Chapter Text
My name is Adler Hofmann, and if you are reading this it means I am dead.
Words are slowly written on a neat fresh piece of copy paper. He takes his time deciding what to say, what he should leave behind and to whom.
Does he have anything left to leave behind? And if so is any of this crap worth something, is it worth it leaving a letter behind in the first place? Would anyone miss him, would anyone even come and find his body? Its not like this dingy office space is often visited by anyone other than Enigma. Apart from the occasional intrusion of a pissed off colleague coming in to complain. Or his sister.
To Greta, my sister.
He's sorry for being such a disappointment. To his mother, mentor, father, to her especially. Everyone had such high expectations set out for him, they believed he could do great things but in the end it amounted to nothing. Now hes nothing more than a useless, sulking drunk writing a suicide note. He wants to tell her not to bother with a funeral, dump his body in a river it would be just fine. Dont waste resources on a casket that could be used for something or someone far more deserving. Don't bother to grieve me at all.
I am nothing, I am nothing worth your time.
To you I leave all my possessions, whatever there is left.Thank you for taking care of me.
"You've always been too kind to me, Greta..." he mumbles to himself. Reminiscing back to simpler times gone by. Back when he first started working at Laplace, how she helped him settle in and introduced him to some colleagues that later on became good friends. Now washed away by the storm. Back in college, on his graduation ceremony she traveled all the way from America back to Germany to attend. The most prominent memory to him is one in their childhood, when he had a fever one night. She made him a bowl of hot soup and read him bedtime stories to comfort him when their parents were out of town. It sounds so simple but back then it's the simple things that mattered.
She's always taken care of him, even now during the calamity she tried her best to help him but it's too late now. It's all for naught.
I'm sorry, your efforts were in vain. I'm sorry I couldn't take it anymore.
At this point tears should be dripping down his face, but instead he laughs to himself. How stupid and banal everything is, how dumb he was for believing in physics and in time and that things made sense in the world. That the people he loved would be in his life forever, that life was worth living at all.
Everyday had become a bland routine.
You wake up, you try your best to get up. Go to the bathroom, dont look at the mirror. Do your business, wash your hands. Dont look at the mirror.
Get out of the bathroom, now you should go to the cafeteria to get breakfast but you won't. You go back to bed, maybe to your work computer instead and browse the forums. You only get out of the room if the hunger becomes excruciating. Stumble your way to the cafeteria, ignore the glances. Dont make eye contact just get your food and leave. Dont trip, dont fall, don't embarrass yourself, you stupid piece of shit. Make it back to your office in one piece. Avoid communication, avoid anything unnecessary. Sit down in your broken office chair, clean some random bullshit off the table by swiping it on the floor or into the overflowing trash can on your left if you can bother. Eat your food, pick it up with a fork, chew it. Ignore the awful taste, ignore the texture. Just force yourself to eat otherwise you'd starve. Although that fate wouldn't be so bad. Now waste away through the rest of the day, indulge in alcohol. Masturbate if you can bother, shower only when it becomes physically uncomfortable being this dirty.
At some point you realize living a life like this probably isnt worth living at all. So you end up here, writing your suicide note.
I no longer find any point in living this life when I am no longer even living. I no longer think it will improve.
But part of you deep down wishes it does, he hopes and dreams someone someday will ask "Are you okay?" and so he'll be allowed to bawl his eyes out. Tell them his grievances, tell them everything. How much he wishes it was good, how much he yearns for connection although he'd never admit it. Although if the opportunity came up, he wouldn't take it. Because it had already happened.
Madam Lucy, the director of the LSCC, offered him free counseling sessions but he declined. At this point he regrets it but back then he was too grief stricken, too afraid to admit he needed help, too whatever. So the opportunity passed, besides that he had his sister. She tried her best to help him, gave him support when she could despite struggling to grapple with the storm herself. But she was still there for him, when he lost his mind, started drinking, she stayed with him in the hospital during his first attempt. Told others it was an accident, told everyone not to judge him. She gave you too much grace.
To madam Lucy, please relegate my office space and living quarters to someone else. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work here, and for letting me stay these past couple of years despite me being of little worth to the team.
Besides that he doesn't really know what else to write. There doesn't seem to be anyone left to address, everyone else is either an acquaintance he can't remember by name or someone who he doubts would miss him. But he supposes those people are still worth addressing.
Dora and Ulrich, thank you for the cake. Hissabeth, thank you for the coffee mug. Medicine pocket, thank you as well.
He wants to add a closing remark, something to tie it all together but he doesn't know what else there is left to say. After some thinking he decides to keep it simple, professional even.
Thank you for everything. In the end I am still grateful that I got to be a part of the LSCC.
And with that, he folds the note and prepares for whats next.