Chapter Text
Tord couldn’t remember how much time he’d spent in that capsule. He’d been losing track of time. At first, all that mattered to him was breaking the glass and tracking down his clone. But the more he punched, and kicked, the more it proved useless. The cracks formed, yet refused to give way. Tord stared hopelessly out into the remnants of his lab. All of his hard work was going to waste. Most of it had been destroyed in the physical tussle.
Tord couldn’t reason it out in his head. Why the hell would that clone want to break free? Let alone succeed. All of the tests Tord had done had proven the clone to be low in intelligence. So low, it couldn’t have been aware of its own existence.
It had been fooling him, the entire time. Gathering whatever information it could, and planning its escape.
Tord got to thinking. What could that clone possibly want…? What was out there that warranted locking him in the same spot he had condemned it to?
Then, his blood ran cold. The blueprints. The ones he foolishly left in the view of its scheming eyes. Plans for that giant robot he had deemed unfit for proper operation. One he had left in his old home, with plans to retrieve it. Plans he had discussed with coworkers.
That was why no one had come to find him was it? His clone knew everything. Where to find the mech, what to say when questioned, and who to ask.
Tord was essentially a ghost. Nobody was going to question where he was. It had probably been days by now. Tord would be dead by the time people finally checked his office.
Finally, Tord took another shot. He wound his fist back and hit the cracks in the glass. He punched, again and again. Watching as the crack splintered across the tube. Growing larger and larger. Until, the glass finally dug its way into his knuckles.
Tord forced himself off of the ground. He had a clone to find.
He sprinted out of his lab, up the stairwell and out of the building. He didn’t bother to get in his car. That would take too long, and he was already running on borrowed time.
Tord didn’t even know where to start. He had no phone. So he was shit out of luck when it came to contacting anybody he knew.
So, he ran through the streets. Adrenaline kept his weak body upright, pushing to keep up with the demands that his brain was burdening it with.
Tord eventually stopped to rest within the diner. He ordered a small plate of food, one he never ended up touching. A brief relief washed over him. The world wasn’t over yet. The stars still shone in the expansive evening sky. The setting sun painted the buildings, shadows forming within its half absence. People still made their commutes back home from work. No permanent damage had been done, it seemed.
He couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic. This was his booth. The same one he came into for breakfast every morning for years. Eating breakfast felt so trivial by the time he really got into his work. It was a simple joy he never thought he’d feel himself missing.
Before Tord knew it, his eyes were drifting shut. His head fell onto the table in front of him, and he fell into a deep sleep, in which he found no dreams.
Tord was rudely awakened by a very annoyed employee.
“Wake up.” The young voice urged, “Diner closed five minutes ago.”
Tord woke up with a slight groan. He looked outside, and noticed the sky was completely black. Pinholes of light from a trillion miles away mocked him. Tord shot up, and pushed past the employee. He muttered a quick apology as he made his way towards the door.
Tord was back on his track to his old home. Never in his recent life had the thought ever come to him that he’d long to see that old place.
His pace slowly picked up. His heart’s pounding filled his ears, lining up perfectly with the stomps of his shoes against the pavement. Tord didn’t think there was ever a time in his life he had ever run so fast.
Tord made his way through Durdam Lane. He found himself praying to a God he didn't believe in that he'd find his friends home, and safe.
That God must not have heard him, however.
Tord was greeted by what was no more than a pile of ash. Their house was gone. No evidence of his once friends was left behind. He tried searching through what remained of the house, hoping to find one of them unconscious. Just as proof that the three hadn't been reduced to nothing like it had seemed.
There was no body laying in the ash, waiting to be found.
Tord stared at the empty lot. He felt the bile rising up the back of this throat, threatening to spill out if he made one wrong move.
He shook his head, and finally began to walk away. All of his running for nothing. He'd basically already lost.