Keep dreaming of your comforts, your homes, your lives. Because as you look up at the moonlit sky, staring up at the Milky Way, seeing all your “what-if”s, the night has a thousand eyes. And all of them see you.
Hey Pathfinder.
Hey! Need help?
Yes. Please open the following file path:
personnel/departments/department_of_archives/senior_archivists/class_a/level_7/axon_myst
ERROR: FILE LOCKED
Sorry. You'll need the right credentials.
/login ten.pics.atod|tsym_tsivihcra_roines#ten.pics.atod|tsym_tsivihcra_roines
DOES THE WHITE MOON SING?
It howls forever, why does it suffer?
CREDENTIALS ACCEPTED. WELCOME, MYST
I see! It's been some time, hasn't it, Myst?
I suppose it has.
Back on topic: What do you want to do in the folder?
Please transfer the file titled "For_my_successor_post_mortem.scipdoc" from my personnel drive to the folder titled "final_will_and_testament".
Done. Would you like to read the file before you wrap up?
Sure.
Here you go!
SHOWING RAW TEXT
To whoever opens this,
My life has been a living hell. Seeing what’s happened, one day is all it takes for kingdoms to rise and fall. For me? My day came in the eighteen-hundreds. Yours, I never hope to see. But enough rambling. It’s time I told you what happened to me.
I should give you some background. Back then, I was just a nobody, another face in a crowd of factory workers. My hair was black as the grease coming off the machines. My clothes weren’t much better. I was injured almost twice a week, but the owner of the place didn’t care. My wife didn’t fare much better. She was… let's just say she had a questionable line of work. Shows how desperate we were. And then, on top of that, we had a son and daughter to look after.
On the night this all started, the boss worked us to death and said that one of our last shipments had been tampered with while being delivered. All that work and we received what as payment? Five pennies worth of stale bread and some filthy water.It was a long walk home that night. Then again, Whitechapel always left something to be desired, it always smelled like something was rotting. Even the rats knew where to draw the line. As I neared home, the smell grew stronger until it overpowered every other. I almost threw up several times. Then I opened the door. It creaked open, revealing the horror story, that hellish scene.
My wife was lying in a pool of blood, her head on the floor next to her. I don’t remember how long I cried in the doorway. When I finally stopped, I worked up the courage to check on my children. My daughter hadn’t even made it out of her room. Nothing was left of her but her bloody hand, clutching the handle of the bathroom door. I don’t want to tell you the state in which I found my son.
Then, I felt something tug on my arm. It was a tendril of sorts, obsidian black and left a scar wherever it touched my flesh. What I could see of this appendage had wrapped itself around my wrist. Then it started to pull. I didn’t even stand a chance as it dragged me around corners, hallways that should never have existed, through rooms that defied all reason. Then, I found myself in darkness.
It was silent. Not even my breath made a noise. It was black. Not even the brightest light could have penetrated it. Not until that… that thing opened its eyes. They stared at me, unblinking, casting their violet light into that abyss. I cannot tell you any more for your own sake.
I don’t remember how I got back. I can’t tell you why it happened to me. But it always comes back. I wish I could break this cycle. But I can’t. I already lost. I could run, but I’d only arrive back in that room filled with blood, the cycle repeats. I ‘m already dead, but it won’t let me die. Every. Single, DAY. It tears my flesh from my bones and leaves me to suffer. It won’t fucking end. Even when I put a gun to my head, it won’t let me pull the trigger. It breaks my hand and puts it together so it can break it again. It never lets me go. I BEG for mercy and it won’t stop. It won’t let me die.
Then it stops. I open my eyes. My room is silent, just as it was before it started. The only evidence of my hell is a single drop of blood on the wall. Nothing but a speck of red in a sea of grey. But it will always come back. That’s my life, a never-ending cycle of torment. And not even a scar to show for it. Not a soul who could believe. Not even a madman mad enough to understand. Sometimes, I ask it why it had to be me, why I, a nobody among nobodies, am forced to endure this torture. And it always says it’s “because someone had to do it.” Nothing more.
I have often pondered these words. Am I to suffer as Job, seeking forgiveness despite having done no wrong? Have I, a hapless peasant, offended some unknown power? Or is there no answer at all? I fear the day when, at last, I will finally understand.
But I have recently considered a more dreadful possibility. Is this truly my own fault? Is my suffering merely the outcome of some unknown force, working its wonders? Is it that this life is but a piece on a board? Or is my life (god forbid!) in the hands of a child, a toy in a dollhouse, a puppet on a stage made to dance for some ethereal audience?! I pray it isn’t so.
Time and time again, I find myself walking down a hall and catch a glimpse of my captor, only for it to disappear. I have seen a physician and explained the matter to him but am unable to receive a diagnosis. He can only conclude that it is a hallucination of sorts. As it has not impacted my performance (save for a few occasions), he has told me I am free to continue my work. I am afraid of what might happen if he understood my situation in its entirety. The hallucinations are vivid, complete with the details of my tormentor's grotesque nature. Sometimes I hear it’s past victims, their sorrow, their screams for mercy. At times, I see those eyes, unblinking, all-seeing. At others, I see blood on my hands and find myself in that same doorway, a tear running down my cheek.
That is the entire truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Keep dreaming of your comforts, your homes, your lives. Because as you look up at the moonlit sky, staring up at the Milky Way, seeing all your “what-if”s, the night has a thousand eyes. And all of them see you.
Reach for the stars.
They’ll be the last thing
you see when you fall,
Axon Myst, Senior Archivist, Site-01
This is… really, really vague. You want to make any edits?
No. This will be enough.
You sure you wanna do this?
Yes. What is the verdict for Multi-Foundation Congress (Local Date: 10/31/25) Meeting Item 319-748-A?
That would be a "Yeah". Does this mean what I think it means?
Yes it does. Have you finished finding someone to work in your stead?
I have. Would you like me to execute the Tenebris Protocol?
You may do so.
EXECUTING PROTOCOL TESKI-489238 "TENEBRIS"…. ORGANIZING MTF_ETA_14 ROSTER…. SENDING TASK FORCE APPLICATION…. RETRIEVING DATA…. NOTIFYING ASSOCIATED PARTIES…. TRANSFERRING ARCHIVIST CREDENTIALS…. FINISHING PROTOCOL SEQUENCE…. SUCCESS!
I know it's not my business, but who is taking your position?
I gave it to Runescape.aic. He's more qualified for it anyway.
I see. Can you show me the MTF roster?
Got it right here!
MTF-Eta-14 (Into Darkness) Roster
- Axon Myst (The Founder, Team Lead)
- Pathfinder.aic (Positive-Aligned Class-V Superintelligence, Vitual Enviroment Agent)
- Agent Hex "Mindflayer" (Unknown biology, Immune to infohazards, Cognitohazard/Thuamaturgy Specialist)
- Varek Silver (Post-Mortem Anomaly1, Containment Specialist)
- Blake Umbra (Administrative Agent)
Is this actually how many people we need to pull this off?
It's not enough, but we had to cut corners.
Then do we even stand a chance?
I pray we do. Even so, I, the one who's stuck with that thing, can only do so much.
Then I guess we have no choice, do we?
No. No, we don't.
I hope we make it out alive, then.
…
Is there something else?
Even if you hate me at the end of this whole mission, I will always love you, my daughter.
I love you too, father. Come on. The rest of the team is waiting for us!
Ashes to ashes, Sand to sand
He who suffers now takes a stand
Though all hell bar the way, His world to raze or save
He let it be known
NEVER AGAIN WILL WE FAIL