mad world
To see a truck transporting goods throughout the city is not necessarily something out of the norm. In fact, it is a daily occurrence. However, today, a transport was sent out. A transport with no real destination and drop off. However, it does pull to park several blocks down from one Conrad Hotel
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This is different.
This is neurochemical, and the best psychic defences in the world won't keep that out. It gets in under his guard, accelerating his heartsbeat, and no matter how he trusts and turns psycically, he can't identify a rational root cause.
That's when the whispers begin.
Maybe you're going insane, they say. Maybe the damage done by the Master to your mind was more chronic than you allowed for. All that structure, all that control, crumbling and vanishing. Who do you become then, Koschelivar? What do you think you'll do?
Whispering and whispering....
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As he approaches the Conrad, he can feel that something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong. The scanners, modified to give him a slightly wider range of perception, register an atmospheric change. Humans, all around him, panicking, but it's very much not the Dalek that's the root cause.
He needs more information. He needs the Vesmier, whoever he is.
Another Time Lord...And that's good enough ( ... )
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His mind closes down on the whatever-it-is, and-
Doctor.
Another Doctor.
The fear has another grain to build upon, another knot, because the Doctor is here and the situation is dangerous and the Doctor is altogether too good at dying. He's on his feet immediately, out the door, scanning as he goes, keeping a hard hold on the signal of the other Doctor's mind. His psychic presence is schismed: on one level, it's screaming, thoughts racing at hexadecal time, a mass of fear and need-to-control and inability-to-control and doubt and trepidation and sheer existential agony.
There's another layer, though. And that one is steel-cold and steady, and wouldn't waver in its grip if the world shattered around him.
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::?!:: He puts together a mental projection of himself, of the robot he happens to be occupying, scanners working furiously. The Vesmier's coming closer.
::entity.Doctor({friendly}{concerned})!!:: The TARDIS's mode of communication seems to be coming more easily than others might, at the moment, but he makes an effort. ::Something's wrong!:: He tries to send information, something in the air, though he doesn't have the capability yet to gather more information than that. People are panicking. Something is very wrong.
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And then there was the gas.
Book breathes it in, and... It's everyone he's ever killed for the sake of the Alliance, every death that his perfect, pure Operative's faith took him through, and they're all here, all coming for him. He sees them moving around him, bleeding and screaming and begging for their lives all over again in front of him.
"No." It's a whisper, nothing more, as he falls to his knees. He switches to Mandarin, unthinking. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm sorry, I thought I was helping people, I thought..." He might be crying.
"Our Father, that art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name..." the prayer's old, familiar, and it helps not at all, but he keeps going, all mindless repetition, until he reaches one key line: "...and forgive us our trespasses..."
One of them comes closer, pressing bloodstained hands to his face, screaming and begging and screaming and screaming and screaming and his ( ... )
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When the gas spreads to the Conrad, he is one of the first hit, and though he tries to cover himself in time, it is too little too late.
Which is why the Shadow now seems to loom over him like Death itself, as clear as he'd seen it in his dreams.
Did you really think you could ever escape me, Claymore? "he" says menacingly, his voice that haunted his first few nights here seeming to echo. I will always be near. Around every corner, in every room, as inevitable as your own guilty conscience...
Though Farley continues to tell himself it's just something, that he's not really there, it doesn't work. After all, he knew the day would come when his own past would finally catch up to him. Now that it's here...
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Sark. Julian Sark. Vaughn stands, about to say something, warn Syd, anything, when she pulls out a gun and shoots him in the leg.
Vaughn falls to the floor, clutching his leg, his mind racing. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. He looks up at her, as Sark wraps his arm around her waist. She grins, and in a moment, he knows. That she's betrayed him, or he's been fooled again, or she's been doubled and the real Syd's dead. And he starts to cry. And there he is, crying and bleeding on the floor, with his worst enemy and the love of his life standing over him, both of them smirking.
Vaughn's never felt more worthless in his life, and he's scared, of what will happen next, of what they'll do to him, of what Jack'll do to him when he finds out.
In the basement, Kiki is just ( ... )
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No, rational fears- things she very well should be scared of never bothered her. So, naturally, of course, when the feargas slinks into the basement and she inadvertantly inhales it in, the fear it shows her would be more than a little ridiculous.
For Mitsuki, however, it's damn near panic-inducing.
She shrieks like a little girl and leaps onto the crate she was sitting on, bouncing from one foot to another as they come at her from all sides, clambering on top of each other to reach the top of the box with their white fur and their beady little red eyes and their twitchy little tails.
"God fucking dammit," Mitsuki swears through the panic that grips her ( ... )
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