Moral Crossroads|A SAW fanfiction

Coffee Cup

Smash. 

Thud.

Matt Gibson clattered to the dirt floor, the shattering of glass ringing through his ears as he tumbled. The next second, instinct was kicking in. He flipped and strained out his leg to kick and tackle the man from him before he twisted his body onto hits back. Then, as he was trying to pull himself up he was met with a force of a boot to his jaw. Falling back, he looked up, eyes widened as he stared at a rather grungy old man, his eyes then moved down to the gun the man held. Silence.

"Freeze! Don't you fuckin' move!" A mans voice ran overhead, then quick footsteps followed.

"Drop the gun" he spoke again.

Gibson watched as the gun fell from the mans hand, still. Then, before he even had chance to comprehend a thing, three ear splitting shots rang through the dense, musky air.

Frozen, Gibson watched with glassy eyes as the man fell, he could feel something warm on his face but his ears were still ringing. He didn't blink, didn't move, Gibson could feel his hands trembling as he was mindlessly pulled to his feet by the shooter.

Gibson's eyes then shifted to look, a larger man with greasy hair and cold eyes looked back at him, unphased by the murder that had just taken place. Was he expecting Gibson to brush this off? To be unphased too?

He recognised him. But Gibson was just a simple patrol officer and he didn't want to oppose him, besides he didn't even have the courage to wipe the ruby red blood coated on his face. He didn't shift his gaze from Hoffman, instead he looked to him.

"Next time, you shoot first" The oddly calm man spoke, giving a gentle nod towards Gibson to indicate something further.

"You owe me" he proceeded to add in a hollow and sinister tone.

--

That was a week ago and truth be told, Gibson hadn't truly recovered. He'd dreamt of it, of the man he'd seen be ruthlessly killed in front of him. Sure, he had assaulted him, but the guy didn't deserve a death sentence.

He was walking around the station, hands shifting into his pockets after he adjusted his patrol hat. His footsteps were soft, quiet and he would consistently check behind him. It was safe to say the lower ranking officer was still finding his feet after the attack; he was still a relatively nervous man.

He curled his lip, chewed and then shoved his hands forcefully further into the pockets. His back was a little arched, eyes on the floor one minute and then behind his shoulder the next. The deep brown eyes of his were large and wide but not as prominent or as glassy as they had been when he'd seen that murder. He sucked in a breath and continued to walk across tidy, polished floors.

Gibson could feel something, perhaps eyes on him. The strange phenomenon of the events played on his mind, he let a sigh pass his parted lips before he made a sharp right turn into the staff coffee room. He pulled out one hand from his pocket to push open and conqueror the heavy brown door before he was met with a decent sized and functional staff room, a place to grab coffees. Admittedly he did shudder at the further sensation that he was still being watched, by now he had pulled both of his hands from the pockets and he was making his way over to the coffee machine.

Clicking a few buttons, the nervous main awaited for his coffee as he slatted his own personal mug underneath. It was a blue colour with varying patterns of sports-balls. Classic American footballs tied with English footballs, a basketball, baseball and even a golf ball. It was hideous, an ugly cup but Gibson liked it. A few moments later the coffee machine gave a crunch and a horrible squeaking sound that sounded like deflating car tires on an ice rink. It looked new, but it was obvious the old machine needed to retire. Just because it was polished and looked glam, didn't make it as functional as it once was.

He then grabbed his mug, perhaps somebody could rekindle the old machine into something useful. He brought the hot mug to his lips, coffee with cream but no sugars. However as he was taking a sip-

Slam.

"Shit!" Gibson cursed out, watching as the coffee mug clattered to the ground. His gaze then snapped to the perpetrator, a hand slammed down onto the desk that had surprised Gibson so much he'd dropped his own coffee. His gaze lifted further and he was met with a man's face, the man with dark greasy hair and cold eyes.

Hoffman's eyebrows were narrowed, his icy blue eyes were focused on Gibson. His lips gave a tug, a smirk of disbelief as he cocked his head to the side and shrugged his shoulders as if to flex them.

"Reported, hm?" Hoffman started, despite his smirk he sounded angered, deep frustration buried in his tone an his teeth barley showing behind his rather prominent lips.

Gibson stared, unsure what to say. It was true, he'd reported Hoffman for police brutality. He softly sank to his knees to recover his prized coffee mug, it was unscathed unfortunately, the ugly container has survived the hazardous fall.

"It's my job, Detective, get it?" He sighed as he was gathering himself. He set the cup onto the side whilst his gaze flickered from the messy beige coffee puddle up to the man dressed in a black suit. His gaze then shifted to the velvety blue tie that hung from his neck.

"Bullshit, you're a patrol officer, stay in your place" Hoffman warned, stepping forward menacingly, which in turn caused the patrol cop to step backwards. However before he could muster up a response, his shoe sole gave in and slipped under the puddle of instant coffee. Gibson fell back and landed on the ground, letting out a soft groan.

Before he had chance to react, Hoffman was grabbing him by his uniform collar. Gibson did let out a small sound before he was being pulled to his legs and then pushed into a nearby wall. He stumbled backwards, his polished black shoes still slipping around foolishly before he managed to gain some traction and grip in them. His eyes were wide again, round and deep. He stared up at the older man nearing to him; he could feel his breath close to his ear.

"Back off if you know what's good for you" he muttered before releasing his grip on Gibson's collar with ease. He left Gibson standing, turning his back away from him before he wandered over to the coffee machine as if nothing ever happened.