Mortuus lay in his bed, the cannabis vapor filling the space around him with its crystal cloud. As he lay there, he heard a sound that made him jump.
"Hello? Is someone here?" He called, his voice echoing through the empty rooms. He listened closely, hoping for a response.
He stood up and walked down the hall, the noises getting louder as he neared a room of such darkness it threatened the colors of a midnight sky.
He could just barely make out a silver-haired man with pale skin and bright blue eyes in the mirror he was standing in front of.
He had his back turned to Mortuus, and his silence was unnerving. The only light in the room was from a shattered window, which cast an eerie glow on the top of the man's face.
The man stood there, dressed in funeral attire. Mortuus didn't know why he was in the room or how he got there. The only thing that seemed off about the situation was the consistent sound of a metallic breath.
Mortuus lifted his revolver and spoke. "Who's there?"
The man stepped into the light, and Mortuus could finally see what was making the noise. In the man's hand was a colorless pack with a tube that ran out and up to the man's mouth.
Mortuus saw a white cylinder in his mouth that seemed to hiss; it connected to the tube. "Willem Camargo or better yet... Subject D-7"
Mortuus stepped back. "I thought you were dead."
"I was. But unfortunately, none of us can die a second time." Willem said while staring down, his voice slightly muffled.
"Every moment of my existence is suffering, E-5." Willem took a long, deep, metallic breath, "Without this, my lungs collapse, and I'm stuck endlessly suffocating."
Mortuus glanced at Willem's twitching hand. He felt sympathy for him, especially knowing how he first died- Poisoned by his lover.
He lifted a bandaged hand out to Willem. "I know your pain, Willem. You're not alone." Willem lifted a knife from his pocket and, in one quick motion, sliced Mortuus's hand from his wrist.
Mortuus fell back, grabbing at his wrist in pain. "OW!! WHAT THE FUCK??"
"You and I are not the same," Willem shouted, pocketing his knife. "You were reborn with a chance; I was reborn with tragedy."
Willem kicked Mortuus's severed hand toward him and left, leaving him to bleed out beside his hand.
Mortuus lifted the stub of his wrist and looked at it closely. Blood was dripping down, and he could see the bone, its crystal white color sticking out within the blood. It was a clean cut.
He held his wrist, groaning in pain as he tried to collect his thoughts. What happened to Willem? He used to be so silent and peaceful. It was like a switch in his mind had flicked. "Lazurus Ataxia Syndrome. It's the only answer."
Mortuus reached over to his hand and picked it up. Slowly, he set it back in place before twisting it around with a sickly wet popping. He could feel the severed bone and arteries reattaching. It was like his body was just clay and wires.
He stood and rested his palm on the wall, looking at his newly reattached hand. Mortuus clenched his hand and wriggled his fingers. "Everything seems to be here," he said as he clenched his fist and headed to the front of the bunker.
Mortuus dashed outside, too late to find Willem. The birds sang sweetly as if nothing had happened—as if Mortuus hadn't just met a drugged-up Vietnam veteran with a severe case of asthma.
"Just once, I'd like to deal with a robber and not these fucking freaks." he grumbled angrily and slammed his fist into the bunker wall, the metal bending in response to his blow. He shouted and punched it again.
Mortuus hit it again, only stopping a second as he heard the familiar sound of cracking bone. His vision blurred, and his ears rang as he beat the wall. "Stop! Quit it, Mortuus!" He heard the familiar voice of Death shout.
He looked up and turned to Death, who stood with the posture of a great redwood tree. His stature was stiff, but his expression was one of sympathy despite the bone face. "This is not the time to fall back into old habits. This is the time to form new endings."
As usual, Death was the voice of reason, his mannerisms that of a kindly father or mother figure. Mortuus wasn't entirely sure which, as Death never said what his gender was. He assumed by how he acted and spoke that he was a man.
Not that it matters since Death never did correct him if he was wrong. Mortuus shook his head and snapped back to his usual self. "You're right. I have to find Willem before he hurts himself."
Deep down, the only person he was worried about getting hurt was Annastasia. Mortuus could feel Peter's closeness to her and felt like she was a safe space. She had actually helped him to understand who he was even though she never really knew that he was Peter.
Mortuus ran down the forest path and dashed towards the Cafe. The only place he knew for certain she would be. His breath was thick and heavy with worry as he silently prayed she was safe.
He slowed down as he noticed her sitting at a table in the window. He sighed with relief, knowing she was safe. Mortuus opened the door and sat at her table. She smiled at him.
Mortuus spoke in a softer tone than usual. "Are you okay?"
She stared at him for a minute, confused by why he asked. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
Mortuus took a quick puff of the cannabis and exhaled deeply. "I'm not the only one like this, but the only one who's still themself." He said as he looked out the window, seeming to ponder something.
She sipped her drink before speaking, "Is this about the recent murders, Mortuus?"
Mortuus nodded slowly. He wasn't sure how to tell her about the subjects and PROJECT MORTUUS. How could he possibly explain that he was her old friend who had died?
Annastasia spoke up, noticing that he was deep in thought. "You should check the old Morris house."
Mortuus thanked her and stood up to leave. Before leaving, he turned and spoke to her, "Stay safe, Annastasia."62Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaK7F2Q3PTW
