oceanview || ❝ made a promise i'm coming out alive. ❞

[outlierdirector]

OCEANVIEW III

and now i'm wide awake.

Oh, I died like a million times.
Through the waves, I break
The nightmares finally over CODE BY TESSISAMESS

Comments

꩜ — initiation.

[outlierdirector]

[crazyisinevitable]

Alan Wake? Do you know who I am?

[ The voice over the payphone asks that question, and Alan grinds his teeth in frustration. ] How the fuck could I?

[ It's clear from Alan's tone that he's in no mood for being jerked around by the mysterious voice on the other end of the phone. He's been jerked around by the story too, even killed by it, and he's been through more hell than anyone really deserves, even an asshole like him.

All he wants is to get out of this hellish nightmare, and finally get to go home. But he still sees no end in sight, just more loops, more drafts, more people who are far too vague and seemingly more interested in stringing him along than they are in helping him. Of course, there's a couple of people who are exceptions to that, but the voice on the phone doesn't seem to be one of them.

He and Alan exchange more words, and Alan's frustration only grows. The voice drops more hints, more vague details, and the call ends with Alan finding the mysterious man's room key sitting on the payphone. It's convenient. Almost too convenient. Alan doesn't trust in convenience anymore. He doesn't trust in much of anything.

But what does he have to lose? The Dark Place could screw with him more, and raise the stakes more, but he feels as though it's not tempting fate to say that he's already had so much taken from him that anything else is just par for the course at this point. There is a part of him that expects there to be nothing left of him by the time the Dark Presence is done with him. The only thing that might stop it is if he finds a way to end the story and escape for good, but in his eyes, the likelihood of that is growing less and less all the time.

He doesn't really want to take this detour, but he figures if he does, he can finally find out just who's been talking to him on the phone, and that'll be one less mystery for him to solve. Another one is likely to crop up in its place, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there.

The hotel is every bit as winding and looping as it's always been, or maybe it's just the Dark Place making it be that way. He passes doors and goes down hallways, sometimes using the Angel Lamp when it resonates with something, but for the most part, the trek to Room 665 is uneventful. That is, until he turns a corner and spots a familiar box that normally contains supplies. He opens it, and instead of finding ammunition or med kits, he finds a keychain. Not just any keychain either. The sight of it causes Alan to let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding in.

I know this. It's from her, but what's it doing here? How did it get here? I lost it in one of the loops. At least, I think I did. I don't understand anything about this place. Dream logic, I guess.

He moves to clip the keychain onto his bag, but at the last second, he decides to hold it in his hand for a little while. Something about having it makes him feel closer to... well. Someone. It's a fool's hope to think that maybe a keychain could lead him back to that someone, but, well... Alan knows he's a fool sometimes.

An image, or a recollection, flashes into Alan's mind then. It's similar to something he's seen before, but it's changed somehow too. He hears his own voice narrating and sees his own silhouette in his mind's eye, the keychain having triggered a memory of some kind.

I couldn't explain it. But something about this felt familiar. I felt an overwhelming closeness to home. Something was trying to guide me there. I wanted to let it, so I followed that feeling, hoping it took me where I wanted to go.

Alan turns another corner and finally spots his destination: Room 665. He doesn't waste any time inserting the key into the lock, turning it, and stepping inside. ]

Hello?

[ If the person from the other end of the phone call is here, they're doing a good job of hiding themselves. Alan takes another step into the room, still looking around. ]

[outlierdirector]

[ In Room 665 simply sits a projector with a note: PLAY ME.

Upon doing so, Alan finds himself transported to another experience of reality. Much like when Mr. Door pulls him to the talk show, things feel more realistic than normal in the Dark Place. Behind the Writer is a door he has walked through: Room 665. A room that is lived in, hardly kept, and quite obviously some sort of hot spot for art.

A mantle is nearby with the painting of a black and white spiral.

The occupant of the room stands shirtless on the bed. Then, suddenly, he moves. In a jerky instant moment, the long haired man wears a jacket and is in front of Alan with a lamp. ]

In this temple of shadow and mist,
There is a window in the floor
And a door in the ceiling.
There is no knowing
Am I standing still, or running, or kneeling.

[ An odd movement, similar to Taken, happens. The man is standing in front of the Spiral image with a wide smile on his face. ]

Tom Zane. Welcome to the House of Zane! Oh. It's so good to see you again, Alan!

[ Words are exchanged back and forth. Most the time Zane has a way to brush off questions with non answers. A drink is given to Alan and the explanation of "Return" given--a piece of fiction written by Alan to accompany Zane's film. An attempt of artistic collaboration to create art that would see them from the Dark Place.

Oh, but Alan needs a murder site, doesn't he? Something to understand the road he is on to land him with where "Return" might be. All Alan will need to do is follow the waves of the ocean of the Dark Place and the creativity will take him where he wishes to be.

Then, the T.V. clicks on. Zane jumps and gasps. A man--a familiar scientist--tries to find a frequency before static once more. Then, a familiar face. Maybe only familiar to Alan anyways. The color on the screen is monochrome, but the bright eyes should be familiar.

The woman seemingly leans closer to the screen. A voice that harmonizes with itself. ] ｟ Hello? ｠

[crazyisinevitable]

[ Alan just sighs, his hand raising to rub his forehead with tiredness. How many things like this has he seen in his trek through the Dark Place? ]

What'll it be this time? Not another insane musical number, I hope.

[ Luckily for him, it's not. Mr. Door isn't there, the Old Gods aren't either, and there's a quiet that's fallen over the room, except for the ceiling fan and- wait. There's a man on the bed, shirtless for some reason, and as soon as he sees Alan, he moves and appears in front of him. ]

What the hell? [ Clothes and objects appearing out of nowhere isn't the weirdest thing Alan's ever seen, but it still took him by surprise. It's already occurred to Alan that the man's movements are reminiscent of Taken, and so his hand has shifted to rest on his gun in case he needs to lift it to fire. He doesn't trust anything down here, especially not someone who keeps calling him on payphones and being frustratingly vague. ]

Tom Zane. The... the poet. Or diver. Filmmaker. Whoever the hell you are. That was you on the phone?

[ Zane launches into an explanation with too many words and even more crazy metaphors than even Alan can remember using in his entire career. A crazy thought occurs to him and he pushes it away, refusing to even give it the time of day. Zane's answers aren't answers at all, and they just serve to make Alan more frustrated. ]

I don't know why you wanted me to come here. Obviously this is just another waste of time, another pointless trail leading me nowhere. What the hell does "creativity will take me where I wish to be" even mean?

[ Zane opens his mouth to say something, that smile that comes too easily to his face sliding into place, but he never gets to say whatever he was going to. The TV in the room turns on, and both men turn toward it automatically. Zane gasps, but Alan remains silent, just watching and waiting to see what's going to happen. The man on the screen looks vaguely familiar, but it's the next face that appears that causes all the air in Alan's lungs to leave him in a rush.

Green eyes, glowing as bright as always. He can't see her hair, but he knows that face. He'd know it anywhere. He steps up to the TV screen and places his hand on its surface. ]

... Jesse.

[ Is this a message? Obviously it's something, but what? ]

— initation 9: gone.

[outlierdirector]

[ The Oceanview Motel is starting to feel unwelcoming.

Or, maybe she's starting to resent it.

The Motel had always been a nice place to retreat for a few hours to get away from things. Trench said something similar over the Hotline once, and that is honestly what gave her the idea to start with. Not that she's ever felt truly trapped by her job as the Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. No, instead, it has always felt liberating in a way.

And, besides, it's not even the Motel she's starting to resent.

It's "Return."

She's stood standing in front of the television in one of the rooms for... god, who really knows how long. Time doesn't flow the way it should in the Motel in between the loops. Not that it really matters anyways. Her eyes have been blankly staring at the screen that turned off some time ago. The words and thoughts keep going over and over in her mind, even if she's used other doors to leave and come back to the Motel. She's crossed paths with another Alan Wake since the message, but she inevitably keeps coming back to Room 226. ]

『 Hi, Jesse. I don't really know you, and you most certainly don't know me. But, none of that matters, because this is when things all start to end. 』

Alice Wake smiled at her in the message. Or, at least, what Jesse could only assume was a message. It was different from other messages she'd received. Not over the Hotline, but more like the time she had seen Alan in the Writer's Room. Except the room Alice looked to be in was a fancy high rise apartment in New York City. The lights were off besides one lamp behind her. She was pale, her blonde hair pulled back, but it looked oddly thinned.

『 I've been trying to get a hold of you for a long time now. Things... shift, in the Dark Place. You could be in the right place for me to contact, but then Alan would move, and you would move after him. Not that you are in the Dark Place. It's just... 』 Alice paused. 『 I think we both know how much of a gravitational force Alan can be. Positive or negative, he draws you in and you can't let go. It makes for the best times and the worst times. The highs are high, and the lows are low, but that just is part of being with an artist of any kind. It's probably something you're not used to. 』

Her lips pressed together and her hands folded in front of her. Fingers gently moved the ring on her finger. Jesse felt a stab of guilt then, almost like being caught in some love affair. But, Alice never seemed to be upset in the message. Contemplative, rather.

『 I owe you an apology to start with. Alan dragged you into this by the connection I had to your people. They took me in after what happened in Bright Falls... and I went back to them when the hauntings began. Scratch coming to the apartment every night. Except, at this point, you and I know Scratch isn't just the Dark Presence. Part of it is Alan. All the worst parts of him. That's what the Dark Presence does: it pulls the worst out of a person and consumes them with it. And, it's my fault he's there. He stayed there so I could get out. I swam to the surface and he sank down into the depths.

Originally, all you were supposed to do was take care of Hartman. That's the role that Alan gave you. Someone who could receive his messages and take care of a loose end for him. Someone who had a piece of the Dark Presence in him and it could of been catastrophic if he continued it. Maybe he thought he could use that further to get out. I'm not sure. 』 Alice paused and let her shoulders sag. 『 He wouldn't know this, but I was the one that left the idea to use you in "Return." Bring back the hero that he used once to help him get to where he needs to be in order to escape. Someone that's like him. Not an artist, no, but someone with an extraordinary ability I could never understand. There had always been a part of him I couldn't reach. Some part that I could never understand. This was it. If he could learn from you, and your guiding star, then maybe he could find a way to the surface from his spiral. Both of us helping him in the ways we could.

I didn't think it would go like it did between you two. But, I'm glad it worked out the way it did. It gives him more of a reason to keep going--something to come home to. As I won't be there for him anymore. 』 Alice Wake smiled sadly then. Eyes flicked down in guilt, but, she shook her head.

『 That's another reason I need to apologize to you, Jesse. Alan thought you would be the hero to pull him out of the Dark Place. Physically, if needed. But... you aren't. That's not your role in the story. Only Alan can save himself by working through everything that the Dark Presence is using to keep him in the Dark. He doesn't need a hero--he has to be his own. What he needs most of all is someone to guide him. Show him the path and illuminate it until he can see where it goes on his own. I know, that's a poetic way of putting it, but I'm sure your guiding star knows what I mean.

What I need you to do, for me, is not to give up. Don't stop loving Alan, even if it feels like he's going to break your heart. "Return" will be over and he'll find his way back from the night. I'll make sure of it. Just keep the lights on so he knows the way to the lighthouse to come home.

This is the final time around, Jesse. I promise. 』

Jesse's gaze drifts away to the side from the television once more. She feels the message is almost burned into her mind. Maybe something deeper than that, but Jesse has never been artistic or poetic in analogies. She doesn't want to start being that way either. This, whatever it is that hurts in her, is painful enough. Realizing she has no control in the situation. Nothing she can do will change the outcome of the story because the ending has already been written. They just need to play the steps out to make sure it happens.

« That's all we're here to do. Make sure it follows the path it needs to be on. No interfering. No trying to changing the story. Get Alan and Saga where they to go so they can stop all this. Shit. I wish she would of told me from the start. »

Her eyes gaze lifts as she feels Polaris give a tug at her mind. A gentle brush, as if her best friend understands the pain she's in. Jesse refuses to name the emotion rampaging through her. The moment she does? She'll break and she isn't sure if she could do what she's supposed to do.

« It makes sense. Of course it does. The Director of the Federal Bureau of Control stops AWEs. Just, here to do the job in the end. The rest doesn't matter to the Bureau agents, the people in Bright Falls and Watery, Saga and her daughter, Casey, Breaker. In the end, that's even what Alan needs us to be. The Director and Polaris. »

Jesse comes to a stop and realizes she had been moving down the darkened hall of the Motel once again. Her gaze lifts to the Spiral door beside her. She inhales sharply, fingers curling into fists at her sides. Polaris brushes against her mind once more. Lips press together and she gently shakes her head side to side.

« No. I don't want to try again. It doesn't WORK anymore. How many times have we tried? YOU tried, Polaris. We can't reach him. I don't--I don't know why. If anyone picks up it's that other Alan. Not the one we know. I... I don't want to try and not get an answer again. » ]

[crazyisinevitable]

[ The Dark Place is starting to feel unwelcoming. But it has always been unwelcoming. Hostile. Bent on destroying everything that makes Alan who he is. It's taken so much from him that he wonders if anything of him is even left.

Who am I? Who is Alan Wake?

All he knows is loops upon loops and deaths that keep happening again and again but he never gets to sleep, no matter how many times he dies to the threats and the dangers of the Dark Place. Every time, he wakes up back in the Writer's Room at the desk that he's beginning to hate.

With each time that he jolts awake at the desk once more, he becomes more resigned to the fact that he'll never go home again. He'll never walk among the living as they make their way along the streets of New York or wherever it is they call home. He'll never see Jesse again, never do any of the things they talked about... the things that are becoming lost to the waves of the Dark Place.

Hope seems to be a distant dream, a thing that other people have, but not Alan. Another loop is on the horizon, about to start, and when this loop ends, another one will begin. Maybe the loops will just continue until everyone that he knows who still lives and breathes and hopes and dreams outside the Dark Place will be gone.

Barry, Rose, Tim.... Jesse. I'll be the only one left. I'll still be here, starting over at the beginning again and again until... Until what?

....

I'm so tired. Everyone's gone, or they will be gone. Alice... Oh, God, Alice.

It crashes on him like a ton of bricks. He saw it playing out before his eyes, the revelation that Alice is dead. Gone. Gone forever. He comes back to the Writer's Room when he dies, but Alice won't ever come back.

He had nightmares of her dying, being murdered by him or by someone who looks like him, but what he's seen is worse: a million times worse. She died from the one thing he couldn't protect her from: illness. Nothing he could have done would have saved her. And what's worse is he wasn't there when she died.

Oh, Alice, I let you down.

A thudding sound echoes in the empty room, the sound traveling around the space and bouncing against the walls and amplifying itself until it's all Alan can hear. He hasn't even registered that he's dropped to his knees, breath escaping him in harsh exhales. It doesn't register with him that those harsh breaths turn increasingly into something resembling hyperventilating as waves of grief and panic and complete despair sweep over him.

The rapid, grief-stricken breaths continue in a furious, senseless pace until exhaustion settles in and all that's left is an exhausted, broken man kneeling on the floor, unable to move or rise from where he kneels. His arms have fallen too, as if he can no longer hold even them up. Something burns in his eyes but there's no sign of tears on his face.

He feels nothing but his grief and his despair, and he hears nothing but the roaring of waves in his mind. The waves are rolling back in, and soon they'll pull him out to sea with them. He'll drown in the waves because he has no fight left.

At least then I won't have to feel this. I won't have to feel anything.

He isn't reaching out to the waves, to the darkness that's circling around him like a shark circles when it senses blood in the water, but he's not pulling away from it either. The darkness can sense that his will is wavering, and that is the time for it to strike. ]

[outlierdirector]

[ As the water slowly begins to fill in and the waves entice him, a gentle touch trickles down the back of his neck. Or, at least, something that seems like a touch. Something that seems like--and yet isn't entirely--the familiar touch of who Alan Wake knows. A nudge at his mind, a tug, a hand reaching out to him as he stands off the shore in the waters.

Someone who has been trying for a long time to reach him. Now, she can. There is no distractions from the joined stories of "Initiation" and "Return" to pull his mind from. Here, at the worst part of the spiral, she can finally reach to him. One last time to guide him along. One last attempt to give the Writer what he needs before the story starts one last time to come to an ending once and for all. ]

｟ Alan Wake. ｠

[ The voice is more of a harmonious tone that echoes in his mind. Resonates in him, touching that spark threatening to go out. Using it to make herself stronger. The voice is borrowed to a degree--knowing the writer will hear that voice no matter how dark the waves. ]

｟ Alan. ｠

[ The touch rests on the back of his shoulders. No pressure, no pushing, just the call of the resonance. Faint. Far away. Alan called to them once in a similar manner. Except there is no desperation or sense of drowning.

Just the feeling of loneliness and longing.

The resonating feeling tries to guide his attention to the door that has closed behind him. A glimmer of light using the lamp on the desk to reflect. A geometric pattern. ]

｟ Come home. ｠

[ Polaris reaches to Alan because she reacts to her host. Just as she reaches to anyone her host needs. Polaris knows the things that keep her host strong--and in return she is stronger. Perhaps there is also a relation of wanting to aid her host. The two are symbiotic now.

Friends. Partners.

Her host needs the writer to listen and to hear her. This final time around the spiral has to be precise. It has to go the right way by design. Step by step. This will ensure it for both parties.

On the other side of the door, Jesse rests her hands against the wood. She feels Polaris vibrate through the door. Her friend works on her own designs and Jesse can do little to stop it. ]

— initiation 0: songbird (🐦).

[tearings]

( cont)

[ A few steps one way. Another few steps another way. Not quite pacing, but moving as she listens. The Dark Presence can change its form and shape. How it is seen. Which means it has a true face of a monster deep beneath all the allure.

Elizabeth knows a few things about monsters and the faces they wear. ]

How many people actually know what it is that would underestimate it?

[ Elizabeth comes to a stop then and her arms fold. Water glistens on the blue velvet jacket she wears. Blue eyes like the sky settle on the writer.

It's interesting to simply observe Alan Wake. He is someone who has traversed a door and been unable to open it again. Yet, there are still ties to that door that would take him home. Some of those ties are more obvious than others. He could use them to go back to his world... but he doesn't. Or, perhaps, it is more accurate to say he won't? ]

You can call me Elizabeth. [ Her arms remain folded as she turns to look at him properly. ] I don't need to talk to anyone to know things, Mr. Wake. I'm not afforded such a simple luxury.

[ There are so many ways she can phrase what can be said to answer his questions. None seem as satisfying as the flair of drama she can build. More of her father is in her than she would like to admit to sometimes.

A hand raises and gestures to his person. ] Look up, Mr. Wake.

[ The Writer's Room is dim as always. A single light on the desk casting a light into a muted room. Chalkboards to one side, a pair of windows behind the writer, and an ever watchful owl. Dust settles everywhere.

However, one thing has changed. A variable in a set of constants.

Elizabeth stands in front of the opposite side of the desk. Her arms crossed until Alan addresses her. Then, they lower to gesture to the room around them. ]

The attic room. This is actually where you are... and the New York City is a construct? Something you created to navigate the outside world. [ Despite the tone of fact checking, Elizabeth sounds impressed. The frayed bob at her cheeks moves as she turns her head to look over the room again. A radio, a television. ] You've learned how to shape this world to what you need to explore and learn it further.

[ A hand raises to the ceiling. ] If you can change the surroundings... then why haven't you given more places for the light to come in? I doubt you can create things that don't already exist somewhere. But, can't you at least give the opportunity for the Dark Presence's antithesis to exist here?

[crazyisinevitable]

[ He watches her moving, not really pacing, but walking, first one way then another. He can tell that she's listening, and that's what matters most to him. She's listening, and she seems to be taking what he's saying seriously. That's a step in the right direction. But he could talk for a million years and never really find the tip of the iceberg that is the Dark Presence. It's shifting and changing and unpredictable, but all he can do is give warnings. ]

That depends on how you define "actually knowing". There are people who know of it, who have seen what it's done: the people who live in Bright Falls, for one thing. Maybe they don't know exactly what it is they've seen, but weird things have been happening there for years.

[ His gaze shifts as does his expression when he feels her gaze land on him, beginning to observe him. He crosses his arms in front of him as if the examination unsettles him on some level. What she's looking at and what she's seeing when she looks at him, he can't be sure, but he still finds the act of observing him a little unsettling even if she doesn't present an unsettling figure. Still, he knows better than to underestimate someone. ]

Elizabeth. All right. [ His eyes narrow slightly at her next words, and he can't stop himself from inquiring more. ] You don't? So what are you, then? Some kind of clairvoyant?

[ She tells him to look up, and almost automatically, he does as asked. He startles slightly when his senses catch up with him and he's sitting at the desk, hands poised over the typewriter. At first, the scene looks the same as it always does. Everything's in place, and he's in his place, and- wait.

What the hell? How- Huh? Is she another parautilitarian like Jesse? How did she get in here? ]

Yeah, that's right, I've done all of that, because that's the nature of this place and how it responds to art, but... How do you know that?

[ She continues talking, and then she asks that question, and something in Alan's jaw seems to tighten as he responds. ]

The Dark Presence's antithesis? [ He's shaking his head already. ] I know someone who... represents light. Or at least, a positive resonance. It's not safe for people here. It's not even safe for not people.

[ That sounds ridiculous as soon as he says it, but he can't call it back. ]

Look, I don't think that would help even if I tried doing it. There's too much darkness everywhere here. I'd have to have a hundred floodlights, and even that wouldn't be enough.

[ Not that he's tried that, but he just thinks it's impossible. ]

[tearings]

[ Bright Falls.

Elizabeth ponders the name as she waits for his senses to return to him. It must be the name of the place he came from. The world beyond the door he stepped through. It would make sense such a place would have myths and legends to explain things beyond their knowledge. Things that seem more ungodly or otherworldly.

Something else she knows a thing or two about.

Elizabeth pauses. It responds to art. Her mind wanders to the paintings that littered her room in the Tower. Places she had seen through doors. Paris. The mere name sends an old familiar painful beat in her blossom.

That was a long time ago. Wasn't it?

Her eyes focus on the ceiling. They move along each plank of wood, each crossbar. Looking. ]

No, I'm not a claravoyient. It would never be so easy to describe me. [ She doubts scientific terms would help either. Even if those are the words she knows. Her hands raise again beside her as she steps back, eyes continuing to scan the ceiling. ] Think of me as someone who can see all the woods. What's behind all the doors. Everything that remains the same or changes. Sometimes I meet others... sometimes I don't.

This is one of the times I've met someone.

[ Her eyes widen slightly. ] Aha, there!

[ A hand raises and waves. A blue ripple appears in the ceiling above her. A distortion in time and space, allowing something to slip through that shouldn't be there. It flickers then fades to reveal an old ceiling lamp. One that fits the era of the cabin. ]

Here, Mr. Wake. Shine a light on it. Either from the lamp on your desk or a flashlight.

[ Art can be whatever he makes it. Who is to say you can't light a light with another? ]

If the Dark Presence can't stay in the light, then that is what will put it in check. If one is Dark, why not a Bright?

▼ — return // bright falls.

[outlierdirector]

🔦 around again.

[outlierdirector]

[ The twin brothers slam on the bars and throw sneers at the Writer in the neighboring cell.

The holding cells of the Bright Falls Sheriff Station are dimly lit. One cell has been entirely converted to a temporary archive. Boxes labeled with a familiar logo, supplies, documents. There's always documents when the Federal Bureau of Control is involved. Highly confidential paperwork with several things redacted foe various levels of clearance. Although the field team involved hasn't bothered to redact much. Not when they are still dimly cut off from HQ and the Lake House has gone dark.

Maybe that's more accurate than metaphoric.

Beyond the local business brothers, voices can be heard from the handful of agents that now occupy the station. Some speak in low tones about the "famous Alan Wake really being a parautalitarian" to "I hope she knows what she's doing." Maybe the Writer can only catch bits and pieces, and most of it probably makes no sense at all. The story has to naturally unfold, edits and all, no matter how much the FBI Agent and the Writer don't want it to.

The door to the cells opens and an older man steps in. Military haircut, dark hair and eyes, FBC jacket on, and seemingly light hearted. That is until he sends a glare to the sneering pair of businessmen. It's enough to make them step back from the bars. The man grins and then makes his way to the Writer's cell. He raises his hand and knocks on it. ]

Alright, wake up time. Come on, Wake. You're being moved. [ The FBC man smirks as if he has made the funniest joke in the room. Despite the fact they are inside? He has been wearing a pair of aviators. He takes them off and knocks on the bars again. ] No time to be dreaming. Let's go. Boss wants to see you.

[ The man folds the aviators on his under t-shirt and unlocks the cage. He pulls out a pair of black handcuffs. He clips them on Alan Wake--covered in dried blood and mud--and begins to escort him. No mind is ever given to the brothers who throw insults and warnings. The FBC member almost seems to think they're just annoyances in the wind. Background noise to fade out.

He nods to the other field agents and one in particular. Agent Kiran Estevez. She glances between the two and shakes her head. It doesn't take a mind reader to be able to tell the agent thinks this is all a bad idea. Still, rank has been pulled, and not even by the man escorting Alan. It was pulled by his boss.

The Director.

He turns the corner and keeps walking Alan down the hallway to the Sheriff's Office. ]

Captain Ranger Steve Sevestapol. Good to meet you again, Wake.

[ He had a much more friendly demeanor now out of the gaze of others. A grin on his face even as he opens the door beside them. A few more steps and they are in a office that Alan has probably seen one too many times to call comfortable. The room is different from the last Breaker that inhabited it, but, still feeling like Bright Falls. Family. Home. Rustic.

Against the edge of the desk sits a red headed woman. Shorter than both men, green eyes, dressed in a tactical vest, half gloves, and boots. The light in the room almost seems to hum. It's brighter in this room, but the light in the whole station seems to be oddly brighter.

Steve uncuffs the writer and gives him a pat on the back. The door closes behind him, leaving only the Director and Alan Wake. ]

Mr. Alan Wake, right? [ The Director asks to get his attention. Her green eyes seem to be searching for something on him. Or, something from him period. ] The famous writer of the Alex Casey novels. Right?

[ She shifts how she sits on the desk, hands curled around the lip of it, watching Alan intently for some sort of answer. She's almost on edge and maybe even nervous about the answer she might get. She needs whatever the answer is going to be. It will tell her how to proceed going forward in this mess of a horror story. ]

And, you're awake. [ Her word choice is pointed for a reason that maybe only she knows. ] You were out cold when my agents brought you here from the woods.

Which means I'm sure you have questions for me.

[ The faint hum that can be heard by certain people seems louder around her. She doesn't expect him to notice it. Something about the encounter seems reminiscent of others, and so her questions are posed differently. She has to make sure things are similar--but different enough. ]

[crazyisinevitable]

[ By the time the ranger captain steps into the area containing the holding cells, the writer known as Alan Wake has dropped down to sit on the bed inside the cell he was put in. The bed has springs sticking out all over the place which makes it hardly comfortable, but comfort is the last thing on Alan's mind. When he first woke up, he was more like himself. He heard the brothers next door to him jeering and throwing jabs and insults, and at first, he threw back retorts of his own.

But they just kept going, increasing in volume and gradually becoming more and more personal. Too personal. They struck a nerve. Several nerves. Eventually, Alan couldn't take it anymore. He all but collapsed onto the bed, his hands lifting to cover his ears. He didn't want to hear the mocking sneers from the two men who didn't seem to want to stop. But he could still hear them even though he did the best he could to block them out.

The constant stream of insults made Alan want to recoil, as did the pounding sensation in his head that only seemed to grow the longer he sat there. As the two brothers kept up their incessant tirade, the pain in his head grew worse. But he couldn't hold his head and block out the voices of the Koskela brothers, so he just sat there and tried to think about anything but the splitting migraine building behind his eyes.

A voice cut through the jeers from the next cell over. What was it saying?

-time. Come on, Wake. You're being moved.

Every other word cut out, sounding like it was obstructed by a buzzing noise. Was that in Alan's head? Was something wrong with his hearing? He couldn't tell. Who's talking? The agents who found me on the beach? Did they come back already? I thought- I thought they went somewhere. Left. Or they were told to leave. Weren't there other agents? I don't remember.

Alan vaguely remembers being found on the shore, being questioned, the feeling of the headache growing worse all the time... and then there was nothing until he woke up here in this cell. There's something weird about this. Something strange. Familiar but not familiar. What's happening?

Alan doesn't protest or even put up much of a fight when the man wearing aviators puts a strange looking pair of handcuffs around his wrists. He doesn't say anything when said man escorts him from the cell to... to where? ]

Where are we going? Have- Have we met before? I don't recognize you.

[ Alan remains silent until they're away from the others who had been watching them. Once they're alone, that's when he begins to speak. ] We've met before? Sorry, but I'm having trouble remembering.

[ A part of him wants to smile at the other man for some inexplicable reason, but the expression doesn't even touch Alan's face. He's still rattled from the constant sneers he was forced to listen to, and his head still feels like it's about to split in two. ]

You mentioned your boss wants to see me. Who's that? [ Alan knows he probably doesn't know whoever this boss is either, but he still can't help but wonder.

It's not until they reach the office that Alan gets the answer to that question. There's a woman there, leaning against the desk, and Alan finds his gaze drawn almost instantly to her like he's responding to a gravitational pull. Suddenly the cuffs are removed, and Steve is patting him on the back before leaving him alone with the redheaded woman.

The ache in his head is still intensifying, but she's talking to him. She knows his name. That shouldn't be surprising, as a lot of people know who he is. Alan nods and instantly regrets it, hands lifting to rub both temples as the pain seems to spike again. ]

Guess you did your research. [ Whoever she is, if she's the boss of... of whoever, she probably doesn't read crime novels. At least, not the crime novels he wrote once. ]

Awake... am I? I wish- if this is what being awake feels like, I want to go back to sleep.

[ No, I don't want to go to sleep. I want to be awake. But this headache can stop anytime. Please.

His fingers curl more against his head, reacting to the continuing pain there. ]

Who- who are you? [ He doesn't lift his head to look at her, as even moving just a fraction causes his head to hurt more. He hopes she doesn't mind his apparent lack of manners, but he's finding it hard to move, even to look her in the eyes. ]

[outlierdirector]

You could say it was another version. [ Steve smirks as if he's aware of a joke that Alan may not be clued in on yet. ] But, don't worry about it. All things in due time or something like that.

[ A nod is given to the door before he opens it. ] The Director.

[ Jesse Faden feels nervous. That's never a good sign in any loop, or version, or normality. She shouldn't be nervous. They've gotten this far into the loop. That means that things are progressing the way they should. However the manuscript has been edited works. Now, they just need to get past where they were at last time. Not that she remembers it entirely, but, she has that sinking feeling inside her. The one that sets off her instincts. The one that says it didn't end the way it should of because she failed someone.

Maybe Alan himself.

Her head raises as she hears the door open.

Steve escort Alan inside as planned and remove the black rock cuffs. A pat to the back is given before leaving. Jesse can't help but smile--at least with her eyes--at her right hand ranger. She has no idea how Steve has been able to keep memories of what is going on... but she's decided not to question it.

Her attention focuses entirely on Alan once he answers. The tone and words themselves cause her to pause. Fingers curl under the lip of the desk she's sitting on the edge of. She can feel how they press into the wood as he continues. Wanting to go back to sleep.

Who- who are you?

And, her heart sinks.

« I shouldn't be surprised. Why would he write it back in this time? I didn't ask or demand it. I let him decide, didn't I? Work with the story how he needed to make it work to end it. Maybe that's just inevitably something cut from the story. Served it's purpose or something like that. That page I have may not do any good now. Shit. Shit. » ]

Director of the Federal Bureau of Control. Faden.

[ There's no overly harsh tone in her voice, nothing so impersonal that she'd say she's entirely in business mode. Just enough space to allow whatever his reaction is going to be. She leans back, head tilted to the side slightly.

« He looks like shit. I don't mean just because of the obvious blood and dirt. He's in pain. It's obvious. Whatever I had planned isn't going to work or get through to him like this. I don't even have an idea what's causing the pain. It might not be my place to know this time. » ]

I imagine being in the cell next to the cult leaders made your headache worse. Take a seat. It's not really my office anyways. [ Jesse nods to the open couch that's still in the brighter light that comes from the ceiling. ] We can talk later. Once you're feeling better.

[ She knows Steve just brought him here on her request. That instinct kicks in and tells her anything she'd say or do at the moment would be pointless. Even showing him the manuscript page she has tucked away in her vest pocket wouldn't sink in. Jesse looks down for a brief second before standing up.

This time, she moves over to stand next to Alan. Her hands raise, but she doesn't make contact, easing him to sit on the couch in the light. Polaris may not even be able to help if he has no idea she's there. So, that means the best thing is to just let him absorb whatever he needs to from the light.

He is the Torchbearer and Champion of Light.

A few steps are taken back as she moves to the double doors. ]

I'll keep Sevestapol on watch outside for you. If you need anything? Let him know. We'll talk once you're feeling more like yourself.

— morning.

[outlierdirector]

We're planning for one. Just in case. We got the Cult leaders in custody and you. Faden's convinced the Shadow isn't too happy to have her ... uh, friend, as a neighbor. So, time to bunker down. Reminds me, I need to look into where the hell the Sherrif and Deputies are....

[ Night falls.

And chaos breaks out.

Steve arms Alan, of course, and sticks with him as much as they can. They handle the parking lot and perimeter. Estevez handles the lobby and inside, while Jesse and Casey handle the morgue (much to the annoyance of one federal agent). The power of the Taken doesn't seem to be numbers, as Alan dealt with in 2010, but how powerful they are instead. The Dark Presence has quite the hold over Bright Falls since thirteen years ago and it shows.

Or, maybe, it's simply angered by another alien entity resonating in what it sees as its domain.

Dawn finally comes.

The Taken seem to be pulled back into the darkness as the sun rises. No sign of them remains beside the damage left behind on the FBC agents and the battle on the station. The odd morning quietness fills the station and it's not one Steve enjoys.

He gives a pat to Alan's back. It also is a notion for the writer to follow him. They enter the station and what Steve sees actually causes him to pause. He's seen plenty of hell before -- military service and the Hiss invasion -- but this looks like almost sheer carnage.

Taken lie disintegrating in the sunlight, while a few agents and police lay dead. The ratio isn't bad, hut, they're still faces Steve recongizes and knows. A sigh followed by "Fuck" is muttered under his breath. He steps around them and makes his way to the main lobby.

Estevez and Samuels are already evaluating survivors. Estevez has a bandage wrapped around her thigh. She glances up at the two and gives a nod. ]

Good to see the two of you made it through the night. How bad was it outside?

Bad. [ Steve leaves it at that. He glances around, then eyes Estevez with his eyebrows raised. She shakes her head and makes a gesture with her hand. Steve sighs and looks back at Alan. ] Looks like we're headed downstairs. Light isn't a thing down there, so, be on guard.

[ He gives a nod to Estevez before walking around her and Samuels. He heads down the same hallway Jesse had disappeared down the night before. He pulls the handgun and flashlight out once more. The door down to the morgue is opened, the winding stairs descended. The darkness is thick downstairs and Steve has a moment where he wonders if the flashlight is strong enough to pierce through it.

The air ripples like water. Steve takes a step back and raises his light for Alan to be able to shoot it as soon as the darkness burns away. Except the Taken dips back into the ripple, taunting about caring for old residents. Steve takes another step back with Alan to read the situation.

Then, a flare sails through the air with a male voice in the darkness: "Take that you ugly bastard!"

The Taken screeches as the flare burns under the ripple, causing it to show itself and the mirrored reflection below. Steve glances at Alan and shares a nod before unleashing what rounds he has in his handgun. Between the two of them, it falls to the side. ]

"Anyone out there? You get the bastard?"

[ Steve looks back at Alan. ] That must be your friend Casey. He's more of a dick than the one in your books.

[crazyisinevitable]

[ Chaos breaks out, and Alan feels an icy hand take hold of him: the icy hand of fear. But there's no time for being paralyzed by fear, not when people around him are fighting and being driven back by the Taken that arrive. It's less arriving and more swarming, and these Taken are angry. Relentless. The Dark Presence wants to drive all of them from Bright Falls, and if it can't do that, well, then it seems hell-bent on killing all of them.

Alan fires round after round, alternating with burning away the darkness with his flashlight. He's had to stop to reload more than once, and it's when he stops that he becomes vulnerable. But even though he doesn't lower his guard, it seems that luck, or something like it is on his side... at least for now.

More waves come as the sky gradually starts to lighten. Alan fell into a sort of rhythm of burning Taken with the flashlight and bringing them down with bullets. He only got knocked off that rhythm once when he got taken by a surprise by a knife being thrown by an oncoming Taken. It caught him on the forehead, leaving a decently sized gash, but he didn't have time to stop to deal with it, as now he had two of them on his hands.

But by the time dawn comes and what remains of the Taken slowly recede back into the darkness of the trees and whatever cover they can find, Alan knows he's one of the lucky ones who made it out alive. A fight like this has to have casualties. It's something he's not looking forward to seeing, but there's no running from it either.

Steve pats him on the back, and he gives the ranger a nod as he moves to follow him. Once they enter the station, Alan's expression turns grim. He might not know all the faces of the dead, but a life is still a life. They have families and friends and aspirations, and all of that is at an end. Alan's fist clenches even as he continues following Steve.

He doesn't say anything as Estevez and Steve exchange words. At least Estevez is still standing, as is Samuels. But there's other faces they haven't seen yet, and there's one face in particular that Alan wants to see.

But it's not Jesse that they run into; instead, it's a Taken who doesn't seem to want to give up easily. Luckily, Steve is good at reading the situation, and Alan knows how to react quickly enough, so between the two of them, they dispatch the Taken just in time to hear Casey calling out. ]

Yeah... he kind of is, but- [ Alan shrugs. It feels like any prickliness on Casey's part is understandable, given the situation they're in. ] I'd be prickly too if I got dragged into this mess. [ He glances sidelong at Steve. ] I don't know how you manage to always seem so relaxed, even when things are bad.

[outlierdirector]

(cont)

[ Scratch can't use words because he isn't a creator, right? That's why he has to rely on smooth talking and charm that is some idea of what Alan must be like. He can't think of words to win her over because everything is about him. Self-centered, an all consuming ego, and thinking he's earned and deserving of the whole world. They're traits that would have driven her away if they truly belonged to Alan Wake. Jesse knows that Alan may have put up a front like it for the media, but he's far from any of those things. He's a man who always wanted to writes and had his own personal demons. Demons that now an extra-dimensional entity is making its play toys to break him.

Honestly? The whole thing is just disgusting.

He tugs her from the light. She would fight it if not for the fact she has to keep Scratch busy as long as she can. His mouth--Alan's mouth--is on hers in an instant. Jesse's eyes widen and she feels so many different things all at once that it's almost overwhelming. The sensation that it's wrong is what reacts first, but then followed by Polaris's immediate surge of power. Trying to push the hostile entity away. Block him out. Become louder than the dark.

Then, something else.

She knows it's not there. But, her mind feels as if water has pooled at her ankles. It takes only half a second more for her mind to realize what that sensation must mean. The feeling of the Dark Presence--Scratch--trying to overwhelm her and literally drown out Polaris. If she had been an ordinary person, then it would have swept her away in a moment. Unfortunately for Scratch, his and Alan's eyes have laid on a very powerful parautalitarian.

It takes a tremendous amount of energy, which she has barely recovered, to shove the waves out of her mind. Find what she can in her with Polaris to block the waves from entering. She can still feel as if the bottoms of her feet are wet and knows she needs to get into the light quickly before he tries to overwhelm her again.

Jesse moves quickly.

The hand he doesn't hold bunches into the white shirt beneath the blood stained flannel. She takes those steps back into the light, dragging Scratch with her. Feet firmly plant in the light from the desk in the entry hall outlines her shape. She can feel Polaris already resonating.

« Just, stick with me, okay? »

She pulls away from his kiss just enough to raise her eyes to his. Green eyes that glow with an otherwordly light compared to the gray eyes that move with a dark current. Two opposite frequencies. It's almost ironic, given what happened to Dylan with the Hiss. ]

No. [ Her lips almost brush against his as she speaks. ] You don't get to drown me out to make me better. That's not how any of this works.

[ She pulls her hand from Scratch's. Then, both raise to either side of his face to keep him where he's at. God, she hopes she sells this as much as she's trying to. ] I'll show you how this is going to work. Or, it's not going to work at all.

[ Then, she pulls him into another kiss. That sense of wrongness fills her again. Jesse can tell it's not Alan simply by how it feels. There's no rhythm that seems to synchronize with hers. There's no adoration in the motion, but instead a sense of power. Some sort of twisted form of love instead of the actual emotion she knows the Writer has. Still, she keeps the motions up.

If Polaris could blow out her ear drums, she's certain that her friend would. The guide still presses back against any darkness that might try to leak in. However, it seems she's letting her host play along for now.

The hand Alan holds onto seems to clamp around his wrist. Fingers press into his pulse as that ripple of urgency comes through the resonance. Urgency, danger, emergency. Battle. Fear even, communicated through that frequency that is trying to attune to the Writer and keep him afloat.

The voice that is something borrowed from Jesse's of lighter tones sounds far more like the host of the resonance. Panicked. Scared. ]

｟ Alan! ｠

[crazyisinevitable]

[ Jesse's deductions concerning Scratch would be correct, although the dark entity would most certainly frame them in another way. He has to be resourceful, clever, and smarter than Alan, because Alan's grasp of words and writing is better than his. Not that he ever admits to Alan being better at anything. No, Scratch is superior to Alan in every way, even with that tiny little flaw that really isn't a flaw at all.

Words can be useful, but Scratch can use more than just words to get what he wants. And of course, Alan is lacking in the charm department, whereas Scratch very much isn't.

A smooth, almost smarmy smile spreads across his face just seconds before he presses his mouth to hers. It's a hungry kiss, a desiring, almost devouring one. Even when he feels the push from Polaris, he pushes back even harder. There's no room for Polaris in this equation; he just wants Jesse, wants to pull her over to his side, to have her join him in the dark.

But if having Jesse was as simple as just overwhelming her with darkness, well, the fun of the fight would be lost. He lurches backwards just an inch or two as he feels Jesse pushing him away with the help of the cursed Polaris. Still, his lips remain curled up in a smile. She's powerful and strong and he wants her more because of it.

Even when she drags him with her so that she's standing in the light again, that smile doesn't go away. ]

I just love seeing you like this. The power, the strength, it's all there in spades. But don't think about it as drowning you out: think about it as making you stronger. You can be stronger-!

[ He's cut off by her pulling him into a kiss, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Whatever he was expecting from her, it wasn't that, but he's bought what she's selling.

He leans in to deepen the kiss, and a dark kind of light gleams in his eyes as he drinks in the feel of her. If darkness begins to leak in through their contact, then that's for the best. That's what he wants, to lure her over with promises of strength and power and becoming better than the fools who let their emotions dictate everything. Emotions have their place, but power is better.

With Jesse with him, he imagines they could do anything they wanted, and no one could stop them, although they could certainly try.

While Scratch is reveling in what he sees as his triumph, Alan's fear is growing. He's struggling to hold on and keep fighting what he feels is a losing battle. The waves are too strong and the darkness too thick, and he doesn't have the strength to fight back. He feels that urgent ripple as it travels to him through Polaris, and that sense of terror only rises.

Something bad is going on above the surface but he's powerless to do anything about it.

A voice breaks through the darkness, and Alan's head snaps up in search for the source of the voice. He can't see anything, just the hand he's desperately clinging to, but he knows that voice, and he knows he doesn't like how it sounds. Terror falls over him again and he very nearly lets go of the hand he's holding onto, as the urge to just clasp his head and relinquish his fragile hold rises.

I don't want to let go, but- Polaris, what can I do?

He can't help, not like this, not when he's narrowly avoiding drowning in the waves. Damn it, what can I do? Polaris, what's happening? Is- Is Jesse...? He fears the worst, but he can't know for sure what's going on unless he asks. ]

[outlierdirector]

Didn't we go over this? I don't want power. I don't want the spotlight. You know what I want. Those things don't replace or are accepted in place of what that is. You're sure you're better than Alan? He could understand that at the very least. [ Jesse says the words lowly against his mouth as they break the kiss to breathe. Her eyes are locked onto his with that look of luring him to her. Hands leave his face to rest on his shirt and tug him closer. Polaris rings in her ears. Loudly. Threatening to make her nose bleed. ] Have you ever thought about what could happen if you worked with a complimentary entity instead of dominating it?

[ « Not that you two compliment each other in ANY way. I just need to see how far we can take this. How far Scratch will indulge in this before he catches onto everything. One shot. That's all we have with this. Justz keep trusting me. Okay? »

Polaris shifts but it's clear her best friend doesn't agree with the choice of action.

Jesse leans forward, placing her weight against him. Her mouth still close enough so her lips brush over his as she speaks. ]

I don't care about your power. Show me how much you love me. How much more you apparently do than Alan does.

[ « Fat chance with that one. »

Polaris' shimmer is once again around the hand gripping tightly. A waver of power waning as the Dark Presence continues to try and push against Polaris--push against Alan. Drown them both. ]

｟ Letting go is giving up. Drowning. The Writer will drown. Grow brighter. ｠

🔦— return.

[outlierdirector]

— return 6: scratch.

[outlierdirector]

[ Bright Falls really is a beautiful place. It's just hard to see past the horror sometimes.

Jesse Faden sits on the picnic table in the back lot of the Bright Falls Sherrif Station. She and her Ranger Captain arrived just in time as back up from the Oldest House--the only back up they could spare in terms of people. However, Jesse brought a otherworldly friend and HRAs to help with that friend. Her guiding star.

They swooped in once the Cult of the Tree attacked the Cauldron Lake Lodge. Estevez's team went to work with questions and cleaning, while she, Jesse and Steve rushed into the woods to find FBI Agent Alex Casey and the famous missing author he and his partner had discovered at Cauldron Lake.

They hadn't found Casey, but they had found Alan Wake. Flannel covered in blood, gun and flashlight on him. Laying on the ground unconscious as the wind blew through the forest.

« How many times have we found him like this? Does it matter? This is the last time. »

Jesse made an immediate line for the author, kneeling down, checking his pulse and gently saying his name trying to rouse him. He was out cold. Estevez's team took him into custody and they moved into the Sherrif Station. Jesse had already told Estevez she wasn't there to out rank her but to support her. She'd do what Estevez needed her to do. They were back up and support, regardless of being the Director.

"You sure about this, Faden?"

Jesse had simply given Steve a look when he asked. She has no idea how the man kept his memories of loops, but she had stopped caring as well. She was just glad someone remembered on their own. No one else seemed to minus odd moments of deja vu. Now, Steve stands by the entrance to the parking lot while Jesse sits to enjoy the last moments of sunlight they'll get until the story ends.

She runs her fingers over the paperwork in the folder in her lap. Manuscript pages that Saga and Casey had found so far. There's quite a lot of them. She can tell what Alan has editted and what Scratch wrote. None of them are the page that she had given to Alan.

« Which means he either has it ... or it was lost somehow. »

Her fingers gently move over the keychain in her hand. The doe with the cutout of the buck around Hee. The missing part. The part that will probably stay missing because Jesse can't force her hand. She can't force the story to give her the ending she wants. Everyone safe, the AWE over, Alan Wake finally home so they can be together.

« That's not how Scratch's story goes. »

The door opens to the parking lot. Steve turns his head, seeing Estevez. He gives a nod and she walks through, holding it open a moment longer. Alan Wake steps through after her. She turns her head to look at Jesse. ]

"Wake's here, Director. Said he wanted to see you." [ She gives a nod of her head for Alan to proceed and then she and Steve step inside the building once more.

Jesse slides the keychain into her pocket. The folder closes and rests in her lap. She turns her head to look at Alan. Her heart gives a painful beat. He's been cleaned up some, now just in the white t-shirt and jeans. She knows it's the last time this will happen. The only time--as far as reality is concerned--she'll be see Alan in the sunlight.

Her head tilts back, dressed in hee tactical outfit. High ponytail with braid at the top of her head. Urban looking. She's ready for a fight she knows is coming even if no one else does.

« He may not remember me. Us. » ]

Alan Wake. [ Jesse hopes she sounds as in control and formal as she tries to be. ] You wanted to talk to me?

[crazyisinevitable]

[ Between regaining consciousness and being brought to see Jesse at his request, Alan's had some time to think. He needed to think about what he was going to do now; Scratch was still out there somewhere, and so was Agent Casey, and Alan wanted to do something about that. But at the moment, he was not in a position to go anywhere because he'd been taken into custody by the FBC. Still, as far as things went, he'd rather be in their custody than the FBI's. Not that he's said that to anyone.

As Estevez escorts him to meet with Jesse, he feels his nervousness growing. He's not nervous about seeing Jesse; he's nervous about what might happen to everyone if Scratch shows up and starts trying to kill people again. He can still feel an ache in the back of his head, but it's not unbearable like it was before. It could easily become that, but for the moment, it's just a dull pounding sensation. As he walks along, one hand strays to something clipped to his belt loop. It's not just something, not just some trinket; it's something important to him. Something meaningful. He knows it's important and meaningful because of the page that's folded up in the pocket of his suit.

Estevez announces his arrival and his stated interest in coming to see her, and he feels his nervousness grow. His eyes briefly slide over her, taking in her appearance and noting how she's dressed and the way she's styled her hair. It looks like she's ready for trouble, and he can't blame her for that. Trouble does have a way of following him.

He hears the formality in her voice, and he believes he knows why. She must think there's a chance he's forgotten her again. That's fair, given how many times we've done this and how many times I haven't remembered her. I remember her now, though, for whatever that's worth. ]

Director Faden. [ Addressing her that way feels wrong. He knows he can't keep that up. Well, it's more that he doesn't want to. ] I'm sorry, I can't do that, Jesse.

[ Estevez won't approve, but she doesn't quite understand, and I don't blame her either. ]

Yeah, I wanted to talk to you.

[outlierdirector]

[ Jesse wishes she could be nervous about seeing Alan again. All that's there is a certain numbness that accompanies the pain in her chest. Her heart. The pain that will remain nameless as she's afraid the moment she calls it by name? She may break and be unable to be the Director. She might not be able to perfor. the role in the story she's been asked to act out by Alan and by Alice Wake.

Steve hovers in the doorway for a moment. He notes how Alan addresses the Director, then how he changes it to something more informal. The older rangers eyes move to Jesse. The look on her face softens. Steve nods to himself then closes the door. One the ball starts rolling? There won't be any stopping it. Whatever time they can squeeze in needs to be given to the pair.

Jesse glances at the door until it shuts. Then, her softened gaze turns back to Alan. She hates this story. Even if it is what allowed her to meet him to begin with? She hates it. Hates what it's done to the people around her and what it's done to her. It's Scratch's fault in her mind. It all goes back to him.

Railing on about how unfair it all won't do any of them any good. Even if that's all she wants to do in that moment. Breakdown and tell him how unfair it is, how much she hates it, and reaffirm all she wants is for him and Dylan to be with her in their reality. Home.

« There's no point in doing any of that. It'll just make him upset. »

Her emotions, or at least most of them, remain locked down. All he can see is that gentle side that inevitably comes forward when he's with her. ]

About what?

— return 7: summoning.

[outlierdirector]

"Take care of things on this end, Tom!"

"Try not to fuck it up!"

[ The remaining members of The Old Gods of Asgard raise their hands and step into the Lake. The threshold opens. They walk into the swirling patterns. The threshold closes behind them.

Alan Wake stands on the shores of Cauldron Lake once again.

Ahead of him are two FBC Agents, sitting on containers left from the fight. Agent Estevez looks at the broken containment cell, a wrap around her leg. The Ranger Captain sits opposite of her, arm pressed to his chest with a dislocated finger or two. A lamp is on giving safe harbor... just in case.

Agent Saga Anderson is missing in the Lake. Agent Alex Casey is missing period.

Everything has gone to hell.

The Director Jesse Faden is also nowhere to be seen, but the two FBC Agents don't seem to be worried by the notion. In fact, Estevez has turned her attention to the writer covered in mud, blood, and a jacket that doesn't belong to him. ]

"Wake! You ARE Wake, aren't you? With the Shadow out of you?"

Oh, it's him, Kiran. [ Steve gives an affirmative nod. ] So, situation update--

"The situation is fucked. I haven't seen an AWE this screwed since Eagle River. The Shadow is now in Alex. Anderson is gone. We need to figure out how to salvage this."

[ Steve looks at Alan. ] The Director went ahead, Wake.

[crazyisinevitable]

[ Alan straightens up slowly, feeling like his head wants to pound right out of his skull. He's definitely had better days, he thinks, as he tries to wipe off some of the blood and water from the lake from his face. After a second, he says: ]

Yeah. I’m me again. Mostly. The Dark Presence is gone... for now.

[ He glances around, taking in the ruined containment cell, the agents who survived but also look like they've been through hell. He notes the people who are missing, and a sinking feeling takes over him. ]

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. [ It's my fault. It's always my fault.

It takes him another minute to focus again, and this time, he tries to take a few steps closer to Estevez and Steve. ]

I don't know if there is a way to salvage this. At least, not for you guys. [ It takes what feels like a monumental effort, but Alan squares his shoulders and tries to not look scared. He knows he is; he's terrified, even, but he can't let that stop him. ]

But first, before I do anything else... Where did she go? [ He thinks he knows. He has a feeling, and yes, he doesn't like this feeling, but there's no other choice. Maybe there never was a choice. This was how it had to go all along, wasn't it? Jesse knew it. Alan knew it. He wishes he didn't, but wishes mean nothing anymore. ]

This won't end like this. It can't.