June 21st, 1983
Alexander sat alone in his office, looking thoroughly bored as he played a game of chess against himself.
Even the pieces had been customized.
The queen bore a striking resemblance to Wren.
The king looked unmistakably like Nicholas.
A few of the others were just as deliberate, though Alexander seemed no more emotionally invested in them than a child idly rearranging toys he intended to break later.
"Having fun all by yourself, sir?"
The voice came lightly, almost teasing.
Alexander didn't look up right away as the man entered.
He had medium-length pink hair, golden eyes, and the polished appearance of someone who took quiet pride in looking composed. A black vest lay neatly over his white shirt, and pinned to it was a golden butterfly brooch that caught the light whenever he moved.
When Alexander finally glanced up, he gave a small chuckle.
"Hello, Bookkeeper. Still annoying as ever, I see."
The Bookkeeper only smiled and took the empty seat across from him, as if the insult were nothing more than routine courtesy between old associates.
"So," he said, moving a piece across the board, "how goes the Erebus incident? Still thoroughly out of control, I assume."
"You're right, as always," Alexander replied dryly, making his own move. Then his expression shifted, if only slightly. "Tell me—what do you know about Azathoth?"
The Bookkeeper let out a soft sigh.
"Unfortunately, that entity lies beyond even my sight. The same can be said for that damned Faker." His golden eyes narrowed with faint irritation. "Everyone else, however, I have tracked perfectly."
Alexander clicked his tongue.
"Annoying."
He moved another piece with calm precision.
"I'm planning to deploy Task Force Eleven."
The Bookkeeper's smile returned, thinner this time.
"Useful, but expendable," the Bookkeeper said, his tone deceptively light. "You intend to leave them for dead once the mission is complete, don't you?"
Alexander didn't flinch.
"Of course."
The Bookkeeper leaned forward slightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Alexander's king into check.
"Aren't you concerned?" he asked. "The leader of that group is… volatile, to say the least."
Alexander let out a short, mirthless chuckle.
"Exactly why I'm sending that mongrel, Ellis, straight into the meat grinder. Let every nuisance die in one fell swoop."
The Bookkeeper moved again, placing Alexander in check once more.
"And the Cursebearers?" he asked, eyes glinting. "Imperfect as they are, it may be possible to mass-produce them using their… methods."
Alexander's expression hardened, icy and unyielding.
"I'll crush them all. I'll take every scrap of knowledge. Then we test. We see how stable we can make their production. Only when it's perfect will we deploy it."
He made a precise motion across the board, putting the Bookkeeper squarely in check.
"In the coming years, our operations will expand," Alexander said coldly. "We will infiltrate and dominate the U.S. government. And we will be the largest supernatural organization in the world. Nothing less will suffice."
The Bookkeeper let out a low, amused chuckle as he nudged Alexander's king into check.
"Ever so prideful," he said, his voice soft but cutting. "That will be your undoing, sir. I guarantee it. And when it happens… I won't feel an ounce of pity."
Alexander leaned back, a dark laugh escaping him.
"I promise you," Alexander said evenly, "I will outlive you."
The Bookkeeper's smile widened, sharp and knowing.
"You truly are the most vile man I have ever known," he said. "Not even demons, gods, or eldritch horrors seem capable of matching your depravity. Honestly, you make Faker look like the world's most loving saint."
Alexander's eyes gleamed faintly at the insult, but there was no anger in them. Only a cold, quiet acknowledgment.
"Checkmate, sir," the Bookkeeper said at last, smiling as he tipped the final piece into place.
Alexander looked down at the board for a moment, then let out a low chuckle.
"Well played."
He rose from his seat, adjusting one of his gloves.
"Oh, right. While we're at it—send Alexi to Erebus as well."
For the first time in the conversation, the Bookkeeper looked genuinely caught off guard.
He blinked.
Then sighed.
"They must have truly gotten under your skin," he said. "If you're sending him too."
Alexander smiled.
"Yes," he said simply. "I would like them reduced to nothing more than stains on the ground."
The Bookkeeper was quiet for a moment as he watched Alexander move away from the chessboard.
Then he asked, "Tell me… when all is said and done, what exactly is the plan for Azathoth?"
Alexander did not hesitate.
"I'll leave that to you," he said. "You're the genius. I trust you'll figure something out."
The Bookkeeper arched a brow.
"Salty that I beat you at chess, sir?"
Alexander gave a faint laugh.
"Who can say?"
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"You know, in all of A.E.G.I.S., you are the only man for whom I hold any real respect."
The Bookkeeper's smile faded slightly.
"Everyone else," Alexander continued, "is merely a mongrel I can exterminate at will." His golden eyes narrowed. "No—more than that. All of humanity are mongrels in my eyes."
The Bookkeeper regarded him for a long moment.
Then he smiled again, though this time there was less humor in it.
"I believe you are mistaken," he said softly. "Humans are quite lovely, actually. They possess infinite potential." He tilted his head. "To dismiss them all as mongrels is not strength, sir. It is simply foolishness."
"Well then, sir, I must take my leave," the Bookkeeper said as he rose from his chair. "My work is never done."
Alexander didn't bother looking up right away.
"I assume you have no intention of burying the records I requested?"
The Bookkeeper paused at the door and smiled to himself.
"Knowledge, in all its forms, is a gift humanity deserves," he said. "It is my duty to ensure it is preserved."
He glanced back over his shoulder, golden eyes gleaming.
"Regardless of how deeply that preservation may wound your pride."
And with that, he left the office.
Alexander let out a long, irritated sigh.
"Annoying man."
Outside, the Bookkeeper walked calmly through the hallway, already reaching into his vest for a loose sheet of paper.
As he walked, he began to write.
June 21st, 1983
Nothing of particular significance occurred today.
Merely another temper tantrum from Alexander.
Though, on a brighter note, I defeated him at chess once again.
Not once has he ever beaten me.
Nor will he.