Work Text:
Martyn lands heavy, steps out of the alley, ready to explore the future -
and is immediately pulled back, an ice-cold hand wrapping harsh around his mouth. “Don’t scream,” a stranger’s voice mutters, “don’t run. If you’re caught looking like that, it’s not gonna be pretty.”
Martyn nods, stock-still, breath held. After a moment, he’s released. “What are you -”
“I don’t know when you came from -” and how do they know he’s from the past? “- but round here we play by different rules.”
It’s then he sees the silver sheen of metal fingers, and realizes the level of shit he’s in.