A sharp gleam of metal sparkled widely within the man’s coal-black cloak, filling the other occupants of the room with a strong sense of pure dread. The figure’s face was completely shrouded behind a woollen mask, and (just like their cloak) was also completely dark in colour.
“I know you’re here Martin, there’s no point in running now, it’ll just waste your time, and especially mine...” He began muttering calmly, in a tone that showed his seriousness. “And you’ve already screwed up the country enough to make up for half a millennia!” And in a sort of disturbing fashion, he swayed his head backwards, and unleashed a long, hectic laugh, strongly conveying his lack of sanity.
At this point, numerous occupants of the flat had made a run for it - a few even fainted - but none of them managed to get too far before realising the horrific truth. The door was locked.
“You won’t be getting through that old thing any time soon...” he began sneering. “WITHOUT THESES!” By now, the sneering had changed into a rhythmic pattern of distorted laughs. He reached into his pocket, pulled out something, and proudly presented a chain of keys.
Walking further into the room, the masked figure continued his search, seeming to be enjoying all this in a sick sort of way.
“When I heard you were attending a small party between some of you’re close colleagues, I couldn’t believe my luck - And you thought you’d host it in a remote hotel flat for a bit of privacy! Forging my ideal time to kill you. THAT’LL BE THE WORST MISTAKE OF YOUR LIFE, OR WHATS LEFT OF IT AFTER I’VE HAD MY FUN WITH YOU! GAHAHAHA!!!”
As he turned the handle of a nearby cupboard, the man inside of it was hit with a feeling of defeat.
damn it! The maniacs finally found me, I knew hosting this stupid party was a mistake!
Wincing his eyes in preparation for the brutal onslaught about to be brought upon him, he could never of expected what was about to occur.
CRASH!!
The front door burst open, and marching through it was none other then a middle-aged women, wearing a large grey jumpsuit, bearing a large emblem flashing from upon its shoulder. This read: ’Time protection service.’ ’keeping your history safe since 3246’
“JOHN STEWART, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF THE 254TH PRESIDENT OF AMERICA, MARTIN THISTLE, IN THE YEAR 4XXX!”
The masked man haltered backward, until his back was almost touching the clear glass panel of the flats only windows.
“YOU’RE MAD!” He winced, looking for an escape route, as he shuffled his hands around the cloaks pockets, trying to retrieve his trusty pocket-knife.
The women sighed, picked up a futuristic looking object, and shot some kind of laser out of it.
FFZZZZZZZZZZZZ
The remaining witnesses who hadn’t already fled for their lives, had to wait several minutes for a thick mist of fog to fade, before spotting the window cracked the man no where to be seen, and most mysterious of all, the women having seemingly disappeared.