2nd person jojo fic

You’re starting your second week of your new part-time job. Just a grunt worker for some kind of historical archive, the “courier” they call you. You ferry ponderous carts stacked with splintery wooden crates along the long, white-tiled hallways, from the storage areas (full of workers who could probably bench you AND two of the heaviest things you can carry) to the labs and observation rooms, and back to the warehouses after the real professionals are done. It’s not what you wanted to spend your youth on, but twelve bucks an hour is more than you’d seen in your life, so you snapped it up pretty quickly.

You’re not feeling really good about your proactiveness now, though, since you’re pretty sure the job’s about to go up in flames. After all, you were late today. Tremendously late. A whole hour, with no explanation or forewarning, and you’re pretty sure no amount of babbling will convince your supervisors that you really did see some kind of crack in the sky while you were waiting for the bus. Oh, well. You can only hope, right? And maybe one late day won’t make them instantly fire you.

That’s why you decided to get on the bus after all, and that’s why you’re now walking down the hall to the warehouse right now. No heated debates or conferences seem to be echoing around you today, and every office with the door open is empty. By the time you’re halfway to your workplace, you’re pretty certain something fishy is going on. You notice a bit of movement on the wall to your left, and you nearly scream.

It looks like a dog at first, like some sort of toy poodle but bigger. Wider. But it’s on the wall, and it has wings, and antenna. You’ve never seen anything like quite like it. You suppose a moth might look like that if you looked at it really close (were they really so fluffy?) but it’d still be the hugest moth you ever saw. Probably the hugest ANYONE ever saw. It’s scurrying toward you, now, and you notice that it has some sort of machine-looking box on its chest, but you can’t really get a closer look because it’s moving too quickly.

In a moment, it passes you, and after a moment of shock, you walk after it, finally calling out. Your cries fill the silent hallways. Whatever it is, it’s faster than you thought, and you break into a run. You put everything you are into sprinting after the strange intruder, until the intruder becomes all you see. Its eyes reflect a single strange light, or a million lights, and you are one of them.

The hallway is empty and silent. You never report for work that day.

It is a day or two before you exist again (if that can really be called existing!). Truly, chasing your intruder has become all that you are, because it is all that you do now. You run through your endless white corridors chasing your uninvited guest, and shouting. Your voice fills the strange landscapes around you once more! You proclaim that when you catch it, when you catch that little useless bug, you’ll flay it alive, you’ll tear its legs off, you’ll twist its wings so it can’t fly. You continue that empty song and dance for hours, while the quiet criminal you’re chasing rots away before your illusionary eyes.