I live! My New Year's Revolution is to never drink again. Mistakes were made the night before.
But alas, another chapter!

Also the chapter's name "D'esprit Malsain" means "Of Unsound/Unhealthy Mind" in French. Something I think about a lot.

His knee couldn't stop shaking.

Other than staring at a screen filled with statistics and monitoring data inquiry, there was a tab open covering it all. Jeremie sat there, staring at his search engine. His glasses reflected his monitor as he glared at it if it would type itself.

Being a Data Administrator wasn't as cracked up to be. As easy it can get, the mindless day goes slower than the next. Jeremie doesn't take himself as a procrastinator, but times like these he rather bother everyone else on the floor he resides on, making sure that sets of fragile information were sent to the right the department. He took around the room seeing everyone with their heads down on paperwork and some stuck were on calls. His desk was in the back of the room and has the same industrial furniture as everyone else. Jeremie had hope to have his own office with the special permission he was granted, 'twas he was not.

He sighed through his nose, typing on his keyboard. The name sounded familiar; it wouldn't be a sin to pique his curiosity. The search engine took no time to load. He basked in each headline, rubbing his chin.

Rose Angélique sold out the tri-state area.

New rising American artist takes sales by thousands.

Line-up Rose Angélique takes electronic music to a new level.

Rose Angélique can't pick a style, will we ever know what she looks like?

Jeremie huffed, bringing his hand down to click on the engine's images, watching rows of photos of this woman pop up on his screen. Most of the photos were the artist and fans together, most were paparazzi shots of her waving her hand as she was escorted through a crowd. What was so compelling about her that she had brown curly hair and wore a black bucket hat in all her photos.

Jeremie had a hunch that it could have been... No, it wasn't who he thought it was. It looked nothing like her. Brown hair, concerning pale skin, her otherworldly styles; there was no way.

He clicked on a photo of just her. She was leaned forward holding up a peace sign, wearing a white sundress and that same bucket hat. Something in Jeremie tickled him, the way she looks made him think that she was... cute. He didn't have a thing for brunettes, but he'd make exceptions.

Slowly, he right-clicked the photo to save on the computer. Yumi wouldn't give him a ticket to this random artist just for fun, so he might have to do some homework. He made sure to name the file as 'important.' Jeremie leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He let his thoughts roam.

"Oh, yeah. She's hot." the sound of bubblegum popping was beside him.

Jeremie jumped immediately scrambles to change tabs on his browser, his pens on his desk flying to the floor.

"Whoa, whoa, stifler. I dig the free time." A man with slicked black hair patted Jeremie's shoulder, fitted with the white-collar outfit like everyone else. He held a stack of papers in his other hand. Jeremie had only encounter him during meetings and water breaks since this man worked a floor below him. He wouldn't say he was his friend, but an obnoxious itch on his back.

"B-Belford." Jeremie corrected his glasses, clearing his throat, "How's the wedding?"

"You know the wife get clingy once she knows she got you tied up." He laughed, "Trust me, try to not get married too soon, promise me." Belford learn forward to look at Jeremie's computer.

"Finally got a babe there, stifler?" his irksome smack of his bubblegum was technically next to Jeremie's ear.

"No, sir." Jeremie tried to match his laughing as he leaned away, but only made himself feel uncomfortable, "Just got some tickets and was seeing who performed and all."

"Interesting. Well, I stopped by because the Big Man above is wondering how that CIB migration was going." Belford drop the papers on Jeremie's desk, "He said it was supposed to be done today?"

Jeremie winced. Of course, when he thought he had gotten everything done with his work instead he was searching up some girl. This made him embarrassed knowing that his boss was looking up to him to finish this one ordeal, yet here he was, lost in thought.

"I think he wants to see-" At that moment that Belford spoke, Jeremie's work phone started ringing an ominous tone that made him too rigid to answer it. He sighed, hanging his head.

Belford made a pop sound with his mouth, "Yep, I think that's him. I'll leave ya to it, Belpois." Belford gave another pat on his shoulder, probably more of a 'Sorry, your ass is getting chewed' pat. It was more annoying that that man cued it on time, too. Jeremie shamefully picked up his receiver and took a glance at the new paperwork on his desk.

"This is Belpois, Admin." He put on his professional voice, letting the receiver rest on his shoulder as he used both hands to flip through the stapled stack.

The other side of the phone call was consistent of crackling and different tones of soft beeping, a distant staticky overlay came through.

"It's not over." Jeremie heard a vastly deep and possibly satanic voice. He froze, the papers falling to his lap. He immediately threw the phone off him, smacking the monitor in front of him and landed on his keyboard haphazardly. The sound alerted everyone in the office, staring at him with concern. After moments gawking at the receiver like it tried to kill him, he took it and slammed it back into its phone compartment.

Everyone was still staring. Chuckling nervously –because he didn't believe what just happened– Jeremie lifted his head pass the height of the computer monitor to see everyone else, dismissing with his hand, "Sorry, it was- there was a spider."

The office slowly continued its shuffle of their work, some shrugging off like he was always like that.

Jeremie dipped his head back down to catch his breath, hanging his head right over his keyboard. This was the moment that made him paranoiac. No, he wasn't hearing voices and there was no way his drunk episode was still carrying with him, as his lingering headache that didn't subdue from his medicine proved him wrong.

The office phone rang again. This time he didn't have a problem not answering it, though it scared him of what was on the other side of the line. Or, perhaps, he was making himself go mad and could have hung up on his boss, or an associate, or anybody human.

Bundling up his fear, he snatched the phone and placed it to his ear, "...Hello?"

"You don't have a problem talking to me, now do you, Mr. Belpois?" Oh, thank God.

"Oh! Hey- I mean- Hello, sir." Jeremie cleared his throat, sitting up in his office chair, "The phone was messing up, crazy right? It started to static and everything-"

"Please be in my office this very moment." his voice was monotone and deep.

"O-Of course, sir."

His boss paced the room, not rushing but more of a slow antagonizing pace, probably to roughen up Jeremie's nerves more.

Jeremie sat across from his boss's desk, his leg still shaking.

"You missed the deadline again." He finally spoke, facing Jeremie. He was tall and broad, his skin a russet, reddish-brown. He fancied a common navy-blue suit and was bald. At his mahogany desk placed his nameplate 'Bryon Guillaume'; Jeremie would kill to have his own nameplate like that.

Jeremie kept staring at the nameplate, not meaning to ignore him.

"Not once, but three times, Jeremie." Guillaume leaned against his desk with his hands, glaring at his employee.

Jeremie finally snap to attention when his name was said, blinking, "It won't happen again, sir."

"See? That-" His boss pointed his finger at him, "That I'm worried about."

They stood in silence, only the tapping on the mahogany surface echoed the room.

"Your performance is declining. You were top of your class, you were Sorbonne's greatest graduate, you had highest honors in Computer Science."

All the facts he listed were correct, almost making Jeremie rethink how he gotten himself this bad. Recently, being in front of a computer was almost a chore and began a wilted petition to reduce his screen time, and this wasn't because it was for his eyes.

As a gifted scholar, his parents being proud of him was more fulfilling than some old guy in an academic robe that held the most important piece of paper in his life. He remembers, that look his father gave him while he watches him cross the stage and that firm handshake that held his future. The empty seat next to Michael was a propped-up photo of his wife. He can't recall if his father was crying or not, wondering if his mother was happy for him.

"I picked you for a reason." Guillaume broke his thoughts again. Jeremie felt his head lower in humiliation, those words cutting him deep, "I was supposed to fire you at the first deadline this month, let alone three? There is something wrong with that picture."

"I -I understand the situation. I'll stay after to get it done." Jeremie started to stand as Guillaume beckoned his profound voice at him.

"Sit down." His eyes could peer through Jeremie's soul, his body falling back in the chair with yelp, "I will take the initiative to make sure things are being done. You-" he pointed his rough finger at him again.

"Go home."

"Sir! -"

"I won't repeat myself. I'll sent in that you are given PTO time to clear your head. There will be a substitute Admin that will take your place in the meantime."

Jeremie fought the urge to get angry, jumping out of his seat, "I can finish the statistics! Let me have that at least-"

"There is something wrong with you, Mr. Belpois. I'm no fool." he waved away his eagerness, sitting down in his leather chair with a grunt, "I don't want to fire you. You are a great asset to me and I am going to take care of the problem."

"What the hell you think is wrong with me then, huh?" he snapped back, his glasses sat askew on his nose, not bothered to fix it, "Why Is everyone thinking I'm crazy or something?"

Guillaume sighed, taking his hand and pinched the bridge of his roman nose, "You are more than an acquaintance to me. Can't you see that I'm doing this not because I'm getting a rise out of you. I doing this because I care for your mental health, I promise."

He stood up, walking around his desk and placing both hands on Jeremie's shoulders. It felt unwelcoming.

"No debate this time. " his boss finally said lowly, shaking his head, "Please, get some rest."

All Jeremie remembered is that he left in a fit of rage, clouded with his own judgement.

It's been too cold for Paris, lately. And God forsakenly windy, too. It was probably going to rain again. The river below him was calmer than usual aside from the occasional ferryboat that passed, disturbing its stillness and rippling against the concrete walls. He kept staring down at it as he leaned against the iron railing, breadcrumbs sprinkle the surface of the water.

He was picky eater ever since he partook healthier options for his health. There were days that he didn't eat, either. Merely forgetting, he took a small bite out of his sandwich, not caring for the texture of it. It came from a questionable food stand, yet he just wanted to give him something to do other than think.

Pinching the corners of the sandwich, he kept dropping it below, the water barely registering its weight.

The office Jeremie worked in was blocks away from the Seine River, with the Eiffel Tower poking its pointy structure over other architectures. It was more of an eye sore coming to work on weekdays.

A generic ringtone came from his pocket, slowly he pulled out his smartphone from his brown overcoat.

It was Ulrich.

Of course, at this time.

He accepted the call, "Yeah?"

"Hey, Jeremie! Sorry about yesterday, I was caught up in cla- AH!"

"Ulrich...?" Jeremie felt unnerved, straightening his back and immediately checking his surroundings.

Silence.

"Ulrich?" he started to panic.

"Time out! I said time out! Right on my shin too!" there was shuffling sounds on the other line, "Okay, sorry 'bout that."

Jeremie let out a hefty sigh, almost wanting to hold his chest, "What... just happen?"

"I'm teaching club right now. I figured I get a call in now before I forget again."

"Oh."

"Well, happy birthday. Well- Late birthday."

"Thank you, Ulrich... Things today isn't really grea-"

"Manny, use your legs. Yeah- now throw her down!"

...

"Okay, sorry again."

He sighed, "How... is the club so far?"

Ulrich let out a whistle, "Man, Jeremie, if you see these kids. They're just beginners but they are learning quick. There is this one kid, Imani, oh man- she can raise her legs above her head. She's technically more acrobatic than everyone here. And there is this boy, Thomas I think- This kid is really scared to be in the club because he was afraid to would be made fun of. So, me and him took some time away from the whole group to practice and he does so well. His breathing technique was a little off and so I..."

Jeremie finished off his sandwich, giving out uh huh's and yeah's as Ulrich rambled about his class. It was better than sulking about his day at work, or how his few days were in general.

"Jim is also really healthy, too. I dunno if you've seen him lately."

Jeremie blinked as he regained consciousness back into the conversation as he threw away the wrapper in a nearby trash bin, "Wait, Jim Morales? He's skinny?"

"Nah, that will never happen. He's still chubby as ever." he heard a hearty laugh from the speaker, "But he's been on a diet. Consistent, mind you."

"Uh, wow." that was a new one he's heard, but Jeremie kept that thought to himself, "It's okay, you can tell me you forced it on him."

"No, Jeremie. He did that all on his own. Jim's so much happier lately. He was the one that helped me get all this Pencak Silat club stuff approved by the Kadic district board. I even made him my co-teacher!"

"I'm happy." Jeremie tried to sound out his smile, looking back down at the water.

"How 'bout you?"

"What?" his smile faded.

"I said how about you? I haven't heard from you in a while."

"Uh," Jeremie rubbed his face with the back of his hand, wondering if it's okay to ruin the good mood now, "Rough week for me."

"Sorry to hear about that, man"

"I was uh... forced to go on PTO today."

"Forced?" Ulrich echoed back.

Jeremie wasn't sure what to tell him; that phone call at his desk or how he fought with his boss –Or that music artist. There was a lot to uncover with such little information.

"Mr. Guillaume thinks I haven't been taking care of myself recently."

"Jeremie-" Ulrich sighed through the phone.

"Yeah, no, Ulrich. You don't have to tell me."

"You want to grab dinner with me and Yumi? To take your mind off things?" his voice sounded hesitant, almost mumbling.

"I don't know..."

He was quiet for a moment, "...I'm sorry if me and Yumi haven't seen you too much lately. We've been so busy with our new jobs and everything."

Jeremie watched the water get disrupted again as boats pass on the river, splashing the side of the algae-covered wall below him. There was an idea.

"I think I'm gonna check on something tonight." Jeremie said slowly, enough that he was trying to suggest a secret code to Ulrich. He was silent for some time.

"Oh." That's all Jeremie heard from him. Then for moments after, there was shuffling again, hearing him whisper, "Don't worry, I'm by myself." Ulrich took a breath, "You mean the uhm... Factory?"

"Yeah." Jeremie monotoned, "Routine check, you already know."

Jeremie heard him give an affirmative hum, and was quiet again.

"That's all I'm doing." he promised Ulrich.

"It's not because of Ael-"

"Don't." Jeremie gripped his free hand on the railing, squeezing his eyes shut, "You don't need to say that name."

"We gotta talk about it someday, Jeremie." Ulrich lowered his voice, sounding sympathetic, "You're not going because you're upset, right?"

The urge to hang up on him was severe but he digressed. Jeremie looked around him secretly to make sure no tourist nearby was watching him get unhinged, "I just- wanna make sure things are fine."

"That's... fine with me. Don't break the rule; Just the normal look-around. I know you."

"I'm not-" Jeremie whipped around to watch his surroundings, getting paranoid now, "I won't go inside, Ulrich."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He did promise.

Or at least he thinks he did.

The taxi ride there was ominously quiet, like the driver knew what Jeremie intentions were. He kept his eyes to his phone, looking over emails or more information about this Rose Angélique girl. Seeing that some of her music was on YouTube with well over hundred-thousands of views. There were no music videos he could watch to see what she was like on camera, but the idea of seeing her move around made his ears hot and dismisses the motive.

The driver took Jeremie to Café Renauda, a shop down the street from the entrance of the bridge. Jeremie paid for his fare and said his thanks, standing idly on the sidewalk to wait for the car to leave. On cue, he crossed the street free of cars and trekked further down the road.

Meeting at the bridge's entrance, he noticed concrete barricades blocking the way for no cars to enter in. He could hear the rushing water underneath. With the sudden change, he glanced around make sure no one was watching, and climbed over the barrier.

The sky was more pink than usual.

The atmosphere was colder than it was outside, the smell of rust and mold overwhelmed his nose. It gotten worse and worse as time gone on with each visit, more 'no trespassers' and 'private property' signs was plastered at every angle the city could at the opening of the factory, and Jeremie didn't blamed them. Storms and doings from rebellious teenagers that trashed the place of scattered wood, steel parts, and glass. The ceiling looked to be at its last leg.

He looked down from the balcony he stood at, noticing only one more rope remain hanging –Probably weakened over the years. Slowly but aguishly, he slid down the rope and only going faster to avoid burning his non-calloused hands.

Jeremie grunted, smacking his feet on the ground as he quickly patted his hands on his pants to stop the burning. It was so much easier as a child. At a steady pace, he started to walk as the glass on the concrete floor crunched and broke under his feet. It echoed wonderfully like he remembered.

The first time he discovered the Supercomputer, he had to travel on the ladders that was fixed to the shaft's walls below him, learning that the Supercomputer was also powering the lift. He mentally kicked himself, staring down at the deep nothingness of the shaft.

But everything was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. The elevator was at the very bottom level hidden away like it always has. No construction or government attendance yet. Everything was fine.

"Yeah, I promise..." Jeremie mumbled to himself, the presence submerged his state of mind. This one lie wasn't harmful; he just wanted to peak. He missed it and he wanted to see it again. Nostalgia. That's what it was.

Jeremie climbed down the ladder carefully, the cooling of the metal as he grips each bar felt more inviting than the next, exciting him more. At that same time, he lost his footing. His foot slipped and made him automatically lock his one arm around the iron bar, trying to get his bearings back again.

Staring down, he silently cursed himself, but continued going down.

Opening the latch that compressed the Laboratory's massive doors was absolutely terrible.

With the power off, the steel latch to the door only works from the energy of the Supercomputer being on. With one hand on the ladder and the other on the manual latch connected to the metal door, Jeremie shifted his whole body's weight on the latch, grunting 'til the door slid open with the occasional metal-on-metal scraping and hissing compartments.

Jeremie jumped off the ladder and landed between the half-opened doors that refused to open no more, pushing himself into the room to assure that there will be no falling down the elevator shaft today.

The Lab reeked of mildew and oxidation that caked the surfaces; it was dimly lit with a green hue and the air were musky. It took Jeremie's breath out every time, staring at the holographic projector centerpiece in the middle of the massive room accompanied nearby was the Computer Interface hanging from the ceiling. Dust filled the floor and the atmosphere.

He took a step in, tracking footprints on the dust as he got closer to the computer's conditions. What could be made out was that it was utterly dirty and worn down for years prior. The keyboard was missing some keys and filled with grime, the screens were plastered in dirt and a simple wipe down was not going to cut it, the old dentist's chair was missing an armrest that laid on the floor beside it and had cracks all over the leather.

Jeremie ran his finger over the keyboard, remembering its mechanical feel. He pressed the back-slash key effortlessly, putting a smirk on his face.