Uh-

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A buzz.

Incorrect Passcode

281088

A curse.

Incorrect Passcode

Hissing through clenched teeth, a rough irritable growl was smothered, nostrils flared as eyes squinted down in bitter frustration. Blaring, shaky text glared back at him, bold and mocking, standing starkly against the contrasting background. Snickering insidiously, it seeped over his vision, into his brain, swirling neurotically as it poked and prodded at his deepest insecurities.

Failure highlighted his face, white light ghosting over his mangled features, emphasising every single physical imperfection- a final lasting bit of silent ridicule, salt being poured into his many wounds.

From the murky black depths of his eyes, the screen reflected back, warped and tarnished- ironically, the only light he seemed to have in his life.

7

Tries Remaining

Brows knitted together, long black tendrils crept across the edge of his vision. Sketched and searching, they slowly netted over his vision, twitching intermittently- lacking any sort of pattern, and worsening his deep rotted anxiety.

What did it want now? 

Phone is LOCKED

Try again in ONE minute

Hands shaking, Tom gripped the device tighter, sweat making the smooth plastic slick and so much harder to keep an accurate hold on. It fumbled awkwardly in his grasp, whispering sneered phrases of incompetence, the abuse cutting through to his core. 

Snorting in aggravation, he shut the device off in one violent motion, letting it sit quiveringly in the centre of his palm. Peering down at the fractured glass, his eyes narrowed into slits, watching as his dark, distorted reflection grinned widely, overly excited at being noticed. A lingering flare of rage swelled with his chest, and he closed his lids in defiance, counting the beats of his heart between measured breath.

"If the next words out of your mouth rhyme, I'll throw myself off of the roof." He churned out slowly, jaw clenched and teeth gritted.

Laughter filled his brain, carefree and unbothered by his plight. Loud and echoing, it rattled against his skull, wearing on his last nerve.

His fangs ached.

"What?" 

Startled, his eyes flew open, head swinging around wildly. Face titled, he took in the sight of a tall, brooding figure. Blanketed by the gloomy surroundings of the Observation Deck, a halo of light leaked out of the cracked open doorway, causing them to glow slightly. 

As the bits and pieces of his vision eventually began filling in, Tom absorbed the neatly kept uniform, a closed red turtle kneck clinging closely to his throat, a long blue trench coat falling open from the gentle slope of his shoulders. Lightly tanned skin stood smooth and unblemished, cradled by the dark brown flair of his hair, eyebrows well kept despite their thickness. 

Recognition rippled through his awareness, lost and vastly misguided.

Glancing down, he skimmed the nametag clinging proudly to his chest.

Pat. 

A look of bewildered confusion swept across Pat's face, brows crinkling as his mouth pressed into a thin line of questioning. Slowly, the longer they stared at each other, the expression morphed into one of resentment and mistrust, eyes darkening in his own recollection. 

Tom found himself unable to tear his gaze away.  

"It's you." It was spoken as though it was an allegation, full to burst with the combined promises of malaise, words twisting in outward disdain, "What are you doing here?" 

Stepping forward in a heavily implied threat, a fist clenched by his side, knuckles a hard, blank white. Boots thudding against the linoleum, they charged forward, pacing half of the room in one fast stride.

"Why?!" Pat snarled, shoulders hunched in preparation of an attack, and teeth bared. 

Blinking slowly, Tom realised he was shaking, digits spasming as he held in all emotion. With a certain blankness, he deliberately, very slowly, made himself glance away to the observation window, only to immediately return them back onto the enraged soldier. 

Breathing out harshly, "Who gave you the right to oversee Red Leader's operation? Who gave you the privilege to walk free from your cage? To live like the rest of us, as though you're not some sort of deranged animal?" 

Mouth dry, Tom stayed mute, stare burning through the other man's hate-filled glare. An emptiness swallowed him whole, worldview tilting as the niggling lines crept back across his vision. Something shuffled in his head, eager and drooling in anticipation. 

"Do not be afraid."

"I am the voice in your head."

"The friend that will guide you to the end." 

"I. Sing. Of. Rage." 

Was the vast void of nothingness in his mind a result of trauma, or the calling card of the beast?

Were those two options one of the same?

"You're disgusting- I'm astonished that you're even allowed to be breathing right now." Seemingly provoked by his lack of response, he took another step closer, face tightening further, "Does it please you? To ruin lives, to tear limbs apart- to watch as someone who loves you is put through hours of pain because of the careless nature of your actions? Are you-"

Static crackled through his veins, blood bubbling loudly in his ears- all other sound muted, becoming a dull roar that lurked anxiously in the background. Goosebumps spread across his flesh like a disease, itching like thousands of tiny needles, the hairs of the back of his neck rising sharply. Dense and thick, a hazy fog surrounded his senses, wrapping around his being in a vice grip, taloned claws reaching out to choke-

A clatter.

Shaken from his daze, Tom looked down.

Tord's phone.

He had dropped it.

Tord.

 Anchor. 

Safe.

It rested flatly against the floor, face down, fractured screen hidden from view. A silence washed over his senses, something relaxing in his head. The echoing vibrations of cheerful, mocking laughter stilled, stifling into a strangled gag.

Reign it in.

Strange, even something as simple as a token of Tord's presence was enough to snap him out of a would-be transformation. 

The significance behind the gesture made him sick.

Pat also seemed to be disturbed by the interruption, his own attention resting upon the abandoned piece of tech. Glancing back at Tom, he spoke slowly, with consideration, "Is that Red Le-"

"Your pussy is way too dry to be riding my dick like this,"  Tom spoke suddenly, tone flat and expression deadpan.

"Uh-" 


A/N: There's a spider in my bathroom the size of a fist. I saw it, gasped loudly, called it a bitch and left.

I've decided to name her Samantha.


Strawberry Panic {TomTord}Where stories live. Discover now