Ghosts Don't Exist

Chapter 1: Imagine a Life Outside

D- 37 stood in an alley way with his hand pressed to his side. He was wearing a hospital gown, in this weather? It's snowing hard. Green ectoplasm ran down his leg. He leaned his shoulder on the wall, and exhaled deeply. He had been leaning on one leg as his left ankle was sprain, this was not how he hoped to get out of that confounded building.

-two hours ago-

D- 37 was strapped down to a cold table with his torso exposed. More so, his organs were exposed, open for all to see. It didn't smell nice, not at all. Then again, what did you expect your insides to smell like?

Four people stood around him, two women and two males. They wore doctoral equipment, gloves, masks, and all. D- 37 stared at the ceiling hoping of being somewhere else as his organs were poked and prodded at. Organs were taken out and afterwards doctors would stare with clipboards as his organs grew back. This continued for two years.

Two timeless, torturous years.

He was not allowed to speak, argue, fight back, disobey or bend rules, etc. D- 37 was not one to think about the rules, he was convinced they were there for a reason. His life before this didn't matter either, electrocution to the body made sure of that. He had spent two hour in the chair being told to forget about it. His name before did not matter. His family did not matter. His friends did not matter.

None of it matter.

So, he lived a pointless life where he had nothing. He was a lab rat for dangerous experiments he'd wish would kill him.

Then an explosion announced itself in the west building. D- 37 was hastily sone back up and was unstrapped from the table.

He was curious, what had caused such a commotion? He didn't know but something about it made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time. A feeling he thought he'd forgotten about, hope. It made him scream and fight against his handlers. He ran when they let go, he torn open his hastily sone side causing blood to spill. He pressed his hand against it. He was shot at and the gun fire only made him run faster. The adrenaline rush was freeing to him, his body tingled. Until, they shot at his feet in an attempt to slow him down. They succeeded and sprained his left ankle, but he kept running.

The bright light of daylight was more welcoming than he expected. Paradise was right there. He was no longer fired at but he didn't care, it helped in his escape. He busted the doors open and ran to the closest hiding spot, which in this case is an alley way.

-back to the present-

D- 37 sat down and sighed. He couldn't help but smile, he was out after two years. Two suffocating years. He was still bleeding out though, he needed medical attention soon or he'd be more than half ghost. He gritted his teeth and pressed his hand more harshly against his side. He forced himself up and leaned against the wall once more. He needed medical attention, so when you need medical attention you get some, right?

Well, walking into a store half dead will get you that. The store next to the alley way has to be selling bandages. The manager, a stubby white haired old man, quickly came to D- 37's aid. He ran towards the medicine aisle and came back with four boxes of bandages, ointment (for smaller cuts), hydrogen peroxide, wipes, and Batman printed band-aids. The manager was quite surprised when he realized D- 37's blood was green but knew there were more important matters to attend to.

The manager had pulled his injured customer to the side and spent ten minutes cleaning and dressing D- 37's wound. D- 37 listened closely to this man speak softly and tell calming words as he dressed him in bandages. He reminded him of someone but didn't know who. A blurry man, tall and buff was what came to mind. Who what that? D- 37 had a Batman band-aid stuck to his nose after the manager applied ointment. The manager applied ointment to every cut on D- 37's legs and arms as one of his employees, a young female and kind, put their jacket around him. He was cold, shaking badly. He didn't have a shirt on after all.