writing_shadows

It was a devil of a situation, all right.

Not that Dr Professor would have thought it as that at the time. He was too busy babbling in frank terror. He could hear his voice going in the distance, like some recording left playing in another room

“now see hear, my good man, we are most certainly not alien hybrids. Simply abductees who have managed to navigate home...” he heard vaguely, failing to register the voice was his own. Over it he could hear Betty saying she hated this stupid world and she just wanted to go home to her earth, and he knew he should be thinking about that. But he could only think of one thing.

Gun.
Gun pointing at me.
Dying to a gunshot hurts.
And won't come back here. No cellular regenerators.
Might come back there, in dimension x, by Hook's grave!

He knew his voice was wavering, and that he couldn't think straight. But he was no man of action. He was scared of men of actions. Not as scared as he was of the lunatic with the shotgun, and he was trying desperately who he would be motivating into action by his death this time. The thought slid off in the terrible reality of his upcoming death. Eventually something from the madman broke through the web of terror.

“now get the... get the key, yes, and lock yourself in the cellar”

His eyes went wide, and Betty broke down again, and he could feel the tears running down his face, whilst his hands were reaching for the heavens. In a moment, he knew he had to convince this man, this man of learning he was no threat and not to imprison him again. Not again.

He took a deep shuddering breath and centered himself

“now see here, my man, you don't want to imprison us. Let me have the gun and we'll say no more of it” he said, trying to make it sound convincing. Amazingly the man numbly handed him the gun, eyes wide and staring.

The thing felt heavy and unpleasant in his hands. He hated guns. Hated weapons. The second's thought seemed long enough for their host and attempted captor to break out of his fugue and begin shouting about mind control. He looked at Betty.

“run my girl!”

It was finally something she was happy with, and the two of them fled to shuddering safety.

He hated trying to be a man of action. Running away seemed more natural.