He felt like a piano wire was pulled through his brain from ear to ear. He felt like his eyes were underwater. He felt like an apple was lodged in his throat. He felt like someone had just done some cauterisation on his bullet wound. He felt like he had taken every single drug and drank ungodly amounts of alcohol the night before.
Mitch blinked aggressively to stop seeing those wiggly rainbow lines you see when you close your eyes. Those lines that look like carpets in airports or the material on bus seats. Mitch turned his head and was met with dirt. His head was spinning. He groaned and stood up trying his best not to fall back down again. All he could see was dirt. 'Where the fuck am I' he thought.
He looked down at himself as his vision began to settle. The first thing he saw was his snakeskin boots. He'd normally say they were ridiculous but with this pair, he actually digged them. He looked further up to see his black flares. His depth of field focused on his white t-shirt with the word 'Paris' written on the shirt and the 'a' was the anarchy symbol. Then he saw his beautiful brown leather overcoat. As much as he loved this outfit..'where the fuck did I get all this?' Was his main concern. He held his hands infront of him and saw four rings occupying the two of his tatted and dainty hands. Two rings on each hand. Silver.
A groan escaped his mouth as he brought his hands up to his face to rub his eyes, he was however threw off by the roughness above his lip. He rubbed his hands over his mouth and felt a moustache, which only scared him. He felt around more and found two large earrings and a mullet. Is this a dream where he's morphed into his personality?
"You ok sir?" Mitch turned and met the gaze of a police officer. Only he was dressed in old uniform and he means old. Old uniform. "You have a night out? Well this premises is off limits I'm afraid sir". All he could bring himself to do is look him up and down terrified and confused. He saw the officer frown. "Can I see some ID please sir?" Mitch patted himself down and handed the first thing he found in his pockets to the officer, as he read whatever he gave to him Mitch spun around to look at his surroundings. He saw some buildings, Some he recognised some he didn't. But what does that even mean? What is happening? "Ahh I see. Your the new DI."
"I'm what?"
"Do you need directions to the station sir?"
"Do I what?"
"We thought you'd be arriving here in a few days, maybe next week"
"You what?" The officer became increasingly annoyed
"Would you like directions? Sir." He talked as though Mitch was deaf or was a child
"Uhh..no" the officer handed Mitch his things back and he took the opportunity to look at whatever it is he gave him in the first place. It was his police badge. It had his name on it but it looked battered and old.
"Have a good day sir"
"Mmbye" Mitch mumbled as he gave an appalling attempt of a wave which resulted in his hand just giving out and slowly descending to his side. Mitch began to walk away without breaking eye contact with the officer but the officer only gave Mitch a look which said 'what a weirdo' and walked in the opposite direction.
Mitch made his way to the roads. Bumping into everyone and everything like he was drunk. Maybe he was on some sort of substance. Everything looked so weird. He stopped and caught a glimpse of himself in a car window. He frowned and crouched down to look. 'At least I look good' he thought to himself. Panic began to rise within him. He felt like a conscious NPC in some sick game. As though he was just spawned into it without any explanation of who/where he was or how he got there.
New DI? That's what that officer said. He ran to the police station and not even before he set one foot inside. Old police cars. He made his way over to examine it. He poked it, he lightly kicked the tires and this thing was real. Fuck. He went inside and went to his section of the building and the scent of pure male musk, old spice and cigarettes invaded his nose. He wasnt sure if he wanted to throw up or faint. Over in the corner were a group of men talking and smoking casually, almost too casually, inside. Some were wearing loose fitted suits and snazzy ties while others sported knitwear like jumpers or turtlenecks. He saw leather jackets and tracksuit jackets. He noticed gold timex watches and rotary dial telephones with big blocks for computer screens. What the fuck is going on?
A hand latched onto his shoulder and he flinched a violent flinch and turned. He was met with a man around the same height as himself wearing tight denim jeans and a surfer shirt.
"Sorry boss, didnt mean to scare you" he said followed by smiling and obnoxious chewing. Mitch wanted to fight him but all he could do was gawk at him. Surfer shirt man in tight jeans became slightly uneasy under Mitchs stare, he began to shift in place and his smile began to fade. "Well um hi I'm DS Kennedy or Tony if you like." Mitch made himself nod "great well that over there is DS Thomas or Wes, that's DS Maldonado or Kirstie and that over there is PC Robins or Trish"
"Right yeah. Have you got a newspaper?"
"Yes? Just there" Sufer shirt man pointed and Mitch followed his point to a desk. He made himself walk over then he grabbed the newspaper off the desk and saw the date. February 1983. It's impossible. No he is from the year 2021 and he was shot and this is his hallucination.
This is a joke. It has to be. Mitch wanted to throw up and die a bit. He felt dizzy and sick. He wanted this nightmare to end already. But oh no it was just beginning. A door bursted open as a tall mean looking fucker emerged on out.
"Oh for fucks sakes. Right. What's this one in for?" The man made his way over to Mitch until he was about a foot away from him "Robbery? Drugs? Perverted things?" He looked Mitch up and down "I've been dying to give a pervert a good punch on the nose" Mitch just stared back up at him. He was in a constant state of 'What the fuck' and this man was no exception. He was blonde with a scruffy beard and horrible cologne. He wore a slightly larger than needed suit shirt that hung out from his belt and was unbuttoned at the sleeves and collar. It was clearly unironed. It didnt really look like it could be ironed. No iron was strong enough. Tony stepped in.
"No boss. A new DI transferred here"
"That's a shame." 'What a dick' Mitch thoutht "Name?" Mitch just stared and the boss frowned "Aye" he said as he clicked in Mitchs face "have you got a name you retard?" The room went silent
"Mitch"
"I dont like it. Last name?"
"Grassi"
"Hate it. DI Grassi my name is DCI Hoying or Boss or Sir or God. If you call me Scott, Pal or anything along those line I will give one good knock around your head. I am the boss and you will do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it understand?" Mitch felt true horror and ignored him and continued to stare up at the boss. This has to be hell. "Are you drunk? Well I know exactly what will sober you up".
The boss grabbed Mitch by his overcoats lapels and dragged him then violently pushed him into, what looked like a cell but it could literally just be a regular room in this dump. Mitchs back thumped against the wall as the boss began to fight him. Mitchs instincts kicked in and he attempted to defend himself but the boss landed several powerful blows to his body and one that hit slap bang in the middle of his stomach so hard that Mitch was certain it had stabbed through him and the bosses fist came out his back. Mitch grunted and fell to the floor trying to breathe and coughing up his lungs.
"Are we feeling sober now?" Mitch couldn't talk. He couldn't even breathe, so he nodded. "Good. Think twice about coming into work drunk" the boss stepped over Mitchs limp body and left him there. What an asshole.