M.E.G. BASE BETA, INTERVIEW IN COURSE WITH P.O.I. THE ALCHEMIST
"Alright, enough of this."
This silly interview had run its course, he thought.
"Tell me what you are. Where did you come from?"
His inflection was demanding. It was more of a command than a question.
"I can tell what you're thinking, and it's so disrespectful I'm not even going to repeat it. You need to loosen up. As for your question, I'm not entirely sure."
"Oh, don't give me that crap. You know damn well, I'm sure of it."
"Hmm… interesting. Well, I can assure you I'm telling the truth. If I had information to sell you, I'd happily do so, but I don't!"
"How can you know so much about everybody else, but not know where you came from?"
"My current self doesn't contain any traces of my origin. I've only figured out that I was likely modeled after those faceless creatures who roam the halls, but I'm not one of them."
"…you're not?"
"No?"
The Backrooms had a way of taunting humanity. Many ways, in fact — but this was one of the most egregious. Whenever things seemed to line up, it never was as it seemed. It was like fishing with a short wooden stake. It was no use… but a fish on a stake is still good food.
"If
"I just keep coming back to your origins. What do you know about facelings, anyhow?"
"Well, I know loads about them, given I've taken a few of them apart. They're actually quite varied… I'm not sure they're even all members of the same species."
"They're not? Well… then how do you move to say you aren't just another—"
The interviewer's interruption was snuffed out, the Alchemist imperturbable.
"Facelings, on the inside, are imitations of humans. It's the quality of imitation that varies, of course, making them quite different from each other."
An opportunity to speak was given graciously, and taken.
"Imitations?"
"This whole place is an imitation. At least in its current incarnation, that is! You know, there's a whole handful of ancients who've never gotten over this place's current state. I, however, have seen it only in recent times, so there's no need for me to mourn what was."
"What… was?"
The interviewer had struck gold. He was dumbfounded at the sheer density of information he had begun to extract.
"Yes, silly. What was. Surely you don't think this place was always as it is now, do you?"
"Well, I guess I… Mhm."
"I began existing… About 200 years ago. Before that, I've only seen hints in the brains of others older than me, and by word of mouth. It doesn't seem as suited for a man like me, but human life has never been harder."
"Well, what did you see? What was it—"
"—ack! We've deviated from the topic, now haven't we? Excuse me that, sir. I'm not the best at keeping my train of thought running… but those facelings are quite the interesting creatures, eh?"
A fish on a stake still only has wood at its core. Wood and bones.
"…I suppose so, but—"
"—well, what I was saying about them was that they come in different varieties, right? It's quite simple, really. They exist on a scale. On the one end, you have facelings which have all the organs you have on the inside — even tongues! On the other end are faceless ones made of nothing but wax on the inside. I'm more on the former end of the spectrum, if you'd really like to plot me onto it… and so are you, I suppose."
The Alchemist had a way of keeping one both transfixed and infuriated at once. He had a certain manner of speaking which begged onlookers to listen just a little longer… and yet to be disappointed with what they hear.
"—would you just stop interrupting me for once!"
The Alchemist merely smiled. He wasn't done just yet.
"Alright. Well, the higher-ups wanted me to ask you about Wall Masks. What do you know about them?"
The Alchemist turned his head briefly, but soon understood what he meant. "Ah. Cursed masks. I know everything about them, of course. You'll need to be more specific."
"Well, there's been a situation as of late. We need some advice."
"Ah, you see, these masks are a complicated matter. For those of us with eyes, they seem to fit the face's form oh-so-snugly. However, through dedicated research, I've come to learn that you're actually not meant to put the masks on." he replied, quite satisfied with himself.
The interviewer was dumbfounded, though he wasn't sure what he was expecting at this stage. "We already know that. I meant, what should we do with the ones who have already put them on?"
At this, the Alchemist stroked his beard with a _tsk_ as he pondered. The respite from his talking was only temporary. "Well. I suppose you could kill them?"
"…my God you're useless."
The Alchemist shrugged. He couldn't give them a silver bullet that didn't exist.
"We're done here, I think. Long overdue, actually, since I have somewhere to be."
He got up and dusted his coat off. The interviewer knew he'd be hearing about this log's ending from his supervisor.
"Oh, and I do have to collect my payment. Are you paying personally, or as a group?"
"As a group, sir. Gimme a second, I just—"
The door to the interrogation room was locked. He tried it twice, and then knocked.
"Sorry, it'll just be a moment—"
No reply from the other side of the door came for a few moments. The Alchemist's cogs were turning, wondering what he'd charge this strange man… but he didn't have time to make his mind up, as soon the once-locked door would burst open.