the alternatives ⇒ tmr trilogy & newtmas au ⇒ COMPLETED

Chapter Nine

Janson's face was mangled and broken beyond repair.

"Nice going!" Minho yelped, slightly scared of Thomas, but mostly happy that the leader of the Syndicate had gotten his much-deserved revenge.

It was quiet for a few moments, but then Thomas spoke, his voice shaky and deep.

"Anyone else lookin' to mess with me?" he growled.

Both groups shook their heads.

Teresa stepped forward out of the thick crowd.  Her once-shiny hair hung in stringy clumps and her face was blanketed in dirt and wounds.

"Thomas," she said quietly.

Thomas glared at her.

"You wanna fight?" he jabbed the knife in front of himself to serve as a shield.  Thomas couldn't make himself leave the violent catacombs of his mind.  The thirst to kill took over his senses, leaving his emotions defenseless.

"Tom... It's me.  I don't fight." Teresa seemed to understand the fact that Thomas wasn't himself.

"Well I do." Thomas flung the knife at Teresa's chest.  It landed with a sickening thud.  More blood.  So much blood.

Thomas couldn't bear to look at Teresa's writhing body.

His legs carried him away to unknown place.  Escaping once more, Thomas gave in to the sweet freedom of running.

Leaving behind Newt, and the rest of the Alternatives.

His own feet slapping on the smooth pavement of the sidewalk was a familiar sound these days.  Thomas pulled off his leather jacket and threw it over his shoulder, letting the cool breeze wash over his chest.  He hadn't broken a sweat, jogging at his comfortable pace.

But he wasn't sure where he was going.

The tangle of streets seemed like a blur to Thomas.  He had only ever been a few places: school, home, and occasionally the grocery store to pick up food for him and his mother. He had never been out with friends, expect for his experiences with the Alternatives.

It seemed like Thomas's altered brain knew where to take him, though.

He finally reached a low, box-like brick building.  It looked like every other structure on the street: bland.  Unmemorable.

As he looked up at the blocky letters above the doorframe, Thomas gasped.  His breaths turn into short, sharp wheezes.  He collided face-first with reality.

The police station.  Home of his worst enemies.

Officer Delancey.  Officer Reischwitz.  The policemen who wanted to arrest him.

Loretta, the clingy woman who called him "birdie".

Officer Larsen.  The one who recorded his thoughts about "the Hawk".  And Thomas had a sneaking suspicion that it was him.

There were way too many clues pointing to it.  Why, in the last couple of weeks, had he seen so many cops?  Did it have something to do with the Alternatives?

Thomas pulled open the heavy glass door with hands covered in sweat.  He wasn't thinking straight, but he had no other option.  Newt would surely think he was crazy by know, just like his mother.

After Thomas had ran away on that rainy night, only to get beat up by the Alternatives, he had promised himself something.

To never turn out like his mother.

But Thomas had already broken his promise.

Pushing the thought away from his mind, Thomas peeked into the reception office of the police station.