when he got off work at night.

Jonah cleared his throat and an eye opened quickly, as the woman seemed to realize she’d been caught.

She stretched as though she’d been sleeping and turned to face Jonah, pulling a notebook from her backpack. The badge on her jacket and the logo on her bag told him what he needed to know.

The woman opened her mouth, but he beat her to the punch.

“Do I need to call a lawyer? You really can’t keep me here without letting me at least have some legal counsel. Am I under arrest? Did you charge this hospital stay to my insurance? I don’t think I have any-“

The officer stood and leaned in, eyes full of sleepless anger.

“If you don’t stop talking so help me I will tear up this plea deal script I have and book you myself.”

Jonah slumped back into the hospital bed, the officer taking that as a sign to continue.

“Mr. Marshall, the Mandela County Police Department is willing to offer you a deal for your charges of trespassing, violation of the television and mirror act, grand theft auto, and a laundry list of misdemeanors. In return for your sentence reduced to community service and probation, you are required to provide details and information necessary for the successful location and recovery of Adam Murray, who will not be offered the same deal.”

She looked up from her notes before continuing.

“These details can include but are not limited to frequented locations, associates, routines and behaviors, and other details you feel are important to mention. These will be taped in the form of an interview for cataloging with one of our senior lieutenants with assistance from a trusted outside party.”

She smothered a laugh at the mention of an outside party then moved to unlock his cuffs before noticing the tremor in his hands. The officer took a breath and steeled her gaze, looking directly at Jonah.

“I’m no lawyer, and can’t offer you legal advice. But if you needed to leave your friend and would rather take your chances in the Wisconsin winter in a sweatshirt, it’s in everybody’s best interest you take this deal.”

Jonah sat up in the hospital bed while the woman sat back down in her chair. She pulled a pager out of her backpack and typed in a message, buttons clacking noisily, the sound bouncing in his head. The offer echoed loudly in his head, that damned clicking and the persistent beep of the heart rate monitor interrupted in rational thought he had.

“Hey kid, your heart rate is going up and you’re breathing pretty heavily. You’re going to need to take it down a notch, okay?”

The officer turned to him, a crease of worry splitting her brows.

“My name is Sergeant Weaver, sorry for not introducing myself earlier. It’s been a few days since we found you, but I’ve been checking in on you while you’ve been recovering. I know it’s better to have someone to wake up to when you’re in the hospital.”

For once in his life, Jonah didn’t have anything to say. His head felt full of white noise, and he couldn’t hear anything other than the gentle beeping of the monitor.

Sergeant Weaver kept talking though, mostly about her day and why it was exceptionally important to take the deal she was touting, but it all faded into the static.

Would he really be able to work with the cops to turn over his friend? On one hand, Adam was his best friend and it felt wrong just turning someone in when he was equally as guilty. He was basically sending his friend to prison while sitting pretty in a jumpsuit cleaning trash off the highway he was found on. But on the other hand… there was only so much Jonah could do to help Adam anymore. He was slipping and becoming erratic, jumpy, and maybe it was for his own safety he got help. Maybe he could convince these cops that Adam didn’t really do anything wrong, but desperately needed psychiatric attention. Maybe he could go to Werksha into the fancy new outpatient center his sister worked at, wear an ankle bracelet, whatever it took to convince them he wasn’t dangerous. Just misguided. He couldn’t lose him to some unhealthy fascination.

“Okay. I’ll take the deal”

Sergeant Weaver’s face lit up, and she unlocked his cuffs.

“Perfect! I need to work out some housing details, this is still kind of under the table, but once you’re out of here we’ll get started.”

She gave Jonah’s shoulder a light punch, wincing when he flinched and gave a pained smile.

“You made the right call, kid. I’ll keep checking in with you until you can start coming into the station.”

Sergeant Ruth, “Sergeant Weaver was my father,” she insisted, visited each day during the extra week it took him to leave the hospital. Jonah didn’t really understand why it took him this long to leave, he felt fine aside from the lack of feeling in his hands and feet, but the sickly sweet concern the nurses showed him gave him the impression there was something wrong he wasn’t picking up on. He talked to the therapist on call, and she just nodded while he sat uncomfortably in the plastic furniture, a needle, and drip attached to his arm. It was nice to have the officer come to visit him. It took a few days for her to realize he wasn’t trying to kill anyone, or traffic drugs or anything really heinous. At first, she just sat across from him in the cold, smooth plastic chair and typed on her pager, looking up periodically to make sure he hadn’t moved. Jonah guessed he looked especially miserable one day because Ruth cleared her throat and asked if he wanted to see pictures of her daughter’s soccer game. He nodded as Ruth pulled out an envelope with pictures of the Mandela soccer team, with a closeup of a young girl with dark curly hair and a bright smile holding a soccer ball in goalie gloves.

“Wow, that’s a throwback,” Jonah smiled, “I was the goalie on the Bythorne team when I was a kid. Cute kid though, what’s her name?”

Ruth frowned with faux indignation, “Sorry, that information is for Mandela County youth soccer team supporters only. Guess I was wrong about you, kid.”

Jonah laughed, a genuine, real laugh he hadn’t experienced since coming to the hospital.

“Her name is Grace. I don’t get to see her that often, mostly at soccer games nowadays. I’m working on trying to see her more consistently but.. Anyway, you’ll be staying in her old room until we get you more permanent housing. No offense, but I need to keep my eye on you and would feel better if you were somewhere I could check in.”

Jonah’s heart dropped. He almost forgot that he was still a fugitive. It was in everyone’s best interest to be nice to him. He might not give up his friend as quickly if he wasn’t being kissed up enough.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Sorry about that, I appreciate you not making me stay by myself.”

Ruth collected her bag, tucking the photos back into the envelope.

“The nurses here recommended you not stay by yourself. I don’t think anyone has told you, but they’re surprised you’ve lasted this long. Normally people with your affliction don’t… stick around, we’ll say.”

Jonah squinted in confusion.

“Hypothermia?”

“… M.A.D., kid”

“Oh, I thought that was just what they said happened to those ultra-religious people outside of town.”

Ruth rolled her eyes, “No, kid, it’s what happens when people know things they shouldn’t. You clearly don’t know much, but we need you to stick around a little longer, so we need to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re feeling okay before we have to talk about what you saw.”

His face burned, it wasn’t even just his rat status that made people hover over him. What, now people are concerned about his well-being? That he’ll kill himself before he can be of any use? When did people ever give a shit just for his benefit, without wanting something from him?

Ruth grew nervous, a familiar line of worry creasing between her brows and eyes filling with unease.

“I’m sorry kid, I really didn’t mean to make you feel stupid or anything, do you need me to call a nurse-”

It was too much, he heard the steady click of the car alarm ring in his ears.

“ No! ” Jonah rasped out.

He tried keeping his breathing steady: he counted to ten forwards, backward, even numbers, odd numbers but he still felt that icy numbness creep from the tips of his fingers as they dug into the cold plastic chair.

Ruth reached out and grabbed his hand, but the certainty never reached her face, a look of concern building as she stuttered out her words.

“I don’t know how much I can help you, Jonah. This isn’t my skill set, I shoot first, ask questions never, and I can’t make you calm down please just let me call the nurse- “

There was a ray of clarity there, a question weighing on his mind since he woke up.

“Why do you care about giving me this deal anyway? Can’t you compel me to tell you where Adam is after you’ve arrested me?”

Ruth stopped speaking mid-sentence and withdrew her hand, bewildered and wide-eyed.

“Why does it matter? Shouldn’t you just be grateful for the chance? You don’t need to think about that right now, just uh… focus on your breathing?”

Jonah rubbed at his hands and shook his head.

“It does. What’s the point of keeping me around so much if I’m a fugitive? You think I’m a trespassing scam artist, not some elite police informant, or whatever. Why not just lock me away and compel me to testify or some shit?”

Ruth sighed and fiddled with her pager.

“We can do that. That was my idea and suggestion. But my partner is a bit more forgiving, we’ll say. After we brought you to the hospital, I was supposed to stay with you and bring you into custody. But my partner… the emotional idiot he is… doesn’t seem to understand that not everyone is after the same perfect “everyone is happy and safe” utopia he is. And maybe I’m wrong, and you do want to help your friend and you surviving on the highway proves that you care. Frankly, we could use more positive willpower, even if it’s from that sad sack. I just don’t want to get my hopes up when those things have done nothing but ruin what little good I had in my life.”

Jonah frowned as Ruth pulled his hands apart, setting them down as she pulled band-aids from her pocket. He didn’t realize they’d been bleeding, rubbed raw at the knuckles. He couldn’t feel his hands much at all.

“That’s why I’m bothering with any of this in the first place,” he said quietly, the clicking steady and rhythmic in his head.

“You think there’s something wrong with me, and maybe there is. Maybe there always was and I just didn’t know because it wasn’t a problem for anyone. But Adam… he’s the one you need to worry about. He used to be funny, liked watching reruns with me and pirat- buying new CDs. Legally. But all he cares about now is the investigations.”

Ruth patted his hand, freshly bandaged, then sat back in her chair.

“We have time to talk about Adam, kid. Right now we’re worried about you, and making sure you’re okay. And as much as I want to get a jump on the investigation, or cataloging what you know, I’m a bit more concerned about making sure you’re managing what you’re feeling.”

She let out a breath, searching for the orderly walking around the floor.

“I’m going to go check on your progress with the nurse. I think it might do you some good to be out of the scrubs and into some fresh air. My partner wants to meet you in person, and he might be a bit better at this than I am.”

He thought about the first thing he wanted to do when he got out of the hospital. His first act of freedom.

“Sergeant Ruth?”

She turned, already tensing in worry.

“What’s up, Jonah?”

“Is it bad that the first thing I want when I get out is the weed you took from my backpack and, like, a whole pizza?”

Ruth’s face rolled her eyes and shook her head, barely pushing down a laugh. 

“Yeah, I think you’ll like the guys at the station. Pizza, I can do. See you later, kid.”

Got me all worried for nothing she muttered, flagging down the nurse to verify his discharge date.

Maybe she could be trusted to take care of someone else again. She could only hope.

Chapter Text

It was nice to wake up in a room with a real bed—especially one he didn’t need to break the lock on to get into. The sun shone lightly through the blinds, and Jonah threw an arm over his eyes and rolled away from the window. He was finally out of the limbo of his two-week hospital stay and the world was moving at blinding speed.

Three loud knocks rang out from the door, and a firm, chipper voice said,

“Alright kid, rise and shine. We have to be at the station soon, there’s food there and I already let you sleep late. So get moving,” Ruth said, opening the door to swing on worn hinges.

Jonah slumped back over, it wasn’t even seven and he had to be a human again. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching before resigning himself to flop onto his back. When it was him and Adam they would smoke, steal a car, or fight and scream until their adrenaline was drained and then do it all over again. Months and months of impossible mental highs and lows caught up to him, and he was exhausted. But life didn’t stop for him, and it would continue to speed by if he couldn’t gather the strength to stand up. If he sat there any longer, he would never get back up.

Ruth poked her head into the room and frowned at his progress.

“You can’t sit there and mope, Jonah, we have work to do. You didn’t really have anything on you when we brought you in, so one of the guys brought some of their old clothes. I think I remembered to set them aside for you, if they don’t fit I guess we’ll figure something out.”

She stood there expectantly, and Jonah ran through a patented list of irritated groans as he walked to get dressed, missing the satisfied smile on Ruth’s face as she left to start the car. He dressed quickly, a mismatch of flannel and an old band shirt, ignoring the deep circles under his eyes and dull, faded platinum dye in his hair. That’s just how it would be, he decided, clothes that weren’t his and a face that wasn’t his either. Not truly.

Ruth offered a too-bright smile when he pulled himself into her passenger seat and the two left for the station in the delicate morning sunlight.

They pulled out of her apartment complex and drove along a road glazed with snow and ice, the buildings blending together in a haze of gray and brown. Even in the heat of the car, Jonah felt the snow leech warmth through his skin.

Ruth put her car into park and cleared her throat.

“I washed your hoodie, I left it on the back seat for you if you want it. I don’t really know what else I can do for you right now, they don’t make cards for sympathetic fugitives you’re housing for legal protection. Even if they did, I wouldn’t know what to write in it.”

She trailed off when it seemed Jonah was dozing off.

“But we’ll see how you’re feeling after this, maybe we can get pizza and maybe pick up a movie?”

Jonah blinked, snapping back to focus. He reached over into the backseat, pulling on his old jacket.

“Oh, uh, yeah for sure. Thanks for the jacket, I figured I’d lost it in the car.”

Ruth smiled and turned to open her car door.

“Of course, kid. We need to start heading in, I imagine the lieutenant needs to go over a few things with you first. I need to prepare a room, just hang in the lobby and I’ll come by to get you when we’re ready.”

Ruth looked around the corner and walked into the receptionist area, pulling a badge and key card from the wall before disappearing behind a glass door with a “see something, say something!” poster decorating the front. Jonah wandered the front of the station: bright, cold, and empty, with cement flooring and blue-white incandescent lights. Three glass doors surrounded the receptionist desk in an arc, each labeled with faded, blocky script above the frame: Investigations, Archives, and Licensing and Claims. Ruth couldn’t know he’d already started to ignore her instructions and licensing sounded boring, so he went into the archives. A simple placard with “archival assistant” sat neatly on a recently vacated desk, a clunky pair of headphones and matching CD player resting beside it, with a sweater sat on the chair. The archives were cold and musty, with stacks of papers littering every spare surface. Manila folders with alphabetized names spilled out on a table next to a tidied filing cabinet, a furtive attempt to organize a mess long since abandoned. Dust hung heavy in the air, lit by the sparse halogens that flickered on the ceilings. 

“It’s been a rough couple of years,” a quiet voice intoned from further into the gloom, a figure walked into the archive entrance, dirty blonde hair framing sleepy, deep-set eyes. Jonah recoiled, stepping back towards the hallway, towards the lobby’s bright blue-tinged lighting. His hand fumbled for the doorknob, heart rate spiking when all he could see was that familiar face staring back at him.

A flash of hurt cast over the man’s face, more distinct features: a septum ring, the remnants of old bleach and a heathering of gray in pin-straight hair, and a slept-in smudge of eyeliner ringing downturned eyes came into Jonah’s focus. Jonah forced his shoulders down, stuffing his hands into his pockets and fixing his carefree attitude firmly before looking back at the man from the hallway.

“Sorry, you just kind of looked like someone I knew. I’m with Sergeant Weaver. I guess I’m technically in her custody? Anyway, I was looking for her partner and got bored waiting in the lobby.”

The man laughed, its warmth dampening as it echoed hollowly down the hall. He walked closer, reaching past Jonah to open the hallway door. He turned back around, locking eyes with Jonah for a long breath before retreating into the darkened office space.

“I’ll meet with you soon, Jonah.”

Jonah’s brows furrowed as he stood in the furthest reach of the lobby’s glow, a gentle click sounding from the end of the hall. He shook his head, he had to get it together. His therapist insisted that after a near-death experience, his paranoia would be heightened, but this fear was deeper. It coiled around his heart, sinking its claws deeper with every thundering heartbeat.

He pushed through the door into the lobby, barely catching his breath before Ruth emerged from the Investigations wing, holding a clipboard in one hand and spinning her keys in her other.

“Thanks for waiting, Jonah! We’re all set if you wanted to start heading back,” Ruth said, sizing up the tremor in his hands and his still labored breathing with confusion. “There’s some breakfast stuff back there, I know I get twitchy when I’m hungry, too.”

Jonah nodded, grateful that he could hold it together enough to prevent any suspicion. He followed Ruth into the Investigations department, a dreary beige cinderblock maze of offices and interrogation rooms. He appreciated that all of the lights seemed to work in this part of the building, at least. She ushered him into a room with a scratched-up table, an old tape recorder, and three mismatched chairs office chairs. As he sat, Jonah did his best to ignore the heavy, metallic loops installed on the table and floor, intended to restrain the cuffs of suspects to prevent violent outbursts.

“I’ll be back with my partner and some food for you, did you want a coffee or anything? We might be here for a while.”

Jonah cleared his throat, “That would be great, just with a lot of sugar, if you don’t mind.”

“You do look awfully pale. Please eat something, don’t need our star witness passing out,” Ruth laughed as she left, but Jonah felt his stomach squeeze tighter.

He sat for a few minutes, tapping on the desk and picking at the hem of his sweatshirt before hearing a hushed conversation outside the door.

“... are you sure this is a good idea? I’m not trying to traumatize more kids, I already have enough on my conscious.”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. I mean, I trust your judgment on his mental state or whatever, but we need to do this before he forgets anything more than he probably has. We have a job to do. I get the hesitation, but he’s an adult, the same as you and I. We have to at least attempt to stick to protocol.”

“Something tells me that won’t be true, but whatever you say, Weaver. Just let me handle this okay, I’m pulling rank, just this once. At least you broke out your muffins, you promise they aren’t freezer burnt this time?”

Their laughter echoed down the hall as the door rattled open. Jonah’s eyes widened when he saw the man from the archives walk in behind Ruth, arms full of documents, who offered him a tight-lipped smile.

“Here’s your coffee! And some muffins I made, fresh from the freezer,” Ruth set an MCPD mug and Tupperware container in front of Jonah, “And this is my partner, Lieutenant Thatcher Davis!” 

She noticed the latent anxiety coming from Jonah and the lack of hardened expression from Thatcher almost immediately.

“Have you two met? I told you to stay in the front lobby, Jonah, and Lieutenant Davis has been in the archives all morning.”

Jonah’s heartbeat quickened, his foot tapping nervously on the floor, Adam always told him he was a bad liar–

Thatcher cocked his head in thought, studying the boy’s face. “Can’t say I’ve seen him before, no. I guess he’s just nervous to be in an interrogation room, can’t say I blame him. Nice to meet you, kid. Eat something while we talk, you’ll feel better.” He offered Jonah that same small smile, this time laced with warmth.

He could take that cue, Jonah decided unwrapping his muffin quietly as Thatcher started to speak.

“So to repeat some of the terms that Sergeant Weaver explained to you, in exchange for a reduced community service sentence and your name removed from the active warrant, you will be required to provide detailed accounts of your interactions with suspect Adam Murray. Pretty self-explanatory honestly, you can’t lie or you can tack on perjury to your original charges, though I don’t imagine that will be an issue, right?”

Jonah blinked in recognition, then shook his head. “No. I don’t really get anything out of lying anyway, the whole point is to try and get Adam the help he needs before he gets hurt. I know there’s a warrant out on us, but really, he’s just an angry teenager with an unhealthy obsession with alternates. He’s my friend, and I want to try and help him if I can.”

Thatcher nodded and sat back in his chair. “That’s good. It’ll be better for everyone the more honest and detailed you are when we talk today, and I’m sure Adam feels better knowing his friend is looking out for him.”

“So the way this is going to work is for the first few days I will be asking you a series of questions to recount some key events as well as personal information you know about Adam. I’ll be recording them and keeping transcripts for our archives to use as evidence, so the more concise you can be, the better. I tried to get our department liaison free today to use his film equipment, but I thought it might be best to not overwhelm you so early. You’ll meet him soon though, he’s a bit better at the…” Thatcher gestures at the tape recorder and paper files as he searched for the right words “... cataloging aspect of investigations than I am. Our archival assistant might float around, but she can only do so much.” 

Jonah frowned slightly, taking a sip of his coffee. “How will I know if information is important? I mean, I get we broke the law a couple of times and everything, but why do you care so much about this? Aren’t there like, child predators you need to be concerned about?”

Thatcher opened his mouth to speak, but Ruth interjected: “It’s not that we find other investigations less important, we just got some calls about Adam’s well-being and we need to follow up on it! So anything you know about his mental state while you’ve known him, as well as any interactions with alternates that you can recall.”

“See, that’s the thing I'm confused about. Your warrant is for breaking and entering, the screens act thing, and stealing those cars, right? Why do you keep mentioning alternates? Aren’t they like, a cryptid to you guys? I get you need to keep some things under wraps, just maybe if I knew what this was about I could actually say something useful. Unless you only want to hear about his string of exes and how bad he was at making friends.”

As soon as he said it Jonah knew he was pushing too far, like always. He knew the officers were hiding something, Adam instilled that paranoia in him early, but they were also the ones keeping him fed and safe. He couldn’t make them angry, not before he could do something useful.

To his surprise, Ruth laughed, a genuine one with warmth instead of the shallow politeness he had gotten before. 

“Sorry kiddo, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t expect any pushback, I guess I forgot your dad was a lawyer. Yes, this investigation pertains to the alternate warnings we put out and how Adam fits into this bigger picture. You’re not necessarily involved as directly as him, which is why we’re hoping you can help us help Adam.”

Thatcher cleared his throat, “Right. So from a legal standpoint, we only need you to tell us about  Adam so we can paint a picture of his activity and potential whereabouts now to arrest him for ‘the screens act thing’” he punctuated with air quotes. “But in order to actually do something of value, which I’d guess is what you want, we’ll also need to know more relating to Adam’s mental state.”

Jonah took a deep breath and set his mug down.

“Where do you want me to start”

Chapter Text

Hello everyone! I'm surprised if you're still checking in on this fic, it has been quite a while, hasn't it?

I wanted to talk about a couple of things both about the future of this story and its characters as well as some personal updates as they relate to my online presence.

First and foremost, I want to extend a sincere thank you to everyone who supported, commented, or interacted with me during the development of this fic and the AU behind it. I generally have a very difficult time with the "social" aspect of fandom culture, and this is one of the few instances where I felt comfortable with the small portion of the community I interacted with. Your support means a considerable amount to me, so, again, I thank you for your kind words, support, and interest in what I have to say.

Now to address an elephant in the room. Where has this fic been, and where is it going?
In earnest, it never really left my mind. I've grown fond of the characterizations and story I put together over time, and I am still generally pleased with how it was written and portrayed. I'm not the best writer or artist by any means, I am an aerospace engineer and plasma physicist by trade, but this was a valuable creative and personal outlet for me over the year-ish of my involvement in the Mandela Catalogue fandom (not that I really considered myself a cornerstone of that fandom, rather a quiet participant). As time has gone by, and notably before the drama surrounding the series mounted, I found myself less and less interested in the progression of the series and the direction it took, and rather in the character and setting it took place in. My choices became less and less canon-reliant over time, and I took more joy in artistic liberty than in a truly faithful recreation. My misgivings about the way the drama was handled and the way it affected my feelings about the series overall aside, I can appreciate the interest it helped foster in me to create my own narrative, and for that I can look back fondly. That being said, I don't feel as though I can continue a series as an AU, both due to the controversy and so that I can expand my story into areas that I didn't feel were being considered in the original series.

So where does that leave the informant? In short, I would like to begin anew: taking the parts and loose characterizations I used in the original informant series to create something new. I have fairly quietly followed other creators that took a similar route, and their unique and interesting stories inspired me to try again. Due to a hack/data leak I had to go a bit scorched earth on tumblr, but I'm looking to get more into posting the rework of the series there (@eclipticinfinity) if there is any interest. I miss the community and interactions from when the informant was still coming out, so please feel free to interact with me there, don't be shy :3
The story will remain generally similar to the Informant with a couple of key differences surrounding the "big bad" of the series. I have a few ideas, but it will likely be a bit more paranormal and rooted in mysticism than the original series. I'll need to do more research than in my first attempt, as I want to be respectful to the themes I'm referencing, but that (for a massive dork like me) is part of the fun! The general formatting, delivery, and format will remain the same.

Now a few personal updates, feel free to skip if you don't care to read, totally okay by me. I'm entering a new phase of my own life as a PhD student, and my free time is often sparse, as I've started a long term relationship (both with my partner and my career as a researcher). This will be a side project only, and I cannot guarantee updates at any regular intervals. I'm an adult with adult responsibilities, unfortunately, and cannot dedicate the same kind of time I used to to my art and writing. That being said, I'm going to attempt to have my cake and eat it too, and start posting again whenever I have free time! So I do hope you'll join me when I manifest into this plane of existence again.

Thank you, as ever, for reading. I hope you'll follow the series as it undergoes some maintenance.

With love,
ellie (they/them)