Synopsis: Jervis Tetch is a deeply unfulfilled neuroscientist working in the research department of Wayne Tech. His only pleasures in life are tea, the works of Lewis Carroll, his enchanting secretary Alice, and a vision of a future where years of taunting and jeers are snuffed.
Myra Carter is a burnt-out lab technician living the same day over again with little to look forward to. She recalled a time where she enjoyed reading classic fiction and watching the occasional piece of classical Hollywood cinema, although considers that a bygone era.
It's 1990. Jervis and Myra each attempt to find solace in pen and paper before they can learn to find solace in each other.
April 2nd, 1990 (M). It is with great vexation that I, Dr Jervis Tetch, find myself humiliated once more by the common peership for having the will to dream. I feel it: my jaw is clenched, my brows are terribly furrowed, and the pen pressed against my fingers to scribe these very thoughts is at great risk of breaking in clean half!
Ah, it appears, my dear readers, that whatever dastardly prats are congesting the research department of Wayne Enterprises—no doubt the work of the ear-screechingly delightful Dr Cates, the division head, or as I like to think of her as, the foul-tempered Queen of Hearts—appear to overlook one key detail, and it is thus: I am a man with nothing to lose. They shall come to realise it soon enough. Only then, it will all be too late.
Now, for those of you, my esteemed visitors, who are wondering whatever has me up all in a twist, I shall narrate. I will tell you of the events of this morning, specifically in the last half hour.
I arrived at my workplace close to 8:30 AM in order to prepare myself (and spend more time away from my dreadful superior and colleagues whilst the building was still peacefully quiet). However, soon after 9 AM once the vermin began filling into the building, I heard talking emanating from the tea room, situated not far from my laboratory space. They were not particularly hushed, much to my displeasure. I would have returned to my business despite the intrusive sound until curiously, I heard my own name.
I couldn't help the need to learn why I was being mentioned among this… reprehensible group. So, I sauntered closer towards the doorway and hovered to listen in, whilst importantly still being out of their line of sight. The following is a close replication of what I heard.
One man, the likes of which I couldn't begin to care to learn the name of began, "Have you seen his proposal? It was submitted to the board recently. I managed to print a copy of it. Come, look at the abstract."
Another masculine voice went on, "So, he actually did put something together," to which he began to read a portion of the paper. For transparency and historical record, I have copied the opening to my research proposal on the development of a microcircuit technology for your perusal.
Recent advances in microelectronics and neural signal analysis suggest the feasibility of a compact interface capable of interacting directly with human cognitive processes. This proposal outlines a research program dedicated to the development of a microchip neural interface designed to enhance the brain’s inherent potential through controlled electronic stimulation.
The proposed system would employ a miniature microprocessor embedded within a wearable transmission device capable of receiving, interpreting, and transmitting patterned signals to specific neural pathways. By monitoring and reinforcing targeted cognitive activity, such a system may enable measurable improvements in attention, learning efficiency, behavioural regulation, and decision-making processes.
Initial development will focus on the design of a low-power microchip capable of translating external commands into precisely modulated neural signals. Through a closed-loop feedback mechanism, the system would allow continuous adjustment of signal patterns in response to observed cognitive responses.
If successful, this research could establish a foundation for a new class of neuroelectronic technologies capable of assisting individuals with neurological impairment while also demonstrating the broader potential of microchip-assisted cognitive enhancement. The ability to electronically support and guide neural activity may represent a significant step toward expanding the practical limits of human cognition.
"He sure has a way of making it sound possible," the first of the wretched companions remarked, "But I just can't see him getting it done. Especially by a deadline. There's a reason why Dr Cates tells him off so often, after all."
"Yeah, you'd think she'd have laid him off by now. It's a wonder why they still keep him around. It's not like he makes good use of his funding anyway."
"Bruce seems to like him."
"That's only because he doesn't have to be around him all the time. Marcia would have probably gotten rid of him by now if it weren't for him."
Just recounting this to you, my readers, is only fuelling my profound anger. How dare they cast such limits to the trajectory for my imminent achievement? Are my years of research for naught to them, simply because I refuse to entertain their mockeries with my presence? My extensive postgraduate publications, all mounting to nothing? To them, it would appear so. Their feeble minds cannot understand the gravity of what my research will produce.
But no matter. The jesters always jeer when they can't comprehend the trick. I will prove them wrong. And I will be the one to show them so in the end. They won't be able to laugh in the face of this so-called "madman" any longer. Who then will be the ridiculed?
After all, it was the great Lewis Carroll who saw ingenuity in the nonsense. They shall come to know it soon enough.
See, now this is why it is essential for me to maintain these records. When the day comes for my inevitable stroke on history, a record of my brilliance will survive for researchers of all kinds to study and write on. To think, even Carroll too was once an unknown before his literary masterpiece of Alice. His personal diaries, the dear things, became highly sought-after in the years following his passing. I shan't make the mistake of missing such a grand opportunity of passing on such invaluable knowledge.
For those of you, my dear friends, who are following me on this journey, greetings from beyond! You are the wise few. I have faith the intellectual payoff will be worthwhile, as I trust you will all see in due time…
Monday, April 2nd, 1990
I can't recall the last I've taken to my journal, it's been so long. But today I felt it needed to be done before I lost strength in memory of the details.
"I'm so thoroughly fatigued," I thought as I traversed the corridors of my workplace. "More so than any other day for a while."
I'm aware of the hazards associated with driving whilst struggling to keep my eyes open. As much as I fear consequence, I haven't much attempted to change my circumstances. It does get discouraging seeing the faint purple streaks imprinted beneath my eyelids failing to lighten with any amount of rest. Although, that is not the reason why I write here again. For once, something of interest has happened to me.
As I was hastening to get to the lab, I almost collided into another person there. The jolt was finally what it took to pry my eyes wide open at last. It seemed neither of us were paying attention to what was ahead of our way.
The both of us scrambled to apologise, and I, quite flustered by the proximity of our bodies, at once backed myself away. But as I naturally lifted my gaze to see his face, I noticed he looked dramatically different from what I was accustomed to seeing in the depths of the office space. His hair was considerably shorter, though still kept at the shoulder-length I find so appealing. It used to drape over his lab coat just last week in tousled ripples. And his dense facial hair, it was all gone. He must have shaved over the weekend, and got a haircut too, it seems. It does make me wonder what the occasion was for such a drastic change to take place.
He mumbled another feeble sorry, somehow managing to stammer on that one word, and brisked past me, retreating to a room at the end of the strip. I could see that his body was slumped, and he wore a dispirited frown before he disappeared off. It does make me contemplate on whatever had him looking so miserable, the kind that almost infallibly draws your sympathies.
Regrettably, there wasn't enough time for me to react and ask him if he was alright. Judging by how quickly he dispersed, I gathered he didn't want to be bothered, as much as I wanted to check on him. It was the first I've ever seen him look so beat. But then again, now that I think about it, I'm beginning to realise just how hardly I ever noticed him in this way before. He's always had a phantom-like presence in the department, such that I didn't even know what he sounded like until this morning. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I don't know his name, but I am hoping to amend that very soon.
It's been so long since I've felt this drawn to a man, this desire to learn all about him. To find out who he is, what he likes, what his name is. I want to hear him talk again, although under better conditions, of course.
When I went to bed that night, I couldn't sleep, not that it was unusual for me. But what was out of the ordinary was rather than being caused by my restlessness, it was because all my mind could do was envision his face: that adorable, owlish expression he had when he glanced down at me. He had such fluffy, voluminous blond locks of hair anyone would be jealous of. And his eyes—his eyes were such a brilliant blue that completely captivated me. I felt immobilised in that moment, the best kind of paralysis, one in which you're gazing into the splendour of a picturesque scene, like the most wondrous of daylight skies welcoming you with a warm glow you can feel heating your cheeks. And I realised, I find him handsome now.
How could changing a couple variables to one's appearance incur such feelings in me? For the better, I mean. Am I finally going to relive what having an infatuation is like again, after several years of dormancy? Those beautiful symptoms of the purest form of love that have been so lost on me, are they going to pay me a visit once more? I don't want to get my hopes up that something will come of this, but it's so thrilling to be able to feel such thing as the blossoming of attraction again.
I find myself wishing I could look into his eyes like that again sometime soon, though I'm afraid it might make him uncomfortable if I tried forcing it. He always seemed to be the skittish type, never lingering around crowded rooms for long. I always thought it was quite cute he was so shy at work, but I didn't particularly find him physically attractive until now. It just didn't occur to me then that I could find him so good-looking. How did I not see it before? So much has changed in one moment…
For anyone who's interested, I launched an account on OCSN with the indirect encouragement of the lovely @starpopsoda. On here I'll be posting in the voice of my BTAS persona, updating in future in accordance with the plot of my upcoming oc x canon fanfiction with Jervis. Thank you.
MYRA CARTER (1929-Died January 9th 2016,at 86). American actress of stage,film and television,but is primarily known for the theatrical work on and off Broadway,in plays suchas Suddenly Last Summer,Major Barbara and three Tall Women.. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myra_Carter
