Blood spray. That was all, that and the gentle sway of a figure in the distance. Then came the scream. High pitched, painful and deafening. It tore into Sam's eardrums making him mirror sound himself. Gunshots, screams, shouts.
Tyler!
Sam Help Us.
Where were they coming from? Sam spun his aching head from side to side only seeing black. Black. Black… Darkness forever.
-
Sam Tyler screamed. Just like the one in his dream, ear splitting and deafening, as if the shadows from the walls and ceiling were coming to get him and as he closed his mouth, he noticed that he was alone, as normal. Alone… Forever alone and forever terrified. He rubbed his eyes hard and stared and his television, the test card girl staring sweetly out at him. The clown seemed
"Don't you look at me like that, bitch…I swear I'm not in the mood to talk to you today."
Gene Hunt was looking more irritated than ever. Standing at the door of his office, a large cigarette hanging limp from his mouth, a disturbed expression plastered across his face. Something was missing, something important.
"Mornin' Guv," Sam remarked, sliding onto the chair behind his desk, a little shaken, a little lonesome. Noting on this, it took Gene only a few seconds to react. He slid onto Tyler's desk and grinned.
"Any ideas?" Sam blinked.
"Ideas? For what?" Gene's smile faded and he leaned in closer.
"That murder that happened yesterday. Y'know, the bloke that died." Sam snorted at the snotty remark.
"No. Not yet." His hands were shaking like crazy and he had to sit on them to stop the Guv noticing. "Look, I've only just got in; I'm tired, and sick of this place. Just leave it, I'll think up ideas in a minute, ok?"
"Ok," Gene mimicked, offering Sam a dirty look before waltzing off to ask Ray the exact same question, but hoping for a better and more intelligent response. Sam grimaced and sighed.
"I'm bloody sick of 1973… I'm bloody sick of this station and I'm bloody sick of you…"
