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On the morning of July 30th, 2016, Michael had plans. Yes, he was going to meet with his nice Archival Assistant and keep her very safe indeed. The Prentiss attack had been the day before, Michael knew, and it wanted to make sure that she was okay. Prentiss hadn’t killed her, Michael had been sure of that. Sasha James would see him in the café and decide to visit him or ignore him and then it would do whatever it did next.
He wanted to think that the worms might not have frightened her too badly, though such luxuries were not common at the Magnus Institute. So, to assess her wellbeing, Michael waited for Sasha James patiently.
Except Sasha James, the one who was , did not see him or enter the café to have a chat with it. It did not know the “Sasha James” who came in and sat down across from him. It did not bother smiling at the Stranger. That was what was in front of him, wasn’t it? A Stranger. A Stranger who took its Sasha. What a very bold Stranger indeed.
The Distortion was amused. Michael was livid. That had been its Sasha . He could not remember quite who its Sasha was, but she was no Stranger.
This Stranger who sat in Sasha’s place was very short, with pale skin and had a straight, blonde bob. The eyes were lifeless and hospital blue, sitting above a meaningless smug smile. “Hello again, Michael. What have you come for today?” The voice was flat and inhuman.
“Sasha.”
“Yes?” The Stranger looked at him expectantly, as though they might have fooled Michael.
“I had come to see Sasha.” Its tone was not friendly, not like how it was with Sasha.
“Here I am,” the smile they wore disgusted Michael. That was not Sasha.
“And yet she is not,” The Distortion did not like being taunted.
“Aw, I was hoping I’d have you fooled. It would’ve been a spectacular show…” They wandered off into thought with a satisfied hum.
Michael went to leave after that.
“Awww, don’t be like that! She was just an Archival Assistant. She was fair game. I needed to take someone to infiltrate the Archives, and she wandered right into her doom. You’ll forget all about this little kerfuffle once I’ve killed the Archivist. You like your Wanderers, don’t you? I’m starting to see the appeal myself.”
“She was my game, and it is never fair.” Michael sneered with venom and static. For a moment, the surrounding walls shifted a painful acid shade of green with the power he’d let bleed into the words. Ah, Michael had always been quite the bleeding heart, ever defensive.
“You make her sound important. Hah, an Archival Assistant? Those ignorant lambs to the Slaughter, or Stranger in this case, any entity really, Distortion, they’re so easy it’s laughable . This wasn’t about you , or her , this is about what it always is; killing the Archivist and injuring the Eye.” Their bark of laughter was cruel and off-putting between their monotone words.
“Should the lamb die for its innocence? If not, would its innocence Become something else? Not much to do than feed on the lamb, now.” It opened a trapdoor and left after it spoke. Michael Shelley had been an innocent, ignorant lamb to the slaughter. But Sasha had not. Sasha James was not meant to be tossed into some Fear or another, like Gertrude Robinson was still the Archivist and sacrificing her Assistants. They had not even permitted Sasha a quiet End. The thing that wore Sasha’s face did not truly wear Sasha's at all, like the identity was an ill-fitting mask, went masquerading about, propping up a dead woman on wooden rods and puppeting around her corpse. The Distortion was certain that the resemblance would have been uncanny if they had resembled each other at all.
But Sasha’s face had not been so doll-like, Michael was sure of it. And she had been intelligent. She had to have been if Michael had sought her out. She deserved better than this, Michael thought as it wandered through its corridors.
Over the course of the next week, Michael found itself awfully inclined to take Stranger marked Wanderers. How dare the Stranger take what he had been so clearly protecting? What he so clearly had cared for?
No, that wasn’t quite right. The Distortion did not care for things, as a person did. But Michael had cared for so much, so deeply, so quickly.. The line between Michael Shelley and Michael the Throat of Delusion Incarnate wasn’t a very clear one, even to itself.
At least one thing could be certain, the Distortion did not care for much. That it knew. When it did, it usually ate whatever it was rather quickly. There were some, though, like the Archival Assistant. Stray cats mostly, if Michael was honest. One or two lost or Lonely children. Michael had never tried to protect much, knew it couldn’t. The Distortion didn’t take as many Wanderers as he could, though. He chose not to. He did not say why. Perhaps he couldn’t.
Michael needed to find some sort of sabotage he could help sow for the Stranger in retribution. They knew what they were doing when they replaced and murdered its Sasha. Michael was not new to murder, not by a long shot, especially not murder etiquette among avatars. You do not kill what another protects without cause. Not without severe consequences, at least. That was the foundation of most “Avatar etiquette” rules. It seemed the Distortion had gotten a bit.. lax. Since Michael, it seemed to have slipped on repercussions. But Sasha James had done nothing wrong. The killing hadn’t even been in any relation to the Distortion. Sasha James had just been killed like she was a regular innocent, an ignorant lamb . Like Michael wasn’t protecting her. No, that would not stand.
But what to do about this… Kill the Stranger? Too simple a revenge.. Kill every Stranger? Alas, that would be the definition of overkill. Pass along a hint to that stupid new Archivist and see what he does with it? Hmm, tempting. The Stranger would hate to be foiled by some weak Eye aligned “lamb” who hadn’t even Become yet.
Yes, Michael would stroll into the Archives one day and drop a warning. Maybe even pick up a Wanderer or two on the way. If this Archivist has any brains about him, he’ll be fine.
He tried to imagine Sasha, the true one. The kind one. She had been kind. It remembered somehow, with nothing to back it up, that she fed stray cats, and comforted crying strangers. Was that how Michael met her? Did he see her kindness? Did she tell him? He could not remember. There were flashes, though. Flashes of a woman that the Distortion, despite its effort, couldn’t remember the face of. The voice. Michael thought it would be beautiful, in the way of sunrise after a night of pouring rain.
But that sun had set now, and been replaced with another. It would soon set a Wanderer loose, perhaps when the weather became cold, to go towards that wretched Institute, and follow them in, giving Michael all the reason to appear. Yes, that would do well.