The Metropolis Series #3: Quinn and Cassandra
18. The Archives

I REMEMBERED THE LOOK on Philip’s face when he realized that I had found out about his job at the ice cream parlor. He had been both alarmed and furious, urging me to keep it a secret. He said that people like me wouldn’t understand.

I had initially thought he had trouble with money. That might still be true; he never confirmed nor denied anything. Many families sought to send their children to prestigious private schools, even if it meant breaking the bank. They liked chasing the illusion of a better, brighter future, but at the end of the day, the more well-off kids had the advantage.

However, standing underneath the ice cream parlor brought a whole new meaning to what he’d said: that people like me wouldn’t understand. Little did he know that I understood completely.

Julio’s eyes widened at Philip’s revelation. He stepped back from the bookshelves like the slightest touch could damage them.

“You can’t be serious,” he mouthed. “So everything I see here was made by the Author? As in the Author?”

Philip ignored Julio’s question. Instead, he walked past him, going straight through the bookshelves. The dim lights shone on what looked like a study at the far end of the room. There was a desk and computer, a taller and grander bookshelf, and a sitting area. A figure of a man stood by the tall bookshelf, and it was strange how neither Julio nor I noticed him there when we entered the room. His black coat concealed him in the darkness, and the thought of him being there the whole time made me shudder.

“Mr. Simon,” Philip called. He climbed up the steps to the study and approached the man. “The guy from the Spanish House is here.”

Julio looked at me. Perhaps that was our cue to present ourselves to the mysterious Mr. Simon. Slowly, we followed Philip to the study, glancing at the collections of notebooks and sketch pads on the bookshelves around us. Was it even possible for one person to make so much content?

Mr. Simon regarded Philip with a nod, but he didn’t look at him. He seemed to be carrying a small notebook in his hands, shaking his head as he browsed through its contents.

“Tell me why Jason’s records have been damaged just now,” Mr. Simon said, his voice deep and husky. It sounded like he was down with a bad cough, actually. “The boy should just tell me if he no longer wants his job. I’ll be more than willing to let him go.”

Philip gave him a look of concern. “Are you all right, Sir?”

Mr. Simon chuckled. “More than I should be. By some miracle, his records have already been restored.”

And then, Mr. Simon looked up, his gaze straight toward us.

“I suppose our guests have the answers.”

I should have looked away, but for some reason, I couldn’t. I gawked at the scars and cracks on his face, the discoloration on the skin of his right cheek and neck. Then, I stared right into those bespectacled eyes—

To find that one of them glowed red.

Julio pulled out his knife, his muscles tensing as he fixed his eyes on the man before us. Meanwhile, I slipped the vial of Lethe water out of my skirt’s pocket and kept it concealed in my fist. The vessel was half-empty now thanks to our untimely encounter with Jason.

“Ah, you truly are one of the Spanish House folk,” Mr. Simon said, his eyes glinting at Julio. “Still as jittery as ever, aren’t we? I should know; I was one of you back in the day.”

Slowly, Julio put down his knife, but he retained his stance just in case Mr. Simon had some unpleasant surprises for us. “You’re a Forgotten One?”

“Indeed I am.”

“You’re—you’re Simon. The Simon?”

Mr. Simon nodded.

“You know him?” I whispered to Julio.

“I believe so,” Julio said to me. He then turned to Mr. Simon. “You were the leader of the first batch of Forgotten Ones, those that the previous Girl Beyond Bounds tried to wipe out.”

“Right on point,” Mr. Simon replied.

“I… I thought you were dead. What happened to you? Where have you been all this time?”

“I am aware that my gravestone still lies near the Spanish House amongst that of my friends.” Mr. Simon shook his head. “They didn’t deserve what happened to them, but grieving wouldn’t bring them back. And since you know who I am, I believe I know who you are, as well. You’re none other than Julio Agbayani, the incumbent leader of the front lines.”

Julio went pale. His eyes grew wide.

“I—Is that my name?” he asked, the words struggling to come out of his mouth. “How…?”

During my first visit to The MacGuffin, Takahiro and I discussed that it was only the main characters of the Author’s Metropolis that got to keep both a first and last name. However, I never thought much about how that applied to the Forgotten Ones, but looking back, I realized that I had never heard of anyone bearing a last name at the Spanish House and The MacGuffin.

Well, I guess except for Cassandra…

Those details often flew over my head, and it was strange how even after all those times with Julio, I never bothered to ask what his last name was, or even wonder if he knew what it was.

“And your companion is Maria Quintana Vasquez,” Mr. Simon continued. “Quinn, as she prefers it. A Metropolitan, for sure, but she’s cursed with the knowledge of the Metropolis. She also bears a glaring resemblance to the Girl Beyond Bounds, doesn’t she?”

“That’s enough,” Julio spat. “We’re here because Cassandra stole something from you. Supposed information on the Author?”

“Of course,” Mr. Simon closed the notebook in his hand. “This way, please.”

Julio sheathed his knife and I slipped the vial of Lethe water back into my pocket. We then approached the study as Mr. Simon motioned toward the tall bookshelf. Upon closer inspection, I realized that a chair and an ottoman had been blocking our view of the damage. Open books and documents were scattered on the floor, footprints muddying their already yellowing pages.

“This was where Jason saw the culprit,” Philip said. “I later checked to see what was stolen, and it, unfortunately, turned out to be our most important piece of information.”

“I’m curious,” I said, turning to Philip. (I wasn’t sure if I could look at Mr. Simon up close.) “What does information about the Author… Well, look like? Is it a written document? A journal—”

“More like a torn library card,” muttered Philip. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to me “Mr. Simon had us photocopy it as backup one time. We were hoping to find the rest of it eventually, but that day is yet to come.”

I took the piece of paper from Philip. It was unfathomable that my schoolmate had been carrying such vital information all along.

With shaky hands, I examined the paper and brought it close to my face, trying to decipher what the blurry text said.

Library Card

The Author

Unit 0617…

…District, the Metropolis

0983-5…

Please return to…If found Thank y…

Half of the contact information was missing, but still, finding something like that was huge.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “Julio, look. There’s an address and mobile number and everything…”

At first, Julio didn’t speak. Had I looked at him, I might have seen him narrow his eyes and glare at Mr. Simon.

“You’ve been alive all this time,” he growled. “You’ve had all this information at your disposal for who the hell knows why, and you chose to hide this all away in some godforsaken bunker? Worst of all, you’re putting Metropolitans in danger by making them guardians of your precious collection!”

“Hey,” Philip butted in. “We Metropolitans can be tougher than you think.”

Julio ignored him. “Do you know how long we’ve been fighting, what bullshit we had to go through to defend ourselves from Cassandra? And now, she’s stolen from you. What happens if she finds the other piece of that damn library card? Do you expect us to rush in and clean up your mess?”

Mr. Simon sighed. He was silent for a while, letting Julio simmer down a bit from his outburst.

“I didn’t want to,” he then decided to say. “But I needed to keep this place secret. Who would have thought that all of the Author’s works would accumulate underground in this bunker? The idea of it sounds absurd, doesn’t it? No one has ever heard of it. It reduces the risk of this place being found by the ill-hearted.”

Julio scoffed. “Well, too late for that.”

I ignored Julio and turned to Mr. Simon. “How do you know that all these works were done by the Author? Anyone could have left this behind, couldn’t they?”

“Of course, I was doubtful at first,” Mr. Simon began, “but something in my gut kept drawing me to this place. I then noticed that many of these notebooks contained records and sketches of my friends. The Author may not be the best artist, but I was able to recognize the subjects of her drawings, in which I saw innocence in my friends’ eyes that I never got to see. The countless stories in this room have all brought my fondest memories back, and that was when I realized they were of my own and the people who had once been with me.

“There were all sorts of other things in here, too: secrets that my friends would never have told me, timelines that could have been, and ideas that were both great and mediocre. They were all set here. In this Metropolis. That’s how I figured it out.”

I nodded, taking that all in. Meanwhile, Philip fanned himself, the color in his face fading.

“Woah, that’s a lot,” he said. “I need to sit down.”

“If you don’t think too much about it, you’ll be fine,” Mr. Simon told Philip.

Philip nodded, sitting on the couch and taking slow, deep breaths.

Mr. Simon then turned to Julio and me. “I keep reminding my employees of this every now and then.”

Julio looked at him quizzically. “So that’s how you condition these Metropolitans? By giving them fake reassurance?”

“It’s therapy and meditation, but call it whatever you want.”

“It’s just…” Julio groaned. “I don’t get it. Why are you getting Metropolitans involved in this? How does it help you hide this place?”

Mr. Simon frowned. “I’m going to be frank with you, Julio. The frontlines nowadays are too careless and too conspicuous. The Girl Beyond Bounds, Cassandra, knows who you are and where to find you. I hear that you all lived under the same roof with her for a significant amount of time before she attacked. You don’t think that she’s made a few friends during her stay? That she’s twisted them into trusting her?”

“I…” Julio stammered. “I do, actually. But—”

“Metropolitans, on the other hand, have no bearings attached to them. Cassandra would least likely suspect them for guarding something as vital as the Archives.”

“But Cassandra still got to you,” Julio said. “So your plan is flawed.”

“Don’t act like you have a clean record, young man. Anyway, the fact that Cassandra knew where to look could only mean one thing…”

Philip slowly got up. “Sir, you think—”

“Oh, Philip, I know,” Mr. Simon said. “One of my employees got involved with Cassandra, and they have chosen to betray me…”

I swallowed. It seemed like Cassandra knew who to approach and meddle with. Was it possible that she’d known about the Archives for quite some time? The thought of that sent a chill down my spine. Maybe she’d already gotten her hands on other critical information, and God knows what else that could be.

“How many people have been employed at this place, anyway?” Julio asked. “How many Metropolitans are aware of the Archives?”

“I only have about ten employees right now,” Mr. Simon said. “As for those who left, I wouldn’t worry about them. I erase their memories of this place before they leave. It benefits both me and the Metropolitan; I maintain the secrecy of the Archives while they are kept away from unnecessary danger.”

I leaned toward Philip. “Did you know about this?” I whispered.

“Yeah, it’s part of the agreement contract,” Philip said.

“So, you’ve been using Lethe water?” Julio then asked Mr. Simon.

“I found no need for it,” Mr. Simon replied. He reopened his small notebook. “I keep all the records of my employees in this notebook. Since I pulled it out of the Archives, it has properties linked with the Author. Once I write a person’s name in this book, they are linked to the Archives until they choose to leave—or until I fire them. Then, I cross their name out, and they lose all memories of this place. It’s that simple.”

That sort of reminded me of Mackenzie’s control room back at the Spanish House. There was an old computer in there that was believed to have belonged to the Author. Whatever would be written on that computer would reflect reality. That was how those on the frontlines set up the house to repair itself in case of an attack.

“However,” Mr. Simon continued, “when unpleasant things happen, it gets… difficult.”

“What do you mean by unpleasant things?” Julio asked.

Mr. Simon pursed his lips, his single red eye squinting at the pages of his notebook. “No matter what I write into this thing, I can’t seem to strengthen their minds to take in the truth of this world. Some of my employees handle it well and become dedicated guardians of the Archives, while the others struggle immensely.”

“Is that why that guy corrupted earlier?” I mused.

“Ah, I’m sorry you had to meet Jason that way,” Mr. Simon said to Julio and me. “He’s usually a nice, decent young lad. Diligent, responsible, and always on time. Unfortunately, I couldn’t promote him because even after a fair amount of time working here, he still couldn’t grasp the truth of this world. He breaks down, falls apart, and corrupts. Then, it becomes my job to fix him.

“You see, when an employee loses their way, their records appear indecipherable in my notebook. So, I go down here to the Archives to find their original records, the ones written by the Author herself.”

Mr. Simon walked over to the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a thin composition notebook and showed it to us.

“Jason’s records have their own special place,” he explained as he shook his head. “The boy keeps giving me a hard time.”

He opened the notebook and placed it on the desk. Julio and I examined it. I thought the pages of Rachael’s songwriting notebook were the epitome of messy, unorganized drafts, but Jason’s records were on a whole new level. Layers of correction fluid covered the pages, but they weren’t enough to conceal the strike-through lines and blotches of ballpoint ink. Words had been written on top of the correction fluid, but they were smeared on the edges.

“So I assume you fix a corrupted individual by rewriting their records?” Julio guessed.

“That’s right,” Mr. Simon said. “It’s a slow but effective process. However, it comes with a hefty price. Perhaps this world does not like how I keep meddling with its creations, so all this healing and fixing has slowly been corrupting me in turn…”

He looked down at his hands, which were also graying and wrinkling. The skin on his palms was flaking off, while the veins on the back of his hands looked like they were waiting to burst. His red eye flickered, and I saw nothing but sadness and frustration in it.

I furrowed my brows. “Why is it corrupting you? You’re healing the Author’s work.”

“Ah, but I’m not the Author,” Mr. Simon replied. “And it seems like the Archives are reacting negatively to all the writing and rewriting I’ve been doing to its records. They’re treating me like a pesky virus in its system, one that they want to get rid of.”

It wasn’t fair. Mr. Simon had found a way to reverse the effects of corruption, but in turn, the Archives were slowly corrupting him. I could no longer find the words for how harshly the Metropolis treated its forgotten characters.

“I thought that I could stop the corruption process by altering my records,” Mr. Simon continued, “but the effects were temporary. It does come in handy when interviewing new employees, though. I don’t end up scaring them off before their first day.”

I had been wondering about that, actually. When Harumi told me that she had gotten a job at the ice cream parlor, she mentioned meeting Mr. Simon. With the slow corruption taking place in his system, how did he not freak her out?

Speaking of Harumi…

I turned to Philip. “Hey, didn’t Harumi work here?”

Julio blinked. “Harumi worked here?”

“Ah, she quit last week,” Philip said. “The Archives scared her. Mr. Simon already erased her memories, though, so she’s clueless about the Metropolis again.”

I was a bit sad. I missed talking to Harumi about the Metropolis, but I had to keep reminding myself that the old Harumi was gone. I suppose I felt more at peace knowing that she was no longer involved in the Metropolis.

Also, since she was no longer an employee of the ice cream parlor, she couldn’t have betrayed Mr. Simon. I was relieved.

Philip then lowered his voice. “She didn’t mention anything about me working here, did she?”

“No,” I said.

“Good. This job is supposed to be kept secret from the others—for obvious reasons.”

Without saying a word, I nodded.

“Mr. Simon,” Julio then said. “Use Lethe water for healing your employees instead.”

Mr. Simon looked confused. “Lethe water? For healing?”

Julio turned to me. “May I have the vial, Quinn?”

I pulled the vial of Lethe water out of my pocket and gave it to Julio, who then showed it to Mr. Simon.

“This was what cured Jason,” he explained. “I recently figured out that a few drops of Lethe water can undo the effects of corruption without messing too much with the person’s memories. At best, they’ll only forget about the past couple of hours, but even with those odds, the damage shouldn’t be too serious.”

He handed Mr. Simon the vial. Mr. Simon inspected it, swirling the liquid around the vessel.

“It is indeed Lethe water,” he mused.

“I can bring you a few bottles of it,” Julio offered “You can also use it to heal yourself. Keep it for now. I have a few of those in my car.”

Mr. Simon raised his brow. “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll try it out later.” He slipped the vial into the pocket of his coat.

Julio nodded. “So, going back, who among your employees do you think got involved with Cassandra?”

Mr. Simon gazed at the mess by the tall bookshelf where Cassandra had stolen vital information about the Author. He stood there for a while, raising his brows and stroking his chin.

“It’s hard to tell,” he admitted. “It could be anyone, so it would probably be best not to dwell on it too much until I can gather enough evidence. The article Cassandra has stolen is useless. Without the other half of that library card, it would still be hard for her to find the Author. I imagine that we might even get ahead of Cassandra if we keep our eyes peeled for the rest of the card.”

“But it could be anywhere,” I said. “The Metropolis and its surrounding areas are huge.”

“She’s right,” Julio said. “Finding it is virtually impossible.”

“And sir, don’t you think that Jason’s a little suspicious?” Philip added. “The guy sticks around even though he clearly can’t handle the job. His corruption episodes are taking a toll on you, and he might be sabotaging you through them. He was also the one who saw Cassandra down here. What if he showed her where the information on the Author was?”

Mr. Simon stroked his chin. “Thank you, Philip. I’ll look into your speculations. Even if Jason isn’t the one involved with Cassandra, he has still caused me a lot of trouble. I’ll be putting him under strict probation after this.”

Philip nodded. “It’s about time, sir.”

Mr. Simon turned back to Julio and me. “Julio, Quinn, thank you for coming over, but I believe I can handle it from here.”

“I see,” Julio nodded. “The Spanish House will remain on the lookout for Cassandra for the time being.”

“And if we find the other half of the library card, we would be so lucky,” Philip said.

“Is it okay if the Spanish House has a photocopy of the Author’s info?” Julio asked. “Just in case we find the missing half?”

Mr. Simon pursed his lips. “For security reasons, I do not like having information from the Archives leave the walls of this room, but since the Girl Beyond Bounds has already reached us, what more harm can be done? Philip, remember to give this young man a copy on your way out.”

“Yes, sir,” Philip said.

“I trust that you speak little of this place to your comrades,” Mr. Simon told Julio. “Also, remember to speak nothing of me. After all, I am dead to the Spanish House. I’m just an old Archivist this time around, not your savior.”

Julio looked like he wanted to argue, but he closed his mouth and nodded. “All right. I’ll do that.”

“Good,” Mr. Simon said. “I trust that you keep your word.”

Julio rolled his eyes and turned to me. “Let’s get out of here, Quinn. I’ll bring you back to St. John’s.”

Philip raised a hand timidly. “Uh, Mr. Spanish House guy, you said you had a car, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Is it okay if I hitch a ride?”

Julio sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

As Julio and Philip walked back toward the ladder to exit the Archives, I stood still in the study. For some reason, I didn’t want to leave yet. In a few hours, I would be back at my parents’ house for Christmas break, a long stretch of highway away from everything.

And there I was in the Archives, the ultimate source of information about the Metropolis. There were so many things I wanted to ask Mr. Simon, and since I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to visit him again, I decided to take my chance.

“Wait,” I called.

The two boys stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Before we go,” I said to Mr. Simon. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Mr. Simon replied. “What is it?”

My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe how close I was to resolving the biggest question I’d had for quite some time.

“What… am I?” I began. “I don’t feel like a Metropolitan, and I’m not a Forgotten One, either. For months, I’ve had dreams of Cassandra, and she tells me that I’ve done something terrible. Do you know what that means? Does my existence in this world have something to do with that?”

Mr. Simon stroked his chin. “Interesting, but I am not sure how to answer your question. Can you tell me more?”

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I was making a grave mistake by talking to Mr. Simon, but at the time, I was desperate.

“Someone told me… that they think I have replaced Cassandra in this world, so she’s fighting for her place back.”

“That is false,” Mr. Simon said. “You are your own person. I have the records to prove it.”

My chest tightened. Goosebumps formed on my skin. “I—I am?”

“I believe your conflict about whether you’re a Metropolitan or a Forgotten One is because of what Cassandra is doing to you. It’s the other way around. It’s her doing terrible things, not you.”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Simon sighed. The air was thick. The silence was deafening.

“My dear,” he said. “You didn’t replace Cassandra. Cassandra is trying to replace you…”

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