Chapter Text
Dr Annette Birkin was having a terrible, no good day. Hell had broken loose, almost quite literally, the city above plagued with the t-virus, and her husband had foolishly injected himself with the g-virus, now running rampant and creating more monstrosities. It was a nightmare. She'd just wanted to finish her work on the virus and leave, but of course she couldn’t.
Roaming the facilities, she could hear what sounded like a struggle, a somewhat distressed human voice chattering away, and the familiar footsteps of the tyrant.
The chattering became more loud and frequent when the steps stopped.
Likely a cornered survivor, begging and pleading for their life. Oddly though, the talking seemed to be continuing for longer than usual, with no sounds of a grisly demise.
Curious, Annette decided to have a look, peering through from the safer side of the glass. As she finally caught sight of them, she gasped.
The tyrant was there alright, and so was the survivor. A cop, by the looks of it, but that’s not what surprised her. The cop was being suspended by the back of his bulletproof vest, held up by the tyrant, which had its mouth open wide as it drew the young man closer to its face. The cop was trying to push himself away, loudly protesting, but oddly enough, seemingly much more annoyed than terrified.
She grew closer, now confused and curious, trying to get close enough to listen.
“..aid stop! I don’t need you to protect me! Damn it Trenchy, put me down!”
Her jaw dropped, as she tried to come to terms with what the cop had just said. Protect him? Trenchy? Had he given it a nickname? And why hadn’t the tyrant simply crushed his head?
As she tried to wrap her mind around it, the realized her guests had noticed her. The tyrant glanced at her, while the cop smiled and gave her a wave.
“Hey there, you mind giving me a ha-"
The monster seemed to take the opportunity of her accidental distraction, with him no longer pushing away, and quickly stuffed his head into its mouth.
Oh, well that would be a slightly more creative way to crush his skull.
And then it swallowed.
Annette watched with mouth agape, as the cop's body was slowly pulled into the tyrant’s mouth and down its gullet. It was efficient in getting him down, the cop's shoes vanishing down its throat in seconds.
She couldn’t help but find herself staring in stunned silence at the tyrant, as it readjusted its fedora before walking away, completely ignoring her.
What sort of protocol was that? It seemed like a weirdly inefficient method of disposal, unless the cop was of some sort of significance that required it to consume him instead. He'd mentioned some sort of protection as well. Perhaps he was an undercover umbrella agent? She didn’t have an answer, and doubted she would find one soon, if ever.