He’s been shot before, even in Mr. Finch’s care. It’s never a good experience; the ripping sensation, the horrible agony that makes him just want to die instead of continue.
What’s to continue? Even before he finishes the thought, he can already hear Harold’s reprimanding voice in his head.
‘John, that’s not the way to think. We’ve got so many criminals, so little time.’ He knows it’s sad that he has a Finch conscience now; it must have bloomed up in the past year. Dazedly, he figures that this time has finally cracked him.
It’s the fact that he’s alone, Finch’s voice isn’t in his ear and he hasn’t panicked or had one of these episodes in a long time, and tied to a chair that makes this different than other captures.
This feeling of helplessness is like getting shot. It’s enveloping, leaving him winded and unable to breathe, the only air escaping deep, ragged breaths.
He can hear the laughs, feel the rage and helplessness.
Finch. God, Finch I need your help. Finch-
It’s the last thought before he succumbs to awaiting darkness.
A/N: I’m REALLY nervous about this. I’ve never done a PoI fic before, and it’s been awhile since I’ve written fanfiction. And this is just a preface, don’t worry. ^.^ Please comment! People reading keep the story alive.