An Imaginary Throne // Doctor Strange // Far From Home

Chapter Three // this man has paused time

SIRENS WAIL in the distance.

Casey's skin crawls with repulsion as she pokes two fingers into Quentin Beck's wound and- with an apology in her heart -pries it open. Sharp pain originates from her fingertips as she experiences a million little electrical jolts that are collectively eclipsed by the shock she receives next.

Through the hardened opening in his abdomen shines a twisted amalgamation of metal, plastic and rubber. She can see the base of the bullet that struck him dead...lodged into a sparking circuit. And the whole scene is buzzing- Literally buzzing with energy. Casey lets her arms fall to the ground, weightless, and her throat, suddenly parched, aches as she scrambles back. For a second there is only her, Quentin and the phenomenon in his chest.

No, this isn't...this isn't what it looks like.

The sirens grow louder.

This isn't real, it can't be.

They seem a whole lot closer now.

Casey glances urgently at either entrance to the bridge. Her hair, secured in a high ponytail, the ends crusted with dried blood, whips into her open mouth when she turns. She's grateful to see that both passages are blocked off but still, her anxiety rises. Resisting the urge to gag, she looks back toward Beck, as if he has all the answers. But he doesn't, and all she receives in return is the unpleasant sensation of bile rising in her throat.

Her breaths depart her lungs in rapid, truncated puffs and she feels as if she's reminding her eyes to blink and her heart to keep pumping. It doesn't feel real.

Hell, it hardly looks real.

Then comes the distinct rumble of a helicopter.

The intensity of a voice on loudspeaker assails her ears. It's a man speaking. She thinks he's telling her to step away from the body but she doesn't listen. She can't.

Her gaze bounces hysterically between Quentin and the churning Thames in panic-stricken desperation before it returns to her own hands. Wrapped around her pointer and middle finger is the bronze, bloodied sling ring. She inhales heavily. Through a dizzy haze, she faintly hears the words, "shoot" and "casualties", before her hands are moving of their own accord. Suddenly, her ears are deafened by the roar of magic springing through her veins.

Elevating her left hand, she makes circular motions with her right, tuning into every minute sensation. For a second, she lets herself believe it's working. But her success is over in a heartbeat. There is one small spark of light which all too quickly dissipates, vanishing into thin air like dust in the wind and instead of the whoosh of a portal, she hears the thunder of oncoming bullets. They pummel into the bridge in rapid succession, forming a destructive onslaught of metal and fire.

Casey dives behind a mound of inactive drones. She reacts purely on instinct, biting down on her lower lip to keep from screaming. There's blood on her tongue. When she works up the nerve to open her eyes, fear keeps her gaze locked down and she shudders. There is not a square inch of the bridge that does not tremble with the force of the attack.

Through the chaos, one thought flies to the forefront of her mind. She looks toward Quentin.

Someone did not want her seeing this.

Once the shock has dispersed, a high-pitched ringing pervades her ears. Before her eyes, the blood coating her hands appears to move. Like starved maggots taking to rotten flesh, it squirms between her fingers and oozes through her pores. A voice assaults her ears. The words are inaudible but battering. There is no escape, even when she squeezes her eyelids shut and tosses her head into her hands.