Tord leaned against the door, arms crossed, looking at the scene in front of him. Tom, snoring softly, leaning back in Tord's chair, wrapped in a blanket. And of course, severely injured. As Tord was peeling Tom off himself, he noticed Tom's ankle was twisted in the very wrong direction. Broken.
What had he gotten himself into? Why did he get this job? To follow Eva of course. But now, he wasn't even sure what he wanted to do it anymore. He had gotten himself too deep.
Yeah, tomorrow I'm just..not gonna show up. And the day after, and the day after that one. I won't come back. I'll find a new job. I'll leave this whole thing behind. But what if...
Tord slid down the door, his head gripped in his hands. Why was this such a hard decision?
What about Tom? I can't just leave him here. But what if...
Tord's moral dilemma was broken by the sound of shouting in the hallway. He turned around and opened the door, starting down the hallway. Just as he turned the corner, he slammed into someone else.
Dr. Richard-fucking-Roskam.
"Watch it, fucker!" Roskam shouted. A flicker of recognition flitted through his face as he realized who he was yelling at. "You," he growled as his face darkened. "Where is it?"
"Whe-where is what?" Tord asked in reply.
"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about! 5043! Your weird fuckin boyfriend." Roskam said, each word dripping with poison.
"Look man, I have no idea what your talking about. I haven't seen To-5043 in a month."
"Yeah, right. Go find it then!" Roskam shouted at Tord. Roskam stood there, and watched him run around the corner. He waited until the patter of shoes was so far he couldn't hear it, then continued on to where he was heading in the first place.
Tord's office.
He got to the door and was about to open it, when he noticed some sort of dried substance on the handle. He scratched at it, it came off on his fingernail. He would run some tests later, now he had something to do. He opened the door, and there it was. You would think Tord would try to hide it or something, turn the swivel chair around, or lock his door.
Oh wait, he can't do that anymore. Not after he lost his nice office to me and came to this closet. Roskam thought with a grin. What sat, sleeping, in front of him was enough to get Tord...terminated. He shuffled through the papers on the floor, before a small thought hit him.
What if this thing wasn't asleep? What if it was awake and getting ready to attack him? Roskam scanned its body for any signs of tenseness, any signs that it wasn't asleep. It was so weirdly human. Soon, his eyes landed on its feet, on of its ankles twisted at an awkward angle. Unless this thing has flexible bones, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Still, he stepped less heavily as he made his way around the back of the chair. Positioning his hands on the back rest, he prepared himself for what he was going to do. It was simple, just push the chair forward and knock that thing off, maybe kill it. Then he would be rewarded and probably get to watch Tord die.
Perfect.
He took a deep breath, and lurched forward. The thing flew off the chair, landing with a thump on the ground. It head smacked painfully into the solid floor, causing it to wake up. It groaned in pain and blinked open tired, black eyes. Roskam bolted over its collapsed body and through the door.
"I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT!" he screamed into the hallways. Quickly, a rush of people in lab coats hurried into the hall crowded around him and 5043.
Roskam reached down, where 5043 was covering its ears from the noise, roughly grabbing 5043's arm, and hoisted it up for all to see. A cheer went through the crowd, causing 5043 to hold its remaining hand even closer to its ear. Roskam took no care in making sure 5043 was fine, only in getting his reward. Heavy steps were taken back to 5043's cell, which resulted in Roskam remembering the the door had been busted down, then even more dragging towards an empty D-Class cell.
The crowd had eventually dissipated, leaving only a few stragglers to follow the cell door slammed shut, they all laughed and congratulated Roskam. He was in the spotlight.
Now to take care of the other problem.
...
Tord.
...
He was still wandering around, not knowing that Tom had been found. What a surprise it must've been, to come around a corner and get jumped by a group of men who are twice your size. And a surprise it was indeed. Suddenly, Tord was on the ground, being kicked and shouted at. One of them picked him up by the collar of his shirt, and someone else punched him. Dropped again, he felt hot blood begin to pour out of his nose. Someone grabbed him by one of his signature hair horns, and pulled.
It hurt.
Some undicernable time later, tow of them picked him up by the shoulders and half dragged him somewhere. He was losing consciousness when he was slammed into a metal chair and a glaring light was shone in his face. It wasn't even 30 seconds before he was cuffed to the metal table.
"Why were you hiding a Keter class SCP in your office?" a cold voice shouted at him, too loud.
Tord's blurry vision cleared up enough to realize it was the Site Director.
If the sight director was here, it meant someone fucked up big time.
He just didn't realize it was him.
"Wha..?" Tord mumbled.
"You were keeping SCP-5043 in your office, supposedly hiding it for unknown reasons. How do you plead?"
"I..I didn't put-put that there. He caaame to me." he slurred, blood dribbling from his chin.
"Yeah, yeah. Now here's what's gonna happen. First, we can't get rid of you, because without you, pretty sure we wouldn't be able to control 5043, and we need it. Second, were gonna make sure you stay focused on the task at hand."
"M'kay." Tord replied, before letting his head fall down to touch his chest. He felt something being wrapped around his head, he assumed some sort of bandage, or maybe a towel. Just as Tord was about to drift off, his head snapped up as what felt like lighting bolting through his head.
Pounding
Pounding
Pounding into his skull.
Something was being taken. What was being taken? They were taking something. What were they taking? He tried to form a cohesive thought, but nothing full could come together. Fragments, pieces, nothing.
It stopped.
He felt like his hair was smoking, like his brain had been singed.
His head slowly lifted, until he was face to face with the Site Director.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Nothing."
...
Tom was cold. And very tired. It seemed to be that way a lot now. A pounding headache woke him up, throbbing through his skull.
It hurt.
It wasn't a headache that woke him up. The headache was caused by a loud, fuzzy noise. The noise became clearer and clearer until he could tell it was a person, yelling in his face. Instinctively, his hand swiped up to get rid of the noise. It was weak and feeble, and only caused the noises to get louder, and for someone to hit him back, much harder. He felt something hot run down the side of his face. Once again, he was yanked up out of a corner and dragged around. He hissed quietly as his ankle brushed the ground, and used what little strength he had left to lift it up.
Lots of white in these hallways. They should paint em', Tom's muddled head said to him. Yeah, with not too many colors, but y'know, a little pop here or there would be nice.
As he was regaining consciousness, whoever was dragging him around went through some white double-doors, and he was lain on a bed. A bed. It was so nice, he could sleep. He even tried to. Until a familiar face appeared in front of him.
That woman.
The one who did what she did to him.
Another instinct kicked in.
Get away.
He screamed, suddenly extremely alert and awake, and began to scramble to get away. He fell off the bed and onto the hard floor. In front of him was a nice dark space he could hide in. Nice and dark and cozy, where he could hide from her. He crawled to that place. He was still screaming. Other people were screaming.
Was he awake? Was he even alive anymore? Was this whole thing a bad dream, and any second he would wake up in his apartment and go to work? He reflected back to a time in that awful place, when he woke up happy for once. How he never wanted to leave. That was gone. His emotions were opposite.
He wanted out.
All screaming had ceased, and now a kind looking face was peering down at him.
"Hey there, why don't you come on out, and we can fix you up? How does that sound?" She asked politely. Tom thought this sounded very nice, and he wanted his ankle to stop hurting. But that woman was up there, and she would just hurt him again.
"No thank you." Tom tried to say, but all that came out were tears.
This was the second time he'd cried here. The first wasn't that long ago. He'd held his resolution for a long time, and now all that he'd carefully held together came apart. And so did he.
Gentle arms grabbed his wrists, and he began to freak out again. She made gentle hushing sounds, trying to calm him down before he lost more energy to his anxiety. His heart was racing, and with what little sanity he had left, expected his eyes to be white. Within the blink of his terrified eyes, he was on the bed. Something sharp pricked his hand and he yelped from the sudden pain.
"It's okay, this is just some medicine that will make you feel very tired, don't worry." the kind voice reassured him. Tom felt weight on his eyelids, and glanced frantically around the room, searching for that woman. When he didn't see her, he felt safe, safer than he had felt in a long time.
...
woooo boy i think thats the longest chapter ive written so far
almost 2000 words, which is prettyy sick
just like me
i havent breathed out of my left nostril for 3 days please help-
-trashbag
