Morda felt like he was in a lucid dream. He dreamt himself being chained like a criminal — a dangerous one at that — because both his hands and feet were chained with very heavy shackles.
"Neo Doe, you have been found guilty of murder, terrorism, and arson, and because of these acts of yours, the court sentences you to treason," a voice said.
Morda felt like that person was aiming that directly at him. He tried to wake up but he just couldn't. His body was numb and his mind felt trapped. Another thing he could hear in all this were murmurs and inaudible voices, cameras flashing at him.
"Where am I, what am I doing here?" Morda asked himself.
The murmurs and inaudible voices became much clearer, as if he finally snapped out of wherever his mind was and was now back in reality. He felt like he was really in a horrible nightmare because once he came back, Morda gasped for air.
He raised his head to look at what the hell was going on around him. The last time he recalled, he had a bullet pierced through his head and all the way out of his temples. In short, he was dead — and that wasn't something he fought against. He accepted it fully like a grown man.
Only for him to find himself in a place that looked completely different and new to him — but at the same time, it was really familiar. Morda was standing in court. Presented in front of him was a judge who had just slammed his gavel and made a ruling.
Not knowing what was happening, Morda found himself being dragged out of court like he had just been sentenced like a criminal.
He was pushed around by a very big police officer.
"Join this line, you punk!" the officer said.
Morda didn't understand what the heck was going on, why he was pushed around by someone who had the same profession as him, and why this officer was talking to him like he was not even human but an animal.
"Why are you pushing me around like this, what have I done?" Morda had no choice but to ask because he had to know.
"Don't ask me stupid questions, you fool, I'm not your friend." The officer slapped him.
The officer's hand was so big that when he slapped Morda, he felt like his head was spinning around and his ear was ringing. He had no choice but to obey the officer now.
The line that Morda was asked to join was a line of criminals who were chained together and dragged around like donkeys pulling a cart. Morda was shoved in between two criminals — one criminal really looked like he perfectly fit the description of the definition of a dangerous criminal, and another criminal who seemed quite normal but actually wasn't.
"Watch where you're stepping, fresh meat," the big guy licked his lips.
He was one scary-looking person, and that wasn't just because of the overwhelming gigantic size of his, but the way his face was. He had a scar on his left eye that left it blind, and his other eye had a speculum which made his eye pop out.
Morda had started to look at this guy from the top and as he went down, all he saw was the confirmation he needed — that this guy was nothing but a monster. The clothes he wore had been torn by the sleeves, making it a vest. His pants were tight, and his feet looked like they were the size of Bigfoot's feet.
Morda gulped. "Sorry," he said.
Instantly, he looked forward and began walking as the line of criminals began to move. They were outside, but the place they were in really didn't look like a normal place. The buildings were destroyed, there was smoke coming out almost everywhere, and the ground was nothing but broken pieces of bottles.
The walk was so long that most criminals were now starting to get tired. The one who was in front of Morda was now slowing down his pace — in fact, now he was dragging his feet. Then he stopped to catch his breath.
Morda wasn't aware of this. His mind was still in a fritz, he was still trying to understand all of this, so he wasn't looking at where he was going. His legs moved on their own, but his lost mind was somewhere else.
'How did I get here? From what I remembered is that I died and I'm totally fine with that, but how did I go from being a sixty-eight-year-old detective to being this right here — a criminal?' Morda thought to himself.
He bumped into this guy which made Morda cause an abrupt stop. The big guy who was behind him didn't have the same effect that the other criminals had; he just stopped like nothing happened.
The officer who was at the very end of the line came to check on what was the reason for this unsanctioned stop.
"What is going on, why have these things stopped?" he asked one of the officers who was walking behind Morda and the other criminals.
"I'm sorry, sir, I think they must be tired. It's been a long walk," the young officer said, looking all frightened.
"So if they are tired, who told them to stop? Did you do that?!" the officer asked the young officer.
"No sir, I didn't," the young officer stepped back.
"Then who was the one who caused all of this?" The officer looked at his young officer, then he looked at the prisoners.
Almost every prisoner was afraid of him, so they avoided his gaze — even the big gigantic guy didn't look at him. The young officer's eyes looked at Morda, who looked at both officers.
The officer saw this and assumed that Morda was the real reason behind this.
"So you think you have the authority to do whatever you want, huh?" The officer got closer to Morda, who was not even shaken by all this. He didn't say anything; he just kept quiet and kept his eyes locked on the officer.
"I'm talking to you, you punk! Do you think that you have the authority?!" The officer saw that Morda wasn't threatened by him, which made him even more mad.
All he did was punch Morda in his stomach three times. Morda fell down.
"I'll ask you again, do you think you are in a position to make such a call?" He grabbed Morda by the hair and made him face him.
"No, sir," Morda admitted. His stomach was in pain after the officer had let go of his hair. Morda laid down because of his stomach pain.
The young officer ran to him and tried to help him get up. "I'm really sorry, it wasn't my intention for you to get hurt like this."
"Nope, don't worry, it's okay. It's not like this is the first time I've been punched by someone who punches like a three-year-old girl," Morda tried to get up.
"Hey! Who said you should help him out?" The officer came back and kicked the young officer away from Morda.
He looked at Morda with so much hatred in his eyes. He spit at him, then went ahead.
The mucus had landed in Morda's eye. He wiped it himself and stood up. The young officer helped himself up. Both he and Morda looked at each other as he went on ahead.
The line wasn't moving now. Morda, who was really small compared to the others, tried by all means to see what was the reason the movement had stopped — but he couldn't see.
"Why have we stopped?" he asked.
But the truth was Morda wasn't asking anyone — he just asked and wasn't expecting anyone to answer him.
"Because the train is here," one of the prisoners said.
Morda looked around to see who was the one who said that. He even looked at the giant prisoner behind him but realized that it couldn't be him — he'd heard his voice before, and this wasn't it.
"Who said that?" Morda asked again.
"Don't raise suspicions, kid," the person answered.
Morda finally noticed that this voice was coming out of the prisoner who was in front of him.
"You said it's a train, a train for what exactly?" Morda asked.
"It's the train that will take us to where we were sentenced," the prisoner said.
"And if you don't mind me asking, where is that exactly?" Morda wasn't satisfied with the answer given to him.
"Death." The prisoner just left it at that.
Morda was really not understanding what this guy was on about. He thought that all his answers were not making any sense. He had more questions.
But before he could ask, the line began to move again.
Morda finally reached the front, and what he saw standing in front of him was an old train full of graffiti. It was one of those trains that were used to transport coal, but this one looked more like a circus train — but for prisoners.
"Great, one way to really end us is by taking us to a circus," Morda rolled his eyes.
"Get inside, fresh meat."
Morda was roughly lifted and thrown inside the train. When he saw who threw him, he realized it was none other than his big gigantic friend — who, when he climbed the train, it actually tilted.
Morda got up and looked around. Inside the train weren't any seats but cages put there for all of them. Officers came and put them inside.
"Say your last prayers to whichever god you worship, because where you are going, there is no god," the officer smiled as he closed the door.
Not even half a second passed and the train started to move. After the officer had closed the door, the whole platform went dark, and it was hard to make out anything.
When the train moved, Morda lost his balance and he fell down. There wasn't much he could make out in this place — everything and everyone felt like a ghost. So he sat there quietly.
'Am I really here? This isn't some kind of mistake. I'm actually a criminal?'
Morda wasn't completely over the whole thing. He still needed answers, and by the looks of it, no one was going to give them to him.
'I have to find the answers fast, before something bad happens to me.'
He told himself. The train had been moving for some time now, and Morda couldn't help but feel like something was off and something really bad was about to happen.
Just as he was trying to shake this feeling, a female voice appeared.
[ Congratulations, you have been chosen to prove your innocence ]
Morda's eyes widened as he saw this message.