Chapter Text
In the living room of one Thomas Sanders, of Gainesville, FL, the cheerful, dulcet sounds of the Steven Universe theme ring out.
Thomas grabs his phone.
Unknown number, it says.
The personification of his Anxiety (whose name is Virgil, and yes, he does name personified aspects of his personality, because Thomas is incredibly far from what anyone would ever consider neurotypical) leans over from his perch on top of the back of the couch.
"...not even a local area code," Virgil scoffs. "Probably a scam."
The personification of his, shall we say Self Interest ( who because Thomas was also very Much Catholic-raised, looks vaguely serpentine and who is named Janus), leans over to see.
"California area code - ooh! It could be that director or his assistant giving you a call back about that audition last week!" he says, brightening. "You should pick up, just in case. I mean, what's the worst that could happen - it's a scammer and you hang up on them?"
Virgil, biting his lip, admits with a shrug and a sigh:
"Ugh...fair enough. Its not impossible, it's not like you have their numbers in your phone. You should pick up just in case. BUT, I'm totally Summoning Logan if it seems the least bit - "
He never gets to finish the sentence.
Instead, when Thomas presses the button to pick up the call, his "Hello?" is answered by an absolutely earsplitting electronic shriek - some obnoxious, nightmarish combination of the dialup internet connection sound, fax machine transmission sounds, and Hell Itself, if Janus were forced to pick a description.
But the worst part, is that it is, somehow, more than just a horrible sound.
What it is, Janus will realize all too late, is an attack - an external intrusion, an invasion into their beloved center's very psyche.
The whole world lurches.
Janus feels himself thrown sideways, and to the ground - no wait, not to it, he realizes: through it.
He is, he realizes, sinking out of almost-real world -- which would normally be fine, except it is happening so wrongly, all sudden and all nauseatingly off-balance, and distinctly against his will.
Next thing he knows, he is in his Room, staring at the door.