You probably don't understand what's happening. Well, I'll explain the chain of events that had occurred and their reasoning behind them. First, I will introduce myself. I'm... well. You can call me the Prophet. You could even call me Alan Smithee, I prefer to be called Alan. I am everywhere and nowhere and our two main characters have been working under my command.
Is it blackmail?
Yes, in fact, I did blackmail them.
How come they managed to pass out earlier before heading to the prison/hotel when they should most likely be immune to such poisons?
Well, that's because I put them there.
What about the monster?
An illusion and I took them again which is why they lost consciousness, but I guess we aren't there yet. Timelines sort of... diverge here.
It's confusing so keep track.
1998, Seth and Nixon arrive at the hotel I commanded them to go to since I gave them a mission to kill Curico since Curico knows about the island. Their mission is to kill everyone who knows about the island, this was under my command. They encounter a lot of people and fail, Curico then escaped, gassing the entire hotel. I take Seth and Nixon and put them into the prison/hotel Curico made since I still want him dead. Again, that would've been unsuccessful no matter what since they have emotions and connections and it doesn't exactly help that they were in an impossible to survive situation so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
So, I took Seth and Nixon and placed them somewhere else. Where that is - is for me to know and for you to find out. Alright, let's skip to 1999 when the prison/hotel gets raided by the police. The Seth and Nixon captured by the police are not the real Seth and Nixon, they are but imitations created by me that make it easier for me to get to my goal. Kill the police and we have no one in my way. Well, I'll have to kill the real Seth and Nixon now too.
So... this is what'll happen now.
***
Seth and Nixon wake up in a room painted in black. Seth opens his eyes immediately being able to see what's in front of him while Nixon sits still, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness. "Where the fuck are we Seth?" Nixon says in a whisper. Seth doesn't answer, moving to a window and looking outside to a pitch-black sky and vague imagery within the darkness. Seth makes out that they are in a city but he doesn't understand where.
Nixon makes his way through the darkness, both of his arms out in front of him, he touches a wall and props himself against a wall. "Fuck..." Nixon looks out the window to see nothing and clicks his tongue. "Do you know where we are Seth?"
"It's a city, I can tell that nobody else is here but... what the hell?"
Seth squints, trying to see what was in the distance. A massive towering creature lumbering through the streets, hands dragging against the concrete roads, eyes scanning each house it comes across. Seth pulls Nixon to the floor, sitting beside the window just in case.
"Can you see yet Nix?"
"What did you see?"
"We might be... fuck... we might be back."
Nixon's heart sinks to his stomach. "Why!? We did what he wanted, right!?"
"What makes this worse than before, we're in the city, and we don't know what's in the city. It could be a completely different fucking warzone."
"Wait... wait... how the hell are we getting out of here?"
"I don't know, but we have to find a w-"
Clicking and clacking, crashing, and burning. the sounds that correspond with those things are heard coming ever so closer to the door to the room both Seth and Nixon are in. Its form is incomprehensible, the darkness marking it hard to even see where it is or where it could go. Nixon and Seth look to each other, keeping to the wall, attempting to go around the monster that had just entered.
They could barely see the monster and the monster couldn't see them. Their only chance of escaping being if it moves into the room more. By pure chance, their gamble paid off, moving farther into the room than they had expected, allowing them to go through the door and escape.
Outside the room was a hallway directly leading to a flight of stairs. They make it down carefully, one at a time, using the tips of their feet and slowly bringing down their heals each time. Seth slowly sits down onto the stairs, removing his shoes and throwing it across the hallway behind them. Nixon is confused for a few seconds but he does the same. The monster that had entered the room previously notices, running out into the hallway towards the sound of their shoes.
Steps, quieter than before - they manage to make their way to the bottom of the stairway. They have arrived on the first floor. Seth shakes Nixon's shoulder to get his attention and whispers in his ear, "Find a tight space, we need to stay there for the rest of the night."
Nixon nods, both of them scavenging the first floor for a cramped room.
They both decide to enter a Janitor's Closet, Nixon sitting closest to the door, gun readied in hand. Seth sets his back against the wall, farther down in the closet, a knife in hand. Nixon in a whisper asks, "Where did you get that?"
"Dead person."
Nixon lets out a light chuckle and nods, focusing on the doorway. Nixon looks over to Seth, the knob of the door to the closet in hand. Seth nods at him and Nixon shuts the door as quietly as he could. "Seth, try to get some sleep, you've had less than me."
Seth hesitates before letting himself rest completely, passing out with his head pressed against a cabinet. Nixon lays his back against the same cabinet, still close to the door. Luckily for them, the cabinet isn't unbalanced, if it was it'd slam against the wall causing noise because of them resting themselves upon it but it's how it is now. More peaceful than the rest of their days constantly being dragged around by an omnipotent being.
Alan Smithee - They can never remember his face but they always remember his form, and if he chose, they wouldn't even remember him at all. This helplessness, they really can't do anything about it. Seth and Nixon though promised each other to struggle to the very end, even if it's fruitless.
What is Alan Smithee's goal? They don't know. What they do know is that he's been their enemy since the beginning of their journey. They also know one other thing, they know that Alan wants to remove the existence, or knowledge of the island existing from everyone's minds, or to have it be discovered by people in the future. What they also know is that Alan cannot be directly involved. He needs proxy's and if he does get directly involved, someone would have to antagonize him first before he is able to enact. These are the facts revolving around Alan.
If they were to pick a day in history, the first time Alan was ever recorded in any sort of book or log of sorts was back in November - November 1920.
There is a book... this book contains a map and the map contains information relating to the island. This book needs a key. The one who held this key was Gregory Fallon, November 31st, 1920 to be exact, this is when he died of unknown means. There was only one person though who knows, which was his son. Only one person knew how his father died, and who had killed him.
He knew his father had the key and he knew people were going to be after it but he did not expect what happened on that faithful day.
Those who would assume to be Alan Smithee enters with an umbrella in hand, covered from head to toe in formal wear, his face obscured by miscellaneous objects from no matter which direction, those who managed to look at his face directly going temporarily near-sighted. Alan puts his umbrella away. Greg was instantly suspicious of the man, there was no snow on the night of the thirty-first, not once in the day.
Alan calmly heads to the counter and stops. The son couldn't hear was Alan said but he could only have assumed that it was related to the key judging by his father's reaction. Quickly, Gregory attempts to kill Alan with a revolver carefully placed beneath the desk that Gregory sat behind.
When Greg fired his gun, he fell dead on the floor.
His son attempted to find the key and hide it but... not even a few minutes after his father's death, the key was missing. Gone for good.
This is the earliest record of Alan Smithee.
['Alan Smithee' is a common pseudonym for directors whose film was clearly taken away from her/him and recut heavily against her/his wishes in ways that completely altered the film.]