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A sharp sting thrashed in his chest, worming through his limbs, eventually reaching his fragile mind. His rough hands clutched his head as it ringed overbearingly. His throat closed up, as if he was trapped in a snake's unforgiving hold.
W-what's happening!?
His vision blurred, automatic tears loosened from his green eyes. His eyes stung, but he didn't know from what. He continued to writhe and stumble on his feet hastily. He desperately tried to grab onto something for support.
He fell backwards.
His breaths came out more quicker, more frantic and less successful. Panic flooded his insides, swimming inside his veins.
Don't panic, Thatcher. You've been trained for stressful situations like this.
His head throbbed, a banging sensation pummelled in him internally. His vision was hazy, he could barely make out the blurred shapes around him. In fact, everything seem to... fade?
It was gradual, the edges of his vision first blurred then dwindled away. And-
Oh, God.
He had become blind.
The realisation hit him like a brick. Time stopped. A numb feeling bled onto his fingers.
He couldn't think straight.
Oh my GOD
OH MY GO-
O H M Y G O D
Everything had gone dark, yet it became so much louder. The voices in his head screamed and shrieked over each other. There was no such thing as calm anymore.
He could feel every fibre of the thin carpet brushing over his slick hands. Sweat wet his clothes as his entire body overheated, almost as if he was being put over a flame.
He couldn't see anything, his mind whirled and ached as he tried to recall the layout of his basement.
He moaned in pain as he tried to roll over on his right side, the left side of his hip had gone completely numb.
Fuck, his legs were dead, a stinging stir of pins-and-needles prickled painfully from his toes up to his thighs. His throat was tight and his nose was blocked.
He couldn't breathe.
His ears tingled as he heard sharp ringing and... TV static?
Thatcher.... sensed something? The wails in his head diminished, but the headache still lingered.
The smell was the first thing he realised.
A soothing scent of paper and caffeine calmed his senses. The air carried the cool breeze of the air-conditioning and the homey aroma of his office in the MCPD.
And most dauntingly:
the sweet incense of Ruth's perfume.
Thatcher's throat opened up, he breathed in the nostalgic fragrance hungrily. It was a luxury he was robbed of almost 2 decades ago.
Despite not being able to see, he could imagine it vividly; the joyous atmosphere of the office, full of other cops and most importantly-
Ruth.
And for a moment... Thatcher felt bliss.
He could allow himself to be greedy, just this once.
A rough hand faintly drifted on his long hair, and stupidly, he rested into the textured palm. He longingly nuzzled against the cold hand, feeling his hot face cool down comfortably.
Oh, how he yearned for a human's touch.
Shakily, he reached out in that direction before touching something.
A leg?
The hand guided his head onto it's leg and continued its loving motion against his hair. Thatcher relaxed, drifting into his make-believe fantasy of the 1990s.
He wasn't thinking straight.
yo u
FO OL
.
The gears in Thatcher's head finally clicked and flew into work instantly.
Terror
reali sation
s ha me
His instincts exploded and he jolted upwards. Hastily, he scrambled backwards, dragging his dead legs in front of him. His fingers scratched the carpet, which only awakened him even more. He wheezed fearful breaths and spun his head in every direction. There was no use.
"No point in that, lieutenant. You're now blind." A low voice said, it was coming from... right in front of his face.
Thatcher shuddered and jumped back.
Oh shit.
Was it a man, or an alternate?
He couldn't see.
He began to spiral again. Fuck, he was scared. He didn't know what was going on- And in that moment, he hated himself for being so weak.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
He realised it the moment he shouted.
From the faint crackles of the TV static to the deceivingly comforting touch and atmosphere.
That was no man; that was an alternate.
"Let me make one thing clear here. I know what you're thinking. But, I am not an alternate."
He didn't believe that for a second.
"I am an Intruder. I go by many names; Six, Stanley, even Intruder would do." It chirped. Thatcher felt appalled; an utter disgust erupted inside him. It sounded so human Yet, an underlying uncanny, robotic tone ruined that effect. He could hear that wretched smile on its —probably disfigured— face.
How dare it sound so happy!?
Thatcher's disgust must've been visible as the thing grabbed his face-
"Get off me!"
He weakly punched the arm away. The hand was persistent. He felt two bony fingers pull his chin upwards.
He froze.
"It was an adorable sight earlier, you know."
His stomach dropped.
He realised what had happened before.
He felt sick.
So vulnerable.
Shit.
"Don't be scared, my lamb."
The hand caressed his face. Thatcher tried to move away but his back hit the cold, solid wall.
His arms went numb again and the grip wouldn't budge.
He was stiff as a board now, surrounded in darkness and an Intruder.
He was scared. But he couldn't show it.
He failed that already.
His eyes shot open (just to see nothing) as he felt an arm close around him and a hand cradling his head. Out of instinct, he reached for his gun shakily, only for his wobbly hand to find nothing.
The thing holding him laughed.
"Awww, do you not remember? You're no longer an officer now."
He didn't have his gun. Again, he flailed his arms against the Intruder, trying to push it away. Yet his efforts were in vain as his arms became unnaturally weak, numb and cold.
Thatcher swore in frustration.
Why is my body failing?
His heart pounded hard and fast, he felt paralysed.
"...What.. is happening to... me?" He forced the hoarse words out of his dry mouth. Each syllable scraped his sealed throat.
Six didn't respond, instead it put its hands under Thatcher and hoisted him up in its lap. Thatcher immediately recoiled in disgust, yet it's arm grounded him in place and his head was pressed against the thing's chest. He felt sick.
He was a grown man, once the greatest lieutenant! And yet he was letting himself get treated like this?
Thatcher tried to pull away but yet, under those intense feelings of repulsion and anger...
a small part of him couldn't help but ache for more. It was the raw feeling of loneliness that craved it.
He felt his face burn unwillingly. In his heart, a bubbling cauldron of humiliation and shame flooded out. He couldn't feel his legs and arms anymore. He couldn't see, his eyes still stung.
He was vulnerable; in the arms of an Intruder. He wanted to get out.
It had a firm grip on him, yet it was careful. That threw Thatcher off guard -its tenderness.
"I guess I could say that our Lord is fed up with you." It finally responded. A vague answer that only brought up more questions.
Dead silence. Only Thatcher's heavy breaths could be heard.
"Who... what's... going to happen... to me?" He wheezed out in pain.
Creepily, he could feel the demon rest its chin on his head. A slight stubble grazed his forehead. It must've had the form of a grown man.
You're letting a man your age treat you like this?
Pathetic, Lieutenant.
He tensed up, waiting for an answer.
It was so sudden.
It grabbed his neck with both of its gnarly hands, one on each side. It was squeezing it hard.
Thatcher already struggled to breathe, but now his airway was fully blocked. Frantically, he coughed and gasped yet the air never reached his lungs. Like a fish out of water, he was thrashing, weakly using his numb legs to kick the Intruder. His efforts were useless.
"It was cute seeing your constant attempts to stop us." It chuckled. With the oxygen slowly being blocked from his brain, he could no longer process its words.
"I'm surprised you're still alive. But that's the thing about you, isn't it, sweet thing? Always surviving when you shouldn't be."
It was all happening so fast. Yet, time went so slow.
"Rest now, my dear. Your time is up."
The pressure got tighter, overbearing, too much.
He was on the verge of death, he couldn't-
CRUNCH!
.
.
.
Intruder stared at the corpse in its arms happily. It was another job done.
It found it amusing in the past when it watched the lieutenant tinker with old recordings. Although, it did pity him. Carefully, it cradled the mutilated man in its arms and walked over to the TV. The blinding light illuminated the gloomy room. Like it always did, it jumped through the TV, body in its arms.
And there, they were both enveloped in static noise.
The man boy was gone.
A true tragedy indeed.