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The air that stank of desperately dispelled staleness greeting Pascal as he got off the subway seemed to bring something else with it today. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was, but it hit him with a suddenness that almost made him pause in the middle of the bustle - an action that would surely have provoked some collisions with other absent-minded commuters behind him.
There was something about the strange feeling that made him look about, as if expecting an old acquaintance to stare him in the face somewhere amongst the shifting crowds. But there was no one there - neither anyone meeting his gaze, nor anyone he as much as recognised as a friend or colleague. Yet something was different, something about his mental state, making him lament the human inability to accurately self-diagnose anything.
It was a few steps later that the feeling resolved into premonition. Sitting on the stairs leading up out of the subway is the silhouette of an emaciated cheetah, grooming one forepaw near the knuckle of a misplaced set of talons. The dark bands characteristic of a cheetah extend this creature's glowing eyes, and what would normally be tufts of fur at the base of the back of its neck seem to have grown to firm spines.
But the most striking aspect of the situation is that no one else cares. The crowd is dutifully flowing around the obstacle, suggesting it more than a mere hallucination, but by the looks of things, only Pascal as much as recognises it as something strange, as more than a forgettable, misplaced art exhibit.
The sense of sudden change as he steps off the subway catches Pascal off-guard, pausing for a split-second mid-stride before the bustling of commuters reminds him to keep moving. Nothing looks or sounds or smells obviously different or out-of-place, but he can't help but feel like something's off. He manages to find a relatively quiet part of the platform, near a support pillar and out of the way of most foot traffic, pauses there to look around. Nothing quite jumps out at him at first, no familiar face or unusual activity or anything. A chime sounds, the subway doors close, and the train moves on.
He resumes walking towards the exit, almost ready to brush the sensation off as his mind pulling tricks on him, before he sees it. It looks like a large cat sitting on the stairs out, completely black with glowing eyes, grooming its forepaw. He stops, staring at the figure, eyes widening briefly. What is that? His first thought (probably primed by the odd mental state) is a hallucination, but that doesn't make sense; people are clearly walking around it. There's something there, for certain. And he's certain nothing was there in the stairwell before today.
An art exhibit, maybe? Something animatronic? He doesn't remember hearing about anything like that, and everyone else seems to be completely ignoring it. Which… perhaps wouldn't be so odd if it were merely some people, but everyone is ignoring it. Also, why would someone put an exhibit like this in a stairway? The platform he could understand, but the stairway is an odd choice.
Whatever's happening, the… thing doesn't seem to be terribly interested in anyone, it's not attacking or anything, just sitting there. So whatever it is – strange art exhibit, hallucination, exotic pet (with glowing eyes?) – it's probably safe. So he just needs to walk past it. Slowly, he resumes walking towards the exit, eyes locked on the creature in a mix of caution and curiosity.
Despite the eerie pinprick eyes, it quickly becomes apparent from the way its muzzle is moving that the creature is tracking him in particular as he cautiously begins to leave. Before he's even reached the stairway, though, the creature's lurched out of its passive posture, leaning forward into a brief slink, parting the indifferent crowd, but making it completely unmistakable that it is not, in no conceivable reality, simply some kind of subtly animated statue. Its motions are smooth, awkwardly natural given its wholly unnatural appearance.
…okay, not an art piece. Definitely coming towards him. Staring at him with those pinprick eyes. So, hallucination? Except that people are still avoiding it. Why are they avoiding it?! It makes no sense. If it's a hallucination, people shouldn't be avoiding it; if it's real, they shouldn't be otherwise ignoring it. This is quickly moving from “strange” to “terrifying”; he can worry about deconstructing what's happening later. Mental note to self, talk to colleagues about this tomorrow.
Unfortunately, the platform only has one exit, and the whatever-it-is is still between him and the stairs. Maybe he can get around it? He hastens his pace, veering off to the left, weaving his way through the crowd to try and bypass the creature tracking him.
As he necessarily approaches the tangible silhouette, its pinprick eyes flare up as if to denote threatening attention. He has little time to analyse the expression - in an abrupt motion, it's launched itself off the stairs and toward him, its arms cast forward, talons aiming for his shoulders to dig its claws through the fabric and into his skin and tear him down the bottom few stairs and onto the platform with its momentum, all the while its maw has opened to reveal distinctly three-dimensional, brightly white feline teeth.
Pascal has about enough time to utter a wordless yelp, manoeuvring in some mixture of a duck, a twist, and a sideways lunge in the hopes of getting away from the creature. He's not nearly fast enough, though; one forepaw barely misses its mark but the other catches his arm just below the shoulder, the motion knocking him off-balance and tumbling down the few stairs he'd managed to ascend. Somehow, he manages not to knock anyone over, though a few people are jostled a bit and continue up the stairs, completely ignoring the feral shadowbeast and its unfortunate victim.
An instant later, he crashes into the concrete platform, thankfully avoiding hitting his head, his shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the impact, drawing a cry of pain out of him. As soon as his breath allows, he cries out: “Help!”
Even as that single syllable escapes him, the creature's biting down, seizing a hold of his shoulder, its teeth sinking in past the fibres of his jacket and shirt, slamming into his skin, canines of its lower jaw on either side of his collarbone, their fiercer counterparts glancing against the very top of his shoulderblade. A few people glance his way as they hear his cry, then stumble away in confused horror at the unidentified predator, without so much as a visible attempt to make sense of the situation; no mobile phones whip up to take a picture; no one tries to call for professional help. Most distressingly, most people are still ignoring the scene entirely, as if he were caught in some bizarre dream.
An instant later, a hot pain stabs down from his mangled shoulder as the creature tugs at him, stalking awkwardly across the platform, dragging his unwieldy, cumbersome body by its punctured shoulder. The pain is intense, his primal instincts suggesting that perhaps something was trying to tear his arm off, but the creature seems uninterested in anything so final.
The creature. It's still only a silhouette, an impossibly featureless shape appearing only like a flat-filled outline, with the exception of those alien eyes and the golden, dimly glowing bands marking its muzzle, serving as the only anchor of three-dimensionality for his visual cortex.
✘ IN PROGRESS