The dead are supposed to be simple. They die. I arrived. I guide their souls onward. Dealing with some resistance and disrupting anomalies along the way.
Then the rule broke, the dead do not stay dead. The door to their soul no longer opens. It slams shut. They get stuck, caught between this world and the next.
That place, I can only see a glimpse of it. A cold blue place, frayed at the edges. The more I stare, the deeper it gets.
I heard their screams there, sometimes.
I am now left to be only an investigator of this decaying civilization. Something I never really do.
I watched it sit in the white-walled cell like a breathing corpse, head bowed, limbs slack. The lab's air reeked of bleach, sterilization, a stack of monitors and equipment surrounding it.
"Subject N3170, prepare for injection," someone called out.
A woman in a white coat approached. She held a metal syringe with a steady hand.. The injection point was at the base of the skull, just above the spine.
The chemical plunged into its system. It twitched, spasmed, then—
A raw, broken sound like a newborn crying for the first time, only far more guttural. A noise torn not from fear or pain, but confusion.
Its eyes widened as the injection rushed through its veins.
For a period of time, it kept on crying and twisting.
Then, the thrashing sense slowed. The muscles relaxed. It sat still as if hypnotized.
The scientists surrounded it like priests at an altar, murmuring data and scribbling notes. One leaned in and slowly removed the mouth collar. Another wiped away the long strands of drool stretching from its jaw. The creature didn't resist.
That's when I sensed something. A soul. It came back from the depth I had tried to reach.
This one clawed its way back. And yet… I'm not sure it's the same soul that once lived in that body. This one feels… different. Lighter in some places. Heavier in others.
"Hello?" the one with brown hair said as he waved carefully.
The creature slowly looked up to him.
Checking the archive. His name is Lucas Wang. Early thirties. Fast-tracked to lead the 'Necrobiology department lab A' after the last leader withdrew due to growing health problems.
Lucas extended his hand. Hoping that it could understand what that meant.
It touched his hand…
"Well... he has a communication instinct. And according to the monitor, everything's positive. No sign of resistance," said another scientist—older, grayer, watching the vitals dance on the screen.
"Let's hope it doesn't go crazy like the last one," the young and relaxed one muttered.
"I'll continue monitoring him. You all get some rest," Lucas offered.
As the other left, Lucas moved to the observation room, adjacent to the holding cell. A bed. A desk. Monitors glowing in the dim light. On the screen: It sat still as a statue, hands folded in its lap.
Lucas sat, staring through the monitor. He whispered. His lips moved like a prayer. I couldn't make out the words.