People have looked at Wells in terror before. The thing is that he's always earned it. Recruits, mostly- lads who've heard of the sergeant's reputation, and who don't think they can measure up. He's taken that fear and used it, yeah, but only to make damned sure those young men did every last thing they could to be worthy of the uniforms they wore. To keep their skins in one piece.
( Listen, the only people who go looking for trouble are Kamikazes, glory boys and full-on fucking fuckwits. )
This was not that fear. There was nothing of knowing to the fear behind their eyes. This was the unwitting terror of 'my routine is shattered, what do I do?'. This was the certainty that something was wrong and the inability to say what it was. This was-
-oh, God, this was the look of prey animals just before the herd broke and ran...
( We're on a different level here, Cooper. For that, I need men of action, not deeds. )
"It's going to be rather difficult to get anything out of him as long as he's like that," he observed, clinging to the loathsome thought of Ryan's phrasing for all he was worth.
"Sir," The first doctor let out a squeak- "It is a pleasure sir-" He cast a glance to his colleague. The man (They were only told that he was a male, nothing else) rolled his head upward to stare blankly into Preston's face.
Hurt there? Maybe. Mistrust and confusion? Definitely.
However it is very obvious that Preston's rage is barely contained as he steps forward-casting one last glance in Jurgen's direction-
Then back to Father. Mentally trying to send him the message of Move. Back.
He lifted an eyebrow, nodded; then he glanced to the shadow at his side.
Tilting his head to one side, just so, he stepped back a half-pace. Then, perhaps, another; he had the feeling there was going to be quite a lot of mess very shortly.
"I'll have him awake shortly sir." the second doctor seemed oblivious to the first-who was staring at Presotn and wondering why he was so darn close.
The room unbearably tense, Jurgen leaned back in his chair as far as he could. And Preston reacted.
Fingers closed around a scalpel lying on a table Preston darted to the left-dropping low and kicking the man's legs out from underhim. Torture devices were thrown across the room as the man fell back terrified-an inch before Preston was on him, slashing the man across his throat.
The second doctor had darted forward-bolting back across the room scrambling for a weapon-
His fingers closed on the button to sound the Alarm as Preston stood up in one swift motion he had his gun in hand thanks to the new holsters out of his sleeve.
One shot. The man's head exploded across the wall.
Five seconds. The headless body slumped forward and slid against the wall.
The words trailed off as the smell of blood hit Wells' nose. Full moon, and blood, and an uncomfortable situation that practically screamed for violence- about the only thing that made it possible for him to keep up his control was the reek of metabolized chemicals, broken-down Prozium in the blood stink. He grimaced, and fought back the feeling that his teeth ought to have been longer, or sharper.
"Right, yeah. Orders, Preston?"
Hopefully Jurgen wouldn't look his way, wouldn't demand an explanation for his face. Right now he didn't feel like explaining.
Slipping out of his attack-induced funk, Preston began working at Jurgen's straps, "help me find something to cover him with." Preston murmured, "Now we get him out of here."
"Y'know," said Wells, "if there's an intercom, I think we can arrange something really fucking easy." He smiled mirthlessly and slipped into the posh accent again. "'I'm afraid there's been a bit of a disaster in interrogation room B. We shall require a corpse disposal unit immediately.'" Back to his old accent. "At which point I pop the bastards one when they show up."
"Nah, not hardly, mate," said Wells, and did his best to smile. "My name's Harry Wells. I'm with Preston here."
It occurred to him that with the amount of blood and other fluids a place like this must surely see, there really ought to have been a, a, a tarp, or something-
He gagged a little at the smell and tried not to think of how long it'd been since his last meal. "Lemme give you a hand there, eh? Not much of a rescue if we can't get your arse out of here."
Wells flinched sharply, spinning to face the source of the light and sound with reflexes he didn't know he had. It took him a moment to realise he wasn't so much grimacing as baring his teeth-
"I don't think," he said, with painstaking care, "that not being noticed is an option any more. How about we just run like hell instead?"
( Listen, the only people who go looking for trouble are Kamikazes, glory boys and full-on fucking fuckwits. )
This was not that fear. There was nothing of knowing to the fear behind their eyes. This was the unwitting terror of 'my routine is shattered, what do I do?'. This was the certainty that something was wrong and the inability to say what it was. This was-
-oh, God, this was the look of prey animals just before the herd broke and ran...
( We're on a different level here, Cooper. For that, I need men of action, not deeds. )
"It's going to be rather difficult to get anything out of him as long as he's like that," he observed, clinging to the loathsome thought of Ryan's phrasing for all he was worth.
Reply
Hurt there? Maybe.
Mistrust and confusion? Definitely.
However it is very obvious that Preston's rage is barely contained as he steps forward-casting one last glance in Jurgen's direction-
Then back to Father.
Mentally trying to send him the message of Move. Back.
Reply
Tilting his head to one side, just so, he stepped back a half-pace. Then, perhaps, another; he had the feeling there was going to be quite a lot of mess very shortly.
Reply
The room unbearably tense, Jurgen leaned back in his chair as far as he could.
And Preston reacted.
Fingers closed around a scalpel lying on a table Preston darted to the left-dropping low and kicking the man's legs out from underhim. Torture devices were thrown across the room as the man fell back terrified-an inch before Preston was on him, slashing the man across his throat.
The second doctor had darted forward-bolting back across the room scrambling for a weapon-
His fingers closed on the button to sound the Alarm as Preston stood up in one swift motion he had his gun in hand thanks to the new holsters out of his sleeve.
One shot.
The man's head exploded across the wall.
Five seconds.
The headless body slumped forward and slid against the wall.
Reply
"... Jesus fucking Christ, Preston, where'd you learn to do that?"
Reply
Jurgen wanted to laugh but everything-well-everything hurt too much.
Reply
The words trailed off as the smell of blood hit Wells' nose. Full moon, and blood, and an uncomfortable situation that practically screamed for violence- about the only thing that made it possible for him to keep up his control was the reek of metabolized chemicals, broken-down Prozium in the blood stink. He grimaced, and fought back the feeling that his teeth ought to have been longer, or sharper.
"Right, yeah. Orders, Preston?"
Hopefully Jurgen wouldn't look his way, wouldn't demand an explanation for his face. Right now he didn't feel like explaining.
Reply
Reply
Nevertheless, he fell to looking.
Reply
Well-a cleric says nothing. They just tend to see.
"Here's hoping the other team's alright."
Cue a Halfsmile as Preston shouldered Jurgen's weight.
Jurgen for his part turned to face Wells in a half-awake daze, "....Father?"
Reply
It occurred to him that with the amount of blood and other fluids a place like this must surely see, there really ought to have been a, a, a tarp, or something-
He gagged a little at the smell and tried not to think of how long it'd been since his last meal. "Lemme give you a hand there, eh? Not much of a rescue if we can't get your arse out of here."
Reply
"Now if only there was a way to get him out of here without being noti-"
Preston froze.
Red lights darkened the white walls around them-complete with a blaring siren.
"Oh." Preston glanced up, eyes meeting wells, "shit.."
Reply
"I don't think," he said, with painstaking care, "that not being noticed is an option any more. How about we just run like hell instead?"
Reply
Leave a comment