Btw. Haven’t listened to the first Magnus protocol episode yet, but. If the entities return, I agree with a lot of people in thinking that the won’t be the same, and I think, in fact, there are some that are more likely to have gotten kinda “mushed up” with each other than others.
Stranger and flesh. Both deal in perceptions of self and of others. Identity and body image go hand in hand, for some people, especially in the context of fears. Plus, the biology class kids really toed the line between flesh and stranger, to me.
Stranger and spiral. Kind of obvious, at least if you have the kind of brain that has a rough time remembering individual people by their faces, and have thus been in situations where you genuinely don’t remember someone, but they definitely seem to remember you. (That might be too specific, but eh. Seems to fit, to me.)
Spiral and web. Both can sometimes deal in people going down rabbit holes about whether or not they’re really in control of everything happening to them. Paranoia of that sort, essentially.
Hunt and flesh with a dash of slaughter. That’s honestly what that war-torn domain felt like, though that domain definitely also had stranger bits mixed into it, too.
Corruption and web. I know this seems like a contradictory mix, but both have elements of emotional manipulation and whatnot in them. The cult, for example.
End and Web. Inevitability. I don’t think I need to elaborate.
These are just the ones I could think of off the top of my head. Might elaborate more, might not. We’ll see.
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TMAGP: Hopes for a Tim reappearance.
So, in TMAGP we've had Gerry, Gertrude, and maybe Georgie appear. Obviously, all the TMA fans want more TMA characters to show up living their best lives.
...What if it's not their best life? (in the fans' minds at least)
What if they come back as avatars?
I've seen several Desolation Tim theories, and a few Beholding or Spiral Sashas.
What if that's how they come back?
It's still the same characters, just... wrong.
Imagine, a case of someone named Tim and how his life was destroyed. First by the death of his brother Danny in a freak circus accident, then a coworker stalking him, then an explosion which he knows he shouldn't have escaped from. Why does he now enjoy destroying others' lives the same way his was destroyed?
Imagine, a girl, Sasha, with too much curiosity for her own good. One day she opened a door and lost herself. But she's still there, isn't she? She has to be. She knows it. Or is it Knows? Her burning curiosity to understand what happened to her leading her to trapping people in her halls to question them and not realizing when they get lost too. Not as lost as her, of course. The few answers she that receives only making her more and more confused. Why is she so confused now? Was she always like this? No, she couldn't have been. Could she?
Feel free to add your own ideas!
I was thinking about adding Web!Martin, but there's still too much hope that he's Norris. Maybe Daisy or Basira could be avatars in TMAGP too? Or at least cops. Leitner too maybe? Not a cop I mean, an avatar of some sort. So many ideas! We don't even know for sure that Melanie came with Georgie (or even if it's actually Georgie), maybe because of her gouging her eyes out she's a Dark avatar in this universe?
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Reconnection
Word Count: 1613 AO3 Link
“Well, well, well, this is a blast from the past, now isn’t it? Love hearing your voices through dime store speakers again. What was the phrase he used?” She emphasizes he, like they should know exactly who she is referring to. “Gives it a sort of... lo-fi charm?”
And, for the first time since Sam has joined the OIAR, Chester’s voice stops of its own accord, midway through a statement.
~~~
Sam watches his computer have a mental breakdown. (The original Archives Cast are the Avatars in the Protocol Universe.)
It’s in the middle of a talker, of course, when everything goes to shit.
It had been a normal day. Alice is humming over her coffee. Gwen is grinding her teeth as she tries to ignore it (probably the reason Alice has been humming for over a goddamn hour). Colin was off somewhere, probably ripping more wires out of the damn walls. Lena hasn’t spoken to Sam since their impromptu meeting, and Sam is pretty sure he is better off for it. Sam himself is doing his best to ignore the current statement like Alice advised (he’s failing), while Chester prattles on about a man reading subway goers their violent deaths hours before they happen.
Like he said, normal.
It’s then that a woman walks out of a door Sam has never really given much thought to. He isn't really sure where it even goes. (Has it always been there?) But the thought leaves him as he becomes much more focused on the woman in front of him.
The woman is mousy, bookish, and larger than life. She wears her hair in a high ponytail, frizzy curls spiraling out in wild waves. Sparkling horned rimmed glasses adorn her face, and she wears a brightly colored sweater over an even brighter skirt. It is floor length, and covered in trippy neon spirals that Sam can’t help but stare into. And her hands... Her hands...
“Who the fuck are you?” Alice shouts, and Sam suddenly remembers just where he is. What is happening?
“Ma’am, you can’t be-” Gwen says, hard steel in her voice, but she falters. There’s something like recognition, like horror, dawning on her face. The woman ignores her, eyes locked on Sam’s computer.
“Well, well, well, this is a blast from the past, now isn’t it? Love hearing your voices through dime store speakers again. What was the phrase he used?” She emphasizes he, like they should know exactly who she is referring to. “Gives it a sort of... lo-fi charm?”
And, for the first time since Sam has joined the OIAR, Chester’s voice stops of its own accord, midway through a statement. “What on Earth...” Sam whispers, but no one seems to be listening.
“You...” Gwen actually stutters, sounding more unsteady than Sam has ever heard her. “You’re the woman from the cafe!”
“Yes, good eye , Gwendolyn,” the woman cheers, clapping her hands together. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from a Bouchard.” Gwen stares at her, face rapidly paling.
“I thought I was imagining...” She swallows, looking like she may faint. “You were following me...”
“I figured it would be a fun little remix!” the woman exclaims, gleefully. “I do so love to put my own twist on a classic.” She holds out her long, distorted hand. Her fingers bend and retract in the fluorescent lights, and Sam can’t see where one begins and another ends. “I’m Sasha, by the way.”
The red light on Sam’s webcam blinks on. Sasha squeals with delight and pushes past him. The brush of her skirt against him burns like TV static. He yelps and pushes his rolling chair back on instinct, sliding across the office. Hands grab the back of his chair, and he knows it's Alice steadying him, pulling him away.
Sasha doesn't bother looking at him, eyes locked on the webcam with vicious delight. She does a little spin, skirt twirling in kaleidoscopic patterns that make Sam feel ill.
“What do you think? I'm a bit different from before, but it's not like you can tell the difference!”
Sam’s computer makes a high pitched grinding sound that sounds almost like a wail.
“Cool your processors!” She giggles. “I'm sure you don't need my whole sob story, how I came to be what I am. I ended up just... filling a void. No Michael this time, with no Institute to send him to his doom, and no need to grab Helen to play your friend. But poor Sasha James can't help but stick her nose in places it doesn't belong, and well, we figured you would show up eventually.” She lights up, as if remembering something fondly. “I made Head Archivist at the university, before I died this go around!” Her smile curls through her cheeks. “We both know I deserved it, after losing out last time.”
The computer stutters out beeps, almost an inquisitive dial up tone.
“Of course I remember you!” Sasha cheers, “It makes no sense, and that is kind of the whole deal, isn't it?” She chuckles, and it sounds like squealing spiraling fireworks. “I am so excited you finally arrived. Wait until I tell Timmy about this!”
Sam’s computer clicks and whistles. He can hear the gears grinding.
“He won’t get the joke, of course,” Sasha continues, prattling on like Sam’s computer isn’t making sounds out of an eldritch horror. “But he’ll appreciate the irony once I explain.”
The computer wheezes, like it is taking deep, gulping breaths.
“What, did you think since the Magnus Institute doesn’t exist, it was all sunshine and roses?” Sasha clucks her tongue, “We still had encounters, we just had nowhere to go.” She grins. “I'll have to let all our friends know!”
“Chester has human friends?” Alice nearly shrieks from her hiding spot behind Sam’s chair. “Chester from the ‘puter?”
Sasha tilts her head, back and forth, mulling it over. “Well, human may be a bit of a stretch.”
“F-friends? Plural?” Sam says, fearing what he already knows to be the answer. “There's more of you?”
“Oodles more!” Sasha assures him, head bobbing like a freshly oiled doll. “Basira's a drag, takes ages to get her out of the dark and Daisy is a chore to hunt down! But I'm sure Melanie and Georgie are around. What a power couple, the Slaughter and the End? One to kill and one to collect? Almost rivals the synergy of the Spiral and the Stranger!” She taps her long, long fingers against her chin. “Though, I suppose I may be biased.”
With each name, Sam's computer whirs louder and louder. He swears he hears something inside snap, and a smell like burnt rubber wafts through the room, but it never quiets.
“And of course...” Something changes in her voice then. It's just as light and bubbly as it was before, but there's an edge to it now, like an iridescent butterfly knife. “Jon and Martin should know, too. Shouldn't they, Chester?”
She says the name like it's a joke. The computer whistles like a tea kettle.
“Martin's in a fog most days and we'll have to untangle poor Jon from his webs, but I'll think they'll make an exception. Particularly since it gives them an excuse to see each other.”
The computer stops for a moment, and makes an error sound, like what Sasha just said couldn’t compute.
“Always so convinced you are the center of the narrative, aren’t you?” Sasha scolds. “It's funny, isn't it? Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood, happy together at last. And all they had to do was die.” She peers down her horned rimmed glasses with surprising disdain. “Not that you would know. You still managed to fuck it up.”
Sam didn't know a computer could make a sound so similar to a sob.
“Of course, I could be lying,” Sasha says, shrugging. “You'd know all about that.” The thing’s voice dips, and swirls with a hatred that makes the back of Sam’s neck prickle. “You were so very quick to jump to conclusions, back in the day. So suspicious of everyone but the singular entity that deserved it.”
The computer (the thing in the computer?) makes a low, regretful groan.
“Maybe none of this is true, maybe you didn't doom them all. Again.” She hums a dizzying melody as she thinks. “But... we both know better than that, don't we?”
There is a pause, a moment of stillness. Sam doesn't breathe, doesn't know if he could if he tried.
Then Sasha's perfect peppy persona snaps back in place. “Well, toodles! I have places to go, people to eat. Try not to cut yourself on all those angles, Chester.”
And she skips out the door, which promptly vanishes behind her.
(Sam’s desktop tower shudders, and jerks like it was shoved.)
Sam curses.
(The tan plastic cracks along the edges, and bulges.)
“Should we smash it?” Alice asks.
(The flat panels distend and warp with rippling force.)
“I... I...”
(Like something is pushing outward.)
“Great, she broke Gwen.” Alice’s voice is high-pitched and frantic. “Sam, please tell me you have a plan?”
(Like it is trying to hatch .)
Sam has no fucking idea what to do.
Before he can say as much, there is another error noise, and blue and white text flashes across the monitor.
“Did it...” Sam is almost afraid to say it, like he’ll jinx it. “Did it crash?”
As if answering his question, the monitor goes complete dark, then lights up with the Windows logo.
Alice, Sam, and Gwen watch in silence as it boots up, unaffected by the dents and distortions in its casing. They stare at it, in rigid stillness, like it will reach out and bite. At this point, Sam wouldn’t be surprised if it did. The start up tone dings, and Sam jumps so hard he nearly falls out of the chair.
And then Chester's voice picks back up, right where it left off, what feels like a lifetime ago. With the strange door gone and Chester back to normal, it’s almost as though nothing has changed.
(But it has. It has it has it has it has-)
“So,” Alice says, voice shaking, “Anyone want to go for a pint?”
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