Work Text:
Tink, tink, tink, tink
Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz
Twist, twist, twist, twist-
With a final twist for good measure, his invention was complete. Otto set the screwdriver aside with the other tools as he readjusted himself in his chair, arching his back and stretching his entwined fingers until a satisfying series of cracks could be heard from both ends.
With an exhale and a brief shake of the head he pushed up his glasses and scooched back into his desk. The desk where he had worked tirelessly on bringing every creation he had dreamed up (in off hours where he slept long enough to dream) to life, no matter how outlandish or complicated.
It was tiresome work—as it happens dream logic is already bizarre, and trying to recreate that logic in reality was a far more tedious experience than his fantasies promised. But it paid off every time, and as he beheld his latest dream-come-true he couldn’t help the wide, prideful grin that stretched across his face.
The body of the contraption was glass and conical in shape, much like the Erlenmeyer flasks strewn about his lab but larger—about the size of a football—with a small, extra neck part way down the middle, stopped with a rubber valve and a long syphon. The larger neck at the end of the cone was made of a sturdy metal, with several flexible curved spines tipped with small rubber balls affixed to the rim.
At the other end of the body was a large inverted plug held with several long coils of psitanium-reinforced copper filaments running through the middle and meeting with another socket on the inside of the neck—and on the outside the plug ended in a large, donut-shaped rubber stopper.
On its own the invention looked to be incomplete, and indeed it was, but as Otto plugged the stopper into the end of his Brain Tumbler, its purpose became a little clearer. While many of his inventions were made to push the limit of the human mind, the Tumbler was most often used to explore minds at their most vulnerable. To interact with the brain in a straightforward manner by creating a space similar to the physical world, but still flexible in the way only thought could be.
It made gathering data a hell of a lot easier, being able to literally see the changes in a person’s mind after certain experiences, and the ability to confront your own devils face-to-face was often a far more effective therapy than any drug or psychologist could provide.
But still, there was something missing.
Yes, it was cathartic to beat up your own inner judgement and bad ideas, but there was always one characteristic of the mind that Otto had struggled with more than anything. An important characteristic. Perhaps the defining characteristic of the human experience.
Emotion.
Otto was good at hiding his emotions. The constant smile he wore did well to mask the dark thoughts inside and, despite his reputation of rounded morality, people took that smile at face value. A clever old man who just stayed in his lab because he was busy. A kindly old man who took the lead for the Psychonauts because he was just that upstanding. That was the Otto Mentalis everyone knew.
And while decades of building this facade, this archetype, had made him exceptional at masking the more undesirable emotions, it didn’t make him any better at dealing with them—whether in the real world or in the confines of his mind. He had sorted through his own baggage many times, but that didn’t stop the feelings packed within from spilling out. It was a detriment to his work, a threat of danger to himself and those around him (in the event that he had visitors, anyway).
But that’s where this new contraption came in.
The stopper fit snugly into the Tumbler’s end, and with a flick of a switch the larger machine stirred to life. Otto watched intensely, brows furrowing with equal parts concentration and concern as the attachment began to hum with electricity. The coils inside flickered and buzzed as they began to slowly spin inside the glass. Then a sputter, a spark, and the machine stopped altogether. As if mirroring the scientist beside it, the Tumbler groaned, another few sparks bursting from the coils inside the glass.
“Come on now,” Otto muttered as he fiddled with various buttons on the Tumbler’s console. “Hang in there.”
It wouldn’t be the first (and far from the last) time an invention had failed on him. Not all dreams could come true. But in this case it was a dream that simply must be realised. The effects this machine could have on himself, on others, (on his profits!) could be one of the biggest breakthroughs of the modern era. He’d worked on it for weeks, precious hours he could’ve spent dreaming up a host of other inventions. It couldn’t fail now. In frustration he thumped the Tumbler with a fist, the machine miserably creaking in response.
With a sigh he switched the machine off and unplugged the attachment, and as he scrutinised his creation he failed to notice the solid entry walls of his lab part for a visitor.
“Agent Mentalis.”
The accent told him who was there before he could even turn to face them, and a smile automatically stretched across his face. A genuine one.
“Ah, Sasha.” Setting down the machine, Otto approached his young visitor—formerly his mentee. He noted the time on his desk clock. 8:24 AM—just over 30 minutes before his usual morning stop-in. “You’re here early. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been assigned an escort mission with Agent Vodello tonight. I was going to pick up some spare dream fluffs before we head to the debriefing…” The man trailed off as he looked over his senior’s shoulder, eyeballing the contraption on the desk behind his dark glasses. “What’s that?”
Otto followed his gaze. “Ah, my latest invention. The Emotional-Distillerizer 300.”
“Three hundred?”
“There’s too many ‘thousands’ lying around.”
He hummed in agreement. “What does it do?”
“I’m glad you asked!” Otto reapproached the desk with Sasha in tow.
“I had a dream a few weeks ago; I found myself wandering the Forgetful Forest when I heard a loud smash, and then someone sobbing. I looked around for whoever it was, but when I found the source of the crying, it was actually an old bottle someone had thrown into the brush! I’d started to scoop up the pieces to put the poor thing back together when I heard another smash—but this time it was followed by an angry yelling. Then another, this time with laughter…”
There was a brief pause as he recalled what came next.
“Eventually I found the person throwing the bottles. Some old man.” He waved his hand dismissively, neglecting to say his name. “When I asked what he was doing he told me he had ‘no room left in recycling’—whatever that meant—but that’s where I got the idea!”
Otto rounded the desk and held up the distiller. “Now, I know they say bottling your emotions is unhealthy, but that’s only because you can’t release them—and this baby does just that!”
He approached the Tumbler with the invention. “This stopper at the back here plugs into the end of the Brain Tumbler—then at the front these flexible spines are used to secure the head of the sub- patient.”
Plugging it in, he flexed the spines to demonstrate, then trailed his finger along the glass as he pointed out the insides. “As the mind is explored in the Tumbler, any strong emotions experienced causes these psitanium-reinforced wires to react; as they spin they pull from the energy of whatever emotion is being felt the strongest and manifest it in tangible form! Then, all that"s left to do is attach a bottle to the syphon, and voila! The emotion is extracted from the mind and safely bottled up for later use.”
From behind his tinted glasses, Sasha seemed to consider the machine for a good few moments—long enough for Otto to become slightly antsy. He cleared his throat and pushed up his own glasses, which seemed to snap the man out of whatever thoughts he was stewing in.
“It’s an incredible concept. Invaluable, even.” The younger agent leaned close to inspect the machine. “Have you tried it out yet?”
“Ah, that’s where I’ve run into a bit of trouble. It didn’t seem to take to the Tumbler right away, might need some fine tuning yet.”
“Did you try turning it off and on again?”
“Oh, very funny.”
“Just checking.” Otto could make out a smirk through Sasha’s monotone cadence. It had only happened once, but he’d never let Otto live it down. He turned to the Tumbler’s console and began to fiddle with the buttons. “And has the Tumbler been deloused lately?”
Oh, right, that could happen. In all honesty Otto never bothered to delouse the Tumbler—it only ever had his own head in it, and the scattered state of his lab spoke to his habit of procrastination. He wasn’t sure if he even remembered what ‘delousing’ entailed, he just knew it was tedious.
“Ah, well-”
“I can do it for you.” Still hunched over the console, Sasha looked to his senior.
Otto raised a brow, detecting something more to the offer. “That’s generous of you. What’s the catch?”
Sasha shot a glimpse at the distiller, and a faint buzz of curious excitement rippled forth from his psyche. “I’d like to try it out.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I’ll give it a whirl and let you know once it’s-”
“I’d like to try it now.”
At that, Otto raised both brows. While Sasha had played lab-rat for him in the past, it"s not as if he ever offered himself up so readily. More often than not it would take some poking—some vague moaning from Otto about how there was ‘nothing suited to the experiment in the Brainframe’ and ‘how important the experiment was’ before Sasha would begrudgingly take the hint and volunteer. Of course Otto did offer him some reward other than “science thanks you”—allowing his mentee free use of the lab to work on his own projects and conduct his own experiments well before he had the authority to do so. All under Truman and Hollis’s noses of course.
But it was a rare occasion for Agent Nein to jump at the opportunity—especially for something that is admittedly not working right. A lump of concern stuck in Otto’s throat.
“Now? Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous?”
“And when has that ever stopped you?.” Sasha continued to inspect the Tumbler, grabbing a screwdriver off the floor and loosening its chassis. “I’m sure the Tumbler just needs cleaning. It’ll be fine.”
Otto’s concern continued to grow as he watched the man work at the machine with an almost frantic pace. He spoke with a sterner tone this time. “Now I appreciate the enthusiasm, Agent Nein, but you should wait until it’s been tested and proven safe. We can’t go messing with senior agents all willy-nilly, especially before a mission. It’s dangerous; what would your partner have to say?”
That gave the man pause, seeming to have entirely forgotten the purpose of his visit, and he shied away from the machine, sheepishly bowing his head. “My apologies, Agent Mentallis. I don’t know what came over me.”
The sternness in his elder’s voice ebbed away to a gentler tone and he approached, gently patting Sasha"s arm. “What’s going on, my boy?”
The young man remained silent for a few moments, the shame on his face turning to something sharper, scrutinising himself as if he were deliberating whether to open his mouth again. Otto was just about to back off when he finally spoke.
“I’ve been… noticing… irregularities in my mindscape.” Sasha began. “These strange, alien feelings floating around just far enough that I barely notice them, then manifesting altogether and overwhelming me—completely throwing off my train of thought and leaving my defences wide open.” He sighed. “It’s… frightening.”
He looked to the other man, who listened keenly. “Hm. Sounds like an issue with your censors. Are they still working? You haven’t blocked off the outlets?”
“I made them wider! ” Sasha’s arms jutted out to emphasise his distress. “But they refuse to appear when it happens—I have to summon them myself, and even then they do nothing! They just…stand there as if nothing is happening.”
“Hm, now that is odd.” Otto frowned as he stroked his chin. Sasha was renowned for his formidable mental defences- scouted for his ability to rationalise and strategize even under the most dire circumstances. He had a mind that no one had yet to crack, and censors strong enough to throw them out if they ever did.
Indeed, Sasha Nein was an indispensable asset to the Psychonauts, in and out of the field—and he was a dear friend. If something was wrong, Otto would get to the bottom of it.
“When did you first notice this happening?”
Sasha thought on that for a moment. “Maybe a month ago, after a mission.”
“And were you hit at all during this mission? Or did anything in particular strike you as odd?”
“No, everything went according to plan.” He stated shortly, though a muscle in his jaw twitched.
Otto raised his brows at him the way a teacher would a student not telling the whole truth.
Sasha swallowed a little. “Well, there was a small hiccup towards the end.”
His elder continued to stare at him, rolling his wrist as he urged him to elaborate. “And…?”
Wavering slightly with annoyance at having to admit, Sasha deflated with a sigh.“I… We were escaping through the roof of a highrise; we thought all hostiles had been disengaged after a bomb went off on the second floor, but there was one left. He tailed us and threw an explosive just as I was about to jump off the roof.”
Otto paused him. “Us?”
“I was with Agent Vodello.”
Ah yes, Camilla Vodello. His latest in a long line of short-lived partners (though she seemed to have stuck with him quite well).
“The blast threw me off the building before I could focus on levitating, but she was already before it went off and was unaffected. She also…caught me.” Sasha pushed up his glasses—their orange tint must have caught the light, for a light red played on his cheekbones. “She managed to shield us both before we hit the ground.”
“Hmmm.” Otto closed his eyes and stroked his chin, hiding the small smile on his lips as an idea began to form. “Could you have hit your head as you fell? Physical trauma can damage our mindscapes in ways we can’t so readily observe.”
“No, we both had physical exams—both NAD.”
“I see.” One step closer. “And these intrusive thoughts and feelings—are they accompanied by any physical symptoms?”
“A few, though they’re manageable.” Again Sasha went silent before Otto gestured for him to go on. “Just a small rise in temperature and heart rate… and a slight flush.”
Aha. There it was. Otto had seen his fair share of this time and again back in his youth—being approached by an old friend with much the same symptoms and distress. While he had never experienced it for himself, he could recognise love when he saw it.
_________________________________________________________
ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗAND THEN I DIDNT FUCKING CONTINUE IT ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ