:the lights immediately cut out. No flicker or fade, just an instant plunge into darkness. A crackle of vicious static over the intercom in the room- followed by a horrific scream, the sort only made by a dying man. It's not a scream that most would have heard before- but the policeman has.:
It was a jarring transition without a warning or a gentle easing into. The lights shut off quickly, leaving the policeman to be swallowed up in the shroud of darkness. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to his newly found situation. He had to see where he was going. Perhaps the electricity went out in the base, as well? It happened more than one would think. The mountainscape lead to many possibilities and ways the electricity could be knocked out. He hoped ice wasnât involved. He hated having to deal with ice on the wires.
Taking a step forward, he heard the burst of static coming from the intercom from his room. That intercom had remained quiet all this time. His Advisor had been silent, not giving him much in the way of commands. He used to hear his superior speak through it giving the base news, revised rules and the likes. But now, instead of a voice, it was static.
Static⌠that turned into a scream.
His nerves surged up his spine, causing him to jerk into action. His hand instantly went to the gun, holstered at his side. He unsheathed it and brought it up, expertly pointing it at a fixed point in the darkness. His body remained still, unshakable, his mind resolute. That was the case, until he recognized the scream.
A scream from his past. The scream of a dying man. The scream from a memory, the real one where he got his scar. He didnât get it from a training accident. He didnât get it from being clumsy. How could he lie and cover up the truth? How could he ever lie to anyone?
âDetrick,â Officer Meyers called out, clearly forgetting that the civilian from his past was dead. His eyes glazed over, and he found himself standing in another place, at another time. A woman bleeding profusely, a knife to her throat. A child, on the ground before her, prone. A father crying out for help. A crowded plaza full of panicking people. A bomb threat. A killer standing before him. Weapons drawn. Blood. So much blood. âSei still! Ich bin schon unterwegs!â
He stopped. He blinked twice, and the vision drifted from his sights. He gasped, the scream still heard. It chilled his blood. He lowered his gun, finger off the trigger. He hadnât realized he echoed the very same words he spoke to that man, the one screaming over the intercom.
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