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Gordon Porlock had a poster of a skull on his wall. It was one of the few things hastily shoved into a box and delivered to the front step of the Red Valley “Seed Vault” when Gordon had agreed (eh) to take the job (ehh) of archiving Red Valley’s secret history. There wasn’t much in his old place to pack, honestly. Gordon never really had much time for decorating. He didn’t even own a bookshelf. His books were stacked on top of each other in piles like some kind of- of heathen.
Sometimes when he needed to think, Gordon would stare at the skull poster and let his mind wander. It was very nicely drawn and crosshatch shaded, and meticulously labeled with all the scientific names of the different pieces of bone. Its hollow eye sockets always stared back emotionlessly at Gordon as he tried to work through his thoughts.
Frontal Eminence. Warren was gone. Well. He wasn’t gone, but it sure as hell felt like it to Gordon. He had spent, what, a week, two weeks, talking to no one but Warren (well, and himself, and Clive Schill, ugh) and now he couldn’t go find him to say so much as hello. The cryo tank didn’t even have windows for him to peer into, although the thought of seeing Warren’s frost-covered face made him inexplicably sad.
Parietal Bone. Gordon was pretty sure he had been kidnapped. Like actually kidnapped. He was being kept here under threat of death, hidden from the rest of the world, and he wasn’t allowed contact with anyone outside of the facility. That was kidnapping, right?? It had to be.
Superciliary Arch. Gordon was lonely. He had to admit that. There was only so much time he could spend in the archives before he started to feel overwhelmed, and there were only so many facts he could spout about pink-footed geese before it all felt useless. Sure, Dr Halbech had told him that the process needed to be archived and preserved, but considering how hard it was to obtain Aubrey Wood’s tapes, he didn’t think anyone would be hearing his recorded testimony… well, ever.
Alveolar Process of the Maxilla. Christmas was approaching, and Gordon didn’t exactly relish the thought of the holiday spent in the cold corridors of Red Valley’s basement. He supposed he could find something to decorate the place with, and he was pretty sure a few of Warren’s tapes had been labeled as “Christmas Eve”. What a fucking party that would be, huh?
Mandible. The disembodied vehicle noises were worrying, at the very least. On the one hand, having someone to talk to other than BlueSky would be a fantastic upgrade on Gordon’s current situation. But, on the other hand, the thought of an unknown stranger prowling around outside, never approaching but always circling? It made him more anxious than usual. And that was saying something. Gordon was an archivist, he certainly didn’t consider himself capable of- of defending Red Valley if this ominous stranger were to prove hostile. What would there be to protect, anyway? He could care less if someone broke into the farmhouse or stole the pool table or got downstairs to-
Warren. Gordon almost hadn’t let himself consider the possibility that whoever was driving around the place knew exactly what Red Valley was, and exactly who was cryosleeping in the basement. Gordon had almost driven away that night, the night that he finally remembered the Golden Bullet in the snow. But he hadn’t. Warren was the one thing that Gordon would never forgive himself for abandoning.
Temporal Ridge. January. January was when Clive Schill (ugh) would come to “check on him”, and no matter which way that ended up, at least it would be something. It would signify a change, a move to phase two, a next step, something different.
Gordon took his eyes off the skull poster on the wall and rubbed them, sighing. It was late. He shut his light off and tried unsuccessfully to sleep.