The End of the Thread (Solo)

Jorge sighed. Standing in the cathedral of a library, he looked around at the massive expanse that was filled with literary tomes. Normally a Librarian’s job was to ensure quiet, peace and tranquility but Jorge knew that the only time that such a thing was truly achieved was at closing time, when the library was void of life. Unfortunately that was not the case tonight. This was not closing time, this was evacuation time. Due to a mutant causing a disturbance, the library lay empty of all patrons, except for Jorge and a pair of officer’s at his side.

But that did not mean that silence prevailed. Far from it. To his left and to his right, all that the detective heard was the thunderous beating of hearts in a panic. Both officers had apparently been affected why whatever the mutant said.

What did he say…exactly?

Jorge sighed once again as he glanced to either side at both police officers. Both were wide eyed and nervous. He could practically feel their fight-or-flight instincts struggling to take over. With a calming gesture to the both of them, Jorge stepped forward. Pulling off his coat, he handed it to one of them and adjusted his Kevlar vest that molded perfectly to his frame.

Giving another gesture for the pair of them to hang back, Jorge moved off to the computer stations, where the perp was last seen.

Rounding the corner of the circulation desk, Jorge glanced down the row and rows of computers. There, sitting my himself at the only computer that was on, was obviously the mutant that he was looking for. The man was heavy set, wearing faded blue jeans and a black shirt. In front of him, he held out a glowing ball of twine that Jorge had been warned about and was pulling the string in front of his eyes, as if he were reading a long ticket.

“None of this is real. Reality isn’t real!” he rambled. “Mutants are just figments of their imagination! X-men, the Order, New York, everything in the world is just fake! Our fates are just written out fantasies! We’re just twisted puppets dancing whenever the tell us too!”

Jorge could hear the desperation in the man’s voice. Slowly he stepped forward. “Hello?”

The man flinched and spun around in his chair. The second that his eyes settled on Jorge, the detective could feel a chill run up his spine.

“Y-You? You…c-can’t see them? You can’t see HIM?” he asked desperately. “I seem them all! The Creators! Lying in bed, hunched over keyboards, tip-tapping on their keyboards so loud it hurts my ears!! They write our fates! Our destinies are victim to their whims!” He was getting excitable as he raised the glowing thread up and desperately showed it to him. “Can’t you see him? There? He’s coming!”



John was so not in the mood for this day. His normal day was made up of dealing with difficult patrons; students who despised him for enforcing the rules of silence, who stared daggers every time he showed them how to look up a book on their own, who boiled over with hatred every time he told them that they had a fine. Yes, it was no small thing to say that John had a job in which he was little appreciated. But at least it paid the bills. He would have loved to just sat in front of his work computer and typed out more posts, but unfortunately he doesn’t get paid for that.

So, resolutely, he made his way around the circulation desk and towards the computer stations.

As he rounded the corner, he paused when he looked down the rows of tables to see that there was only one computer occupied. This being a community college library, it was not very likely that they would all be empty, sans one. So it struck him as off. Was this gentleman really just that disruptive?

John sighed and pressed on. Walking down the rows of computers he slowly his gait as he watched the man’s back closely. He was a larger man, dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans. He adjusted his glasses nervously as he peered ahead, holding what looked to be like neon twine between his fingers. He pulled it through his field of vision, staring at it closely.

“It’s all real. They made it reality!” he rambled. “Mutants have been given life! X-men, the Order, New York, everything in the world, they created it all! Their fates are written out how They see fit! Those creations do whatever the Creators have written!”

The man sounded really sick to John. Maybe he was just off his meds, or something? Slowly he stepped forward, trying not to startle him. “S-Sir?”

The man, shaken, turned to John, eyes wide with fright. As he did so, John could see the thick, coke bottle glasses that sat across the bridge of his nose and the nervous twitch of his lips. Immediately John was disturbed.

“Y-You? You…c-can’t see them? At all?” he asked desperately. “I seem them all! The Creations! Chattering, talking, laughing, fighting, yelling so loud it hurts my ears!! You write their fates! Their destinies are victim to yourwhims!” He was getting excitable as he raised the glowing thread up and desperately showed it to him. “Can’t you see him? There? He’s coming!”