Distortion
This is the sequel to The Fall. It takes place several years after the original short story and involves the same characters...plus one. The story suffers a tiny bit from too many ideas going into it, I think, but ultimately works out well. I had several false starts on it, so some of the elements from the original ideas have bled over into the final version.
This has also become canon in the lives of the characters, and is an important first step to a direction I was ultimately planning to take Sherlock.
----------------
Sherlock blew his nose as he opened the door and shuffled inside the hotel room. He hated long drives. His eyes blinked as he tried to focus on the digital red readout on the clock. 11:37 PM. He dropped his bag onto the thread-bare seat, stripped off his coat and draped it over the back of the chair before flopping onto the musty bed.
“I hate hotels. And driving. Three hours on the road after work…that’s brutal,” he snorted, coughing. “I suppose I don’t have much of an option though. They didn’t even say please. Lousy ingrates…”
He coughed a little before rolling onto his back, rubbing at his forehead.
“You can’t tell me this cold is psychosomatic,” he muttered.
He was just about to close his eyes when he heard a key slip into the lock. He looked over as the door clicked and the handle turned. A grey-haired man bundled in a brown coat shuffled inside, his satchel following him in. Sherlock sniffed, smelling the distinct scent of a sickly-sweet smoke laced with a hint of acrid medicine.
“Sydney?” Sherlock sat up a little.
Sydney’s head came up, his green eyes looking to the man on the bed. Then, he grinned, smoke rising from the cigarette in his mouth. “Well, look at who the cat dragged out of the lab. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Not like I wanted to come,” Sherlock pulled himself up, resting his back on the headboard.
“Central force you?”
“Yeah. I told them I was sick, but they didn’t listen.”
“They never do,” Sydney agreed.
Sherlock tried to peek out the window. “Did you bring that beat-up truck of yours?”
“Of course,” Sydney shrugged. “I have nothing else to drive.”
“I’m surprised that junk heap made it.”
“That junk heap works fine.”
“Move out of the way,” an unfamiliar voice came from behind Sydney. “It’s cold out here!”
Sydney lurched forward a little, taking a step into the room. He laughed as he looked back behind him. “Alright, alright,” Sydney walked into the room proper.
A new man stepped in and the first thing Sherlock noticed was his age. This person was a kid compared to him and Sydney, being at least ten years younger than both of them. The newcomer shuddered beneath his smoke-grey jacket and after he got in, he turned to the door and reached out a hand covered in a woven fingerless glove to close the door. He turned back to Sydney, running his exposed fingertips through his bright orange hair.
“Who’s that then?” Sherlock asked, reaching for a tissue. “Some random, unlucky agent?”
“What do you mean by ‘unlucky’?” Sydney puffed his chest.
“They’d have to be pretty unlucky to get stuck with you,” Sherlock smirked.
“What does that make you?”
“The man with the worst damn luck in the world,” Sherlock laughed.
Sydney laughed too, dropping his satchel and shedding his coat. “Well, he’s sort of my unofficial partner.”
“Unofficial?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. He’s sort of a new recruit.”
“How can he be ‘sort of’ a new recruit? You’re either new, or you aren’t,” Sherlock blew his nose.
“My family’s been part of Oris Omega for a while, but I just now joined after my dad’s death,” the stranger chimed in. “I didn’t even know it existed until I met Sydney.”
“I see,” Sherlock nodded. “Well, you’re in good company. Neither Sydney nor I had family members to precede us. We’re fresh blood.”
“Yeah, Sydney told me.”
“So,” Sherlock coughed in his sleeve. “What’s your name?”
“Chester,” his blue eyes looked the other way.
Sherlock’s mouth went dry. “Come again?”
“It’s Chester Maddoc,” he complied.
Sherlock’s head felt like it had just been dropped into a dryer, hot and dizzy and in motion. He put a hand to his head. Sydney noticed the color had left his friend’s face, so he quickly turned to Chester.
“Hey, uh, I’m a bit hungry,” he pulled out his wallet, picking a twenty out. “How about you go get us something to eat?”
“What? Why?” Chester’s eyes barely met Sydney’s.
“I’m starving,” Sydney pressed his truck keys into Chester’s hand. “Get something for yourself too, ‘kay?”
“O-okay,” Chester muttered as he was shoved out the door.
Sydney listened at the door for the roar of his engine and waited until he couldn’t hear it. He then spun back around and came over to Sherlock, sitting on the bed across from his friend.
“What’s the matter?” Sydney’s face was drawn.
Sherlock looked away. “Nothing, it’s just…nothing.”
“No, something’s wrong. You’re white as a sheet.”
Sherlock sighed, coughing a bit. “Remember that day, years ago, when that man came in a shot me?”
Sydney nodded. “How could I not?”
“Do you remember what he said?”
Sydney shrugged. “Lots of nonsense. The fall, destruction. He blamed you all for it. So? Why does that matter now?”
Sherlock looked up at Sydney, his hand unconsciously rubbing his left shoulder. “He also said…that a kid named Chester was part of it.”
Sydney tilted his head. “Did he?”
“Yeah,” Sherlock took a deep breath.
“I forgot all about that.”
“I hadn’t. I still have nightmares,” Sherlock shuddered and sniffed. “I thought it was behind me…and then you come in with a kid named Chester…”
Sydney sighed. “Come on now, you can’t be that shaken by it.”
“I am,” Sherlock snarled.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Easy for you to say!” Sherlock roared. “You’re out in the field! You’re in danger all the time. All day, every day, dealing with Rifts and Ticks and such. You face life and death every day and it’s your choice! But me! I’m a doctor, a researcher. I stay in the lab. I’m not supposed to get attacked,” he lowered his head into his hands. “What happened that day shook my faith in the security and safety of my position, but you couldn’t possibly understand that,” he chuckled a little to himself. “I know it’s probably just a doctor’s paranoia, but every time I feel ill, I worry I’ve been poisoned or infected with a future disease. I jump at every sound when I sleep. I get nervous when an unfamiliar person walks by…” he coughed, and paused. “I’m a wreck and I can’t pull out of it, but recently, I thought I was starting to get over it…until tonight.”
Sydney watched Sherlock, wiggling his cigarette. “Sherlock, he’s a good kid. He really is. You should give him a chance.”
“So, they sent you to site six too, huh?” Sherlock blew his nose after a tense silence.
“Yeah, clean-up’s getting crazy,” Sydney shook his head. “Too many sites, not enough people.”
“To be honest, I’m a bit terrified. I’ve never done anything outside the lab,” Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck.
Sydney chuckled, standing and thumping Sherlock on the back. “You’ll be fine. Chester and I are here to make sure your sorry ass doesn’t get in trouble.”
Sherlock chuckled. “Let’s only hope it doesn’t. That’s not how my luck tends to go.”
The two sat in thought, Sherlock staring blankly at the wall and Sydney looking out the window. The calm was disturbed by a thunder clap outside. His breath caught as he waited for what came next, and his eyes darted around as the lights flickered in the room. They spluttered back on and held, causing Sherlock to let out his breathe. He looked at Sydney, who shrugged.
“These places always have faulty generators,” Sydney ground out the last of the cigarette in the ashtray. “Nothing to worry about I don’t think.”
“I hope not,” Sherlock muttered, eyeing the overhead light.
The lights sputtered once again before just dying. The room was dropped into darkness. The black was absolute. No lights in the room were on, no lights from the outside filtered in. Just a pinch of moonshine afforded a tiny bit of illumination.
Sydney’s eyes were just adjusting to the frail beams of the moon when an eerie stream of pulsing blue light started to thread its way through the room. Weak at first, barely noticeable, it grew in intensity until it was enough to see by. Sherlock shuddered as Sydney passed a hand through the ethereal material.
“Is it what I think it is?” Sherlock asked.
“’Fraid so,” Sydney nodded.
Chester burst in, eyes wide, gasping for air. “Everything’s dead! Even your truck!”
Sherlock pulled out his pocket watch from his jeans. Clicking it open, he saw that the two hands were spinning wildly. “There’s one nearby.” He slipped it back in its place.
“What? A Tick?” Chester asked.
“Yup,” Sydney nodded. “So fresh, the watch hasn’t even had a chance to pinpoint it yet.”
“But…what about the lights and this…blue stuff?” Chester waved a hand through the glowing blue smoke. He shivered. Even with the protected part of his hand, he could feel the chill of the smoke. It nearly numbed his finger tips, like plunging them into ice.
“A rift just opened,” Sherlock explained. “The phenomenon acts as an electromagnetic pulse, basically. It wipes out absolutely everything electronic. Lights, cars, clocks, everything. It would stop our pocket watches from detecting their presence too, except they have no electronic components at all, as I’m sure you know since you’re in Oris Omega and all.”
“Someone a long time ago thought it would be a good idea,” Sydney noted. “And you know about what a rift time distortion field can do to people without the proper protection.”
Chester nodded. “Thankfully, the pocket watches protect us,” he put his hand in his pocket rubbed the smooth cover of his watch.
“Did you get my truck back at least?”
Chester sighed. “Kinda. I got it to the corner. It’s not that far from here.”
“Good,” Sydney nodded. “We need to go and get supplies.” He grabbed Sherlock’s coat and tossed it onto the doctor.
Sherlock coughed. “Guns?”
Sydney smiled. “Among other things.” He grabbed his own coat and headed out the door. “I like to call them…tools.”
“But, I don’t understand,” Chester asked, jogging to catch up with Sydney. “I’ve been in Rift Distortion fields before and electronics worked.”
“They will come back in an hour or two real time,” Sydney replied.
“And the blue mist?”
“It is only visible when there is no other light,” Sherlock supplied, eyeing the frozen people in the parking lot. “The more light, the harder it is to see.”
“I’ve been in low-light situations,” Chester protested.
“You’ve been too preoccupied to notice then. Still, even if you can’t see it, you can feel it. It causes the chill most associate with the Distortion Fields.”
The three paused as a grumble rippled over the area. Sydney was tense, his eyes scanning the area, looking for every detail. Sherlock was watching Sydney, tying to read his thoughts.
“I don’t think it’s nearby,” Sydney stated, loosening a little.
Sherlock snorted.
“Okay, well, not on top of us,” Sydney corrected.
“That’s better,” Sherlock agreed.
They closed the gap between them and the battered covered truck. Sherlock looked around. The blue glow was growing, pulsing and writhing like an angry snake with a mouse. It twisted his stomach and knotted his throat. People around them were frozen in place, though he was willing to bet they were moving ever so slowly if he had the time to stare long enough.
“You really were close,” Sydney noted. “Color me impressed.”
“I told you,” Chester stated. “I even pulled it to the curb.”
“I see that,” Sydney nodded his approval. He held out his hand and Chester pulled the keys out of his hoodie pocket, placing them into Sydney’s palm.
Sherlock coughed, pulling his coat tighter around as he gazed up to the sky. Stars twinkled high overhead. There wasn’t even a cloud in the sky. It was almost a picture-perfect night. Sydney, on the other hand, was opening the window on the truck cover.
“So, uh…how do you two know this is what happens when a Tick comes through?” Chester asked, shifting from one foot to the other. “It’s not like they teach you this.”
Sherlock’s eyes glanced at Sydney, and finding his friend was already climbing onto the truck, answered, “Years ago, a rift opened up right on top of Central Headquarters. Sydney and I both happened to be there at the same time.”
“Did you know each other then?”
“Nope,” Sydney’s head emerged from the truck bed, holding several guns. “That’s where we first met.”
“If you want to call it that,” Sherlock added, receiving the offered pistol from Sydney.
“What happened?” Chester asked, taking a larger gun from Sydney.
“Let’s not get into that right now, yeah?” Sydney sat on the tailgate, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it with a silver Zippo he produced from his coat pocket. “Mommy and daddy will tell you when you’re older.”
Chester scowled.
“We need to get moving. If we work quickly, there won’t be a need for clean-up,” Sydney dropped to the ground, brandishing the largest gun of all.
Sherlock’s eyebrow rose, examining the gun. “Compensating?”
“I happen to enjoy shooting big guns,” Sydney quipped.
“Compensating,” Sherlock nodded.
Sydney turned to walk down the street, hitting Sherlock in the stomach with the butt of the gun.
“Oh, sorry,” Sydney smirked as Sherlock coughed, falling to his knees. “My mistake.”
Sherlock wheezed out something similar to “asshole,” but Sydney was already moving forward, his gun at his side and ready to fire. Chester looked back to Sherlock and offered a hand. Sherlock shoved Chester’s hand away and stood to his feet again, using the bumper of the truck to aid him.
“You alright?” Chester asked.
“Fine,” Sherlock snapped. “Just…back off.”
Chester took an obedient step back, allowing Sherlock to stand to his full height.
“Come on you slowpokes!” Sydney called over his shoulder.
Sherlock coughed, spitting mucus onto the ground before following after Sydney, Chester trotting close behind. Sherlock gazed around as they walked down the street. Cars were stalled in the middle of the street. People frozen in mid stride. One man had been running to catch the bus, a mother held the hand of a little girl. A dog had his leg lifted high in the air, getting ready to pee on a light post.
“I don’t know how you guys can get used to this,” Sherlock muttered.
“I’m not yet,” Chester added.
Sherlock slipped his hand into his jean pocket again as he eyed Chester. Chester blinked, looking at Sherlock’s face.
“What is wrong with your eye?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Sherlock snapped, looking down at his watch.
“Then why is it red?”
“Damn thing’s broken,” Sherlock growled, shaking the contraption. “It’s not honing in on the Tick.”
“That’s because it needs tuning,” Sydney replied. “You never use yours, so it’s gotten rusty,” he had his own out and was looking at it.
“I could fix that for you,” Chester offered, holding out a hand.
Sherlock reeled back, crinkling his nose and pulling his watch closer to his body. “What do you know about watches?”
“Well, I’m a clock and watch maker,” Chester’s voice dropped. “And I do repairs too.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, putting his watch back in his pocket.
A roar pierced the silence. Sherlock trembled. He had only ever heard a sound like it once before. A guttural, primal cry dating back to before the dinosaurs. It sounded like a territorial Tyrannosaurus Rex, a ferocious tiger, a vicious wolf, and a tense viper all wrapped into one creature. All things, he imagined, would cower in fear if they were ever to hear such a sound. Instinct told him to turn around and run as fast as he could the other direction, but he followed Sydney all the same. Humans were the only species he knew of that would deliberately disobey every warning their bodies gave them.
A shadow shifted in the distance and the trio froze. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat as he waited, watching Sydney’s hands tense on the gun. Sydney looked back to Sherlock and Chester, and put a slender finger to his lips, but he was grinning. Sherlock could read his face, lit by the blue glow around him. The Tick was near.
Sydney let his hand drop behind him, motioning for Sherlock to fall behind and Chester to come forward. Chester jogged to Sydney’s side, Sherlock taking the back, swinging his pistol around, staying alert.
“Are we close?” Sherlock hissed.
“Yeah, real close,” Sydney nodded. “Gotta be careful now.”
They turned a corner, and Sydney froze, holding out his arm to stop the others. He glanced back and gestured with his head towards the top of a building. A large, sinewy creature could be seen from where they stood. Though it was still dark, a few features could be seen. Even though the blue glow stayed away from it, but it was easy to see a long body attached to a long spiked tail. Claws glinted in the dim light and there was a flash of red.
The three humans placed their steps gingerly as they approached. Sherlock could feel the snot dripping down his nose. He tried to snort it back in as silently as possible, watching the creature, but then resigned to wiping it on his sleeve. His nose started to tingle and then, it escalated into a burning. His eyes watered as he held his nose, but his body had other ideas. Sherlock let out a loud sneeze, causing the Tick on the top of the roof to whip its long face around, scanning the ground.
“Seriously? This kind of thing never happens in real life,” Sherlock grumbled.
Seeing the only moving humans left, it shrieked, leaping from the rooftop and pounding the ground as it landed. It was as large as a bus and came at the three faster than Sherlock would’ve given it credit for. Sherlock ducked behind a nearby car as Sydney popped off a shot. The Tick cried, writhing and shaking its head before locking onto Sydney.
“Bring it!” Sydney cried, shooting off several more rounds.
The Tick growled, whipping his tail and swiping it through the air, aiming for Sydney. Sydney dodged by diving behind a tree. The Tick’s tail smashed into the tree trunk, splintering the wood and snagging it in the process.
Sherlock popped his head over the car, seeing the Tick straining against its capture, trying to free itself. Chester attempted to cross the street to make it to Sydney, but the Tick’s roar kept him at bay. With a final flail, the trunk splintered and gave way, shattering the remainder of the tree and sending the debris raining down on Sydney. A particularly large chunk landed on his stomach, forcing the wind out of his body. Sherlock leapt from his hiding spot, tripping over the rubble in the street.
The Tick stumbled back, his clawed hind foot dropping into the pond behind him. It screeched and jumped, tumbling into a nearby building. It hissed, looking at the steam rising off his foot.
“Drive him back!” Sydney called as loud as he could muster. He pointed to the sky where a dark, deep scar ran through the stars. “We’re near the rip!”
Chester’s head followed Sydney’s finger, but Sherlock’s didn’t. He hit the ground when he felt the ground shake once again, the primal howl once again ringing in his ears as the Tick rose to its feet. He tried to stand to his feet, but the Tick was too fast. Its eyes locked on Sherlock, and with another growl, he was upon the doctor. Knocking Sherlock to the ground, it pinned him under a gleaming claw. Sherlock managed to roll onto his back, staring up with wide eyes at the devilish face in front of him, the sharp, rough teeth nearly pressing down on him.
Hot breath stifled Sherlock’s own. The air rattled in his lungs, causing him to cough again. His heart pounded in his chest. He had only had this very sensation once before, the desperate plea to a deity, being acutely aware of how mortal his body was. There would be no reasoning his way out of this one. And there was no Sydney to protect him.
“Oh God, not again,” he wheezed out.
A gunshot rang out, and then another, and another. Sherlock rolled his head to look at Sydney, but the other man was just as confused as he strained to see something on the other side of the creature. Sherlock looked over to the other side, trying to poke his head around the claw that held him down.
Chester, brandishing his gun, was shooting at the fire hydrant, firing off round after round. Water started to leak around the side, and yet he still continued to lay into it. Then, the cap popped off, hitting the Tick with the metal before water washed over it. It shrieked, trying to back away from the liquid, and lifting its hold on Sherlock in the process. Sherlock coughed, rolling over and pushing himself onto his hands and knees. Catching his breath, he stumbled to his feet and ran over to Sydney.
Chester pulled out his pocket watch. Turning it over in his hand, back up, he wound it, twisting the knob tighter and tighter until it let out a whine. He then clicked it open, turning the watch face towards the Tick. The blue glow shone over the smooth face of the creature, and it bellowed, trying to get Chester to back down. However, Chester’s face showed nothing but determination, his blue eyes burning from underneath his sagging damp hair covering his face. He started walking towards the monster, his stature stiff and strong, the watch held out in front of him.
“Go back where you came from!” Chester called. “If you know what’s good for you.”
The Tick hissed, lunging forward before scrambling back, scurrying up the tower he had come down from. With a final snarl, it jumped up, clinging onto the edge of the scar and pulling itself up into it. Its tail disappeared, slurped up by the crack.
“Sherlock,” Sydney looked at his friend. “Your gun. It’s the sealer. Point and shoot.”
Sherlock nodded, fumbling to get the gun from the place he had shoved it between his back and belt. The gun stuck to his soaking clothes, unwilling to let go, but it finally broke free. He turned to the sky, pointing his gun at the sky. Closing his eyes and tilting his head away, he pulled the trigger. A warm blue light shot from the barrel, traveling straight up to the crack. Easing an eye open, Sherlock realized that the gap was closed where the beam was touching the rift. He moved the ray across the gap, sealing it up. He fell back, breathing heavily, a small grin coming over his face.
“Damnit…lost my cigarette,” Sydney groaned.
“You alright?” Sherlock asked Sydney.
“You’re the one soaking wet,” Sydney quipped.
“Are you alright?” Sherlock repeated.
“Yeah, yeah, just get this twig off me,” Sydney nodded.
Chester came to the other side, and helped Sherlock pick up the log and shove it off Sydney.
“Don’t get up yet,” Sherlock cautioned, pushing up Sydney’s shirt. “Gotta make sure you’re not hurt.”
“Really? In public?” Sydney moaned.
“Hush,” Sherlock punched him in the shoulder with one hand, running the other over Sydney’s abdomen.
“You okay though?” Chester asked, standing to the side, water dripping from his hair and clothes.
“Yeah, I’m fine kid,” Sydney nodded.
“Are you okay?” Chester looked at Sherlock.
Sherlock looked up, and then back down to Sydney’s stomach. “Yeah,” he nodded and then smiled again. “Never been better, actually. You’re fine, by the way. Gonna have some horrible bruising and you have a few minor abrasions, but you’re fine.”
“Good to know,” Sydney sat up.
Sherlock sat down beside him in the cool grass, and Chester took a spot beside Sherlock. Sherlock took his glasses off his face, leaning over and using Sydney’s shirt to wipe off the water.
“Hey!” Sydney grunted.
“What? My shirt’s wet and I can’t see very well,” Sherlock stated, placing the glasses back on his nose.
Sherlock looked over at Chester, grinning a little.
“You know, you’re alright,” Sherlock chuckled, ruffling Chester’s orange hair.
“Thanks, I think,” Chester laughed.
“How did you think to use the hydrant?” Sherlock ran a hand through his sopping brown hair.
“I noticed that the water caused it pain when it stepped into the pond,” Chester shrugged. “Figured I could drive him back if I used more water.”
“That’s good thinking.”
“Of course it was,” Sydney croaked, pulling out another cigarette and setting it in his mouth. “Who do you think is training him?”
“Getting rather full of yourself,” Sherlock shook his head, hitting Sydney in the stomach with his fist.
“Gheez, what was that for?” Sydney coughed.
“For hitting me with your gun earlier. Don’t even think I’d forget something like that.”
Chester laughed. The three fell quiet, watching as the blue mist dissipated and ever so slowly, things began to come back to life. People began to move in slow motion. Sherlock smiled, seeing the world come back, and he didn’t care if the normal world would never know what really happened.
“I don’t think I caught your name,” Chester offered his hand.
“Dr. Sherlock Smith,” Sherlock shook Chester’s hand. “But, Sherlock’s fine.”