#firstpig

hoffman's voice grates on her nerves, the amused tone in which he currently speaks enough to incite rage within her. of course he would say something like that. amanda grips the wrench in her hand tighter ; the urge to throw it at mark hoffman's head grows, and it takes every single bit of self-control she has to prevent her from doing just that. john wouldn't approve if amanda killed him, after all ( but amanda is beginning to care less and less about what john would approve of ).

from where she had been standing on her tiptoes to reach up and work on the trap — the angel trap, the one that the other detective will be placed in later — amanda lowers herself back down flat onto the floor. she turns towards hoffman, and the irritation is written clearly on her face as she hisses, “ i don't need your fucking help, detective. ” the last thing she wants is his assistance. it is bad enough that he will be the one that has to put kerry in the trap in the first place ; she doesn't need him trying to steal this from her, too. “ i'm doing just fine on my own, thanks. ”

he will say that he believes it to be objectively unfair that he retains the scar from his at - home tracheostomy , even now as he traverses the fog. the air is cold , yet sticky , the kind that makes you sweat ; though strahm does not take off his leather jacket. the room is dark , but a faint glow from a flickering light in the hall provides him with enough to see. wiping grease off on his jeans , continuing to tinker && repair the busted generator before him with a sort of stern determination. brow furrowed thoughtfully , every now && then chewing upon his lip as he pauses for a moment.

strahm feels it then ― or maybe he hears it. a shuffle through the debris on the precinct floor , shards of broken glass sliding over the weathered tile , && he pauses his work so he may listen more closely. bright eyes flash in the direction of the sound , a shiver running up his spine , as though alerting him to danger. ( who will it be this time ― ? ) upon reflex a hand drops to his hip , but finds no gun ; he's still getting used to that. jaw clenches nervously , && a hand lifts to wipe the sweat from his brow / leaving a grease stain in it's wake. the steps get louder && , eerily , the agent recognizes the cadence. he doesn't know how he does , but he knows exactly who it is.

every single thing about detective mark hoffman was vile. from the way the spoke , the way his mouth moved when he talked , the unusual manner with which he carries himself ― peter can feel it grate against his teeth , itch underneath his skin. he's revolting , && not just because of the man's subpar hygiene ; there's something else. something he can't quite place , but he can feel it. so when the gorilla comes looming over him where he sits , the incessant clicking of peter's pen becomes more prominent , a desperate attempt to contain his vitriol.

this was a nightmare. no, this was a nightmare beyond what even his nightmares could conjure up. and he stares at the other man with contempt in his eyes, fingers pulling a cigarette up to his lips in order to calm himself from what possibly might be completely losing himself over the edge. the detective sat across from him, and adam couldn't help but put himself back in this very room all those years ago, being questioned, asking what exactly had happened down in that bathroom.

not much had changed since then, he was still in his shit hole apartment, still working his shitty job. you think that he would have reinvented his life from his brush with death, and that's not to say he hadn't tried to during the get - go, but old habits died hard and eventually, adam fell back into the usual routine once more. ❝ that's one way to see it. though i think most people would say he was a psychopath ... ❞ the words fall dryly from his lips, still confused what this other man wanted from him. his best guess is that someone else had been caught in a trap, someone else's time was running out, and they wanted to get any piece of information they could from him in order to somehow assist in the situation. ❝ but what do i know, i only ever met the guy once. ❞

he doesn't even need to approach the man to know he already stinks of booze ; salem eyes him with a look that is difficult to place , tossing his keys onto the counter as well as the box of recently acquired pizza. it's almost pitiful ( though he would never vocalize that ) the way the high && mighty detective hoffman deteriorates as the night progresses , the more liquor is pounded down. but now that lobo has arrived , it will come to an end ― or rather , he will put a stop to it.