Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"It’s all about fiction. The only world that matters is the one in here. And you people believe the craziest shit. Why? What validates and makes your fictions real? Feelings."

-- The Analyst, The Matrix Resurrections

The first wave caught him by surprise. Alex gasped as he was hit by a sudden wave of dizziness, reflexively grabbing the kitchen counter as he felt the strangest sensation of being pulled-

-and the world was stable again. There was no sign it had never been.

Early morning light shone through the glass walls of the lake house and turned the kitchenette into a picture of autumnal serenity. One-year-old Noah Wyler sat in his high chair, making quiet noises and intently prodding the chair's plastic tray. Yet there was something strange in the air: a kind of electricity building up around Alex and within him, a buzzing deep in his mind and in the fabric of reality – and when he looked up, he saw Kate staring fearfully back at him from where she had grabbed a cupboard handle to steady herself.

She cautiously let go. "Hey, did... did you feel-"

The world tilted.

Alex yelped as he slid off the floor, reaching out in panic as Kate reached out for him as she fell as well, her eyes wild as they tumbled helplessly into an impossible space and saw their house shrinking away above them. Kate screamed for Noah in a way that stabbed through Alex's heart, but then the world burst into a symphony of rippling lights and colours that shimmered and slid through them and all around them and ripped reality in two-

Alex blacked out.

#

Soft music was playing. Alex's eyes blinked open. He was aware of being more comfortable than he had ever felt in his life. He realised next that he was lying on the floor, and then everything rushed back. Kate. Noah.

Alex scrambled to his feet. He was... he was in a room, a tiny room, all warm light and soft edges, a simple door opposite him. He felt something scratch against his wrist and pulled up his sleeve to see a seamless plastic tag wrapped around it. A barcode and black letters were printed on its surface:

His heart hammered in his chest. He looked around the room. There was a laminated notice stuck on the door.

BLK-F/ENG/6

Welcome to Kenselton Hotel! We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to be a part of our new initiative to foster exciting interactions between fictional characters (such as yourself) and our discerning clientele, including but not limited to conversations, torture, murder and sex.

Your cooperation in all areas is very much appreciated. We regret that failure to cooperate will be met with consequences. Violence against our staff is frowned upon and will also be met with consequences. We would like to assure all residents that there is no way out.

Thank you, and we wish you a pleasant stay.

Alex felt a cold, dark dread spreading through his body. This is a dream, he thought, his mind spinning. It had to be a dream.

He reached out to the door, and it slid open at his touch.

Beyond lay a small reception area with the same warm lighting and softly rounded walls. Ahead of him, a receptionist sat calmly in a glass-walled booth and watched him as he approached, her face uncannily still.

"Alexander Wyler," she said in clipped tones before Alex had the chance to speak. "You've been assigned to the fourth floor." She slid a small sheet of paper through the gap between the desk and the bulletproof glass. "You may pick your own room. Meal-"

"How did I get here?" Alex asked, his voice trembling. "Where's my wife?"

"-Mealtimes are stated here, and they are held at the cafeteria located on the second floor of the central block-"

"No, hey, what is this place?"

"You may refer to this map for other points of interest."

"I-"

"The lifts and stairs are down that way. Please proceed to the fourth floor."

Alex grimaced. "No! Look, there... there has to be some mistake."

The receptionist's expression remained unchanged. "Please proceed to the fourth floor."

"Our son is at home. He's only one. We've got to get back to him-"

The receptionist reached below the desk and pulled out a phaser. Her pupil-less eyes were still, unblinking and black. "Please proceed to the fourth floor," she said calmly, "or there will be consequences."

Alex stumbled back as the phaser swung to point towards his face. He raised his hands in surrender, backing off towards the lift lobby, glancing towards the other rooms next to the one he'd emerged from, hoping against hope to see Kate there; but their doors were open, and they were all empty.

#

The fourth floor.

He heard muffled raised voices from the moment he stepped out of the lift. The open stairwell was to his left, its bare concrete steps looking much rougher than the smooth pastels of the arrival floor. Through that and to the right was a door.

Something bothered him about the voices he heard. There was something about them that was both comforting and chilling, but he could not put a finger on it until he opened the door – and was hit with the full force of men yelling over each other.

Alex froze. That was his voice. That was his face.

They all had his face.

His mind went blank. One of them had another shoved against the wall, the first man's hair dripping with water. The others were shouting at both of them, but Alex's wandering gaze was captured by the man standing a little further to the back, leaning languidly against the opposite wall and observing the scene with the smallest smile as though it had all been his doing.

The man was slightly younger than Alex. His long hair fell about his face, hands tucked casually in the pockets of his jacket; and then he looked over, and Alex felt a deeply unpleasant chill as their eyes met.

Alex stepped back on reflex, his heart pounding. It suddenly felt like they were the only two people in the hallway. There was something wrong about the way the man was looking at him – and now approaching him, slowly, lazily, like a predator approaches a prey caught in a trap. Alex wanted to move but he felt frozen to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away, reeling at the stranger's overly-familiar features, and then he realised that the stranger had stopped before him.

"Hello," the stranger said softly, and Alex felt a sickening twist in his gut. It was his own voice, but wrong. Just as that was his own face, but wrong, something sharp and malicious and wrong lurking behind the same gentle smile and warm brown eyes he recognised from the mirror.

All his instincts told him to run.

Alex managed a nod.

The stranger held out a hand. "David Allen Griffin, at your service," he said.

Alex stared at the outstretched hand, so like his own. He realised that the last thing he wanted to do was to shake it. But social convention made him reach out and take his hand, even as every part of him recoiled at Griffin's touch, at the way their hands fit perfectly together and Griffin's hand felt just like his own, but a bit too cold, his grip a bit too firm, something amused and taunting in his eyes that never once left Alex's face.

"And you are?" Griffin asked.

"...Alex," Alex managed to say, trying to sound as steady as he could, hoping that his fear wasn't evident in his voice. He wanted Griffin to let go of his hand. He wanted Griffin to stop looking at him with that calm, chilling gaze that seemed to see right through him to all the secret fears in Alex's heart.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Alex."

Run, Alex thought, desperately, pointlessly.

That smile, again. Griffin knew. He had to feel how Alex was trembling, because Alex could feel himself trembling, nausea rising in his throat, the stress of Griffin's presence building on the growing panic in his chest whenever he thought of Noah, sitting there strapped into his high chair with his parents gone, and every fibre in his being ached to reach across the worlds to hold his son and keep him safe. He glanced at the others in the hallway as though they might give him an escape, but they were occupied by whatever conflict had captured them.

"I don't have a roommate yet," Griffin said. He tilted his head, a façade of friendliness on his face. "Do you want to share?"

No.

"It's all right," Alex said, attempting more bravado than he felt, though his voice caught weakly in his throat. "I don't plan to stay."

He turned and walked back out the door he had come. He could feel Griffin's gaze on him the whole time, watching him.

When the door closed, he ran.

#

Alex, Griffin thought. He closed his eyes and breathed in the air of his departure, savouring the name in his mind, tasting the fear that Alex had clearly been trying to hide.

Alex was...

Different wasn't quite the word. But he had been the only one to look at him that way, as though he had perceived something in Griffin that the others had not noticed, or not been bothered by.

Officer Traven had disliked him from the start. His blustery anger was amusing. Conor ignored him, as did John and that kid Ted. Neo seemed preoccupied with something. He was impenetrable. He was perhaps the only one who scared Griffin a little. He could sense a power there beneath his quiet, a power he did not understand.

But Alex... Alex would be fun.

#