Once, there was an island.... // MPHFPC one shots, imagines, and misc !

Rotting is Poison, Revival is Antidote { OC }

HIHIHI SO
my mind is completely blank when it comes to continuing any of my current works and i am so sorry lolz
but i was actually drop kicked by an idea earlier so introducing: Captain Nikolai Caspian Thorne, a half-dead peculiar known for their daring escapes and strange ways of avoiding death. I've been meaning to build on their character for a while and welp here i am, doing exactly that and throwing it at yall like its my job
based off House of Wolves by My Chemical Romance, aka one of their best songs off Black Parade, and Drunk by The Living Tombstone//

I feel so much better than usual,
I feel indisputable...

Their hands were coated in dirt. 
The Captain was sick of death. It left a bitter taste of metal in their mouth, mixing with the aftermath of bile and maggots. Their limbo was different every single time, and here they were again. This go around, it was a train station. Everything around them was sped up, people swirled into blurs and the train racing past with no concern for the man needing for it to stop.
They checked their stopwatch. 
Judging by how fast the hands were turning, they'd likely be "dead" for the upper part of a decade. How dreadful. The train before them finally screeched to a sudden stop, shaking the world back into continuation. The clock slowed down, the small date reading August 16th, 2011. Present day, basically. Inconvenient.
The bright side of the Captains peculiarity was how they never really aged. So long as they died every so often, time would spare them the trouble. Nikolai Thorne waited for the train to come to a complete stop, then they sighed and slid both the watch and their hands into their pockets. Dressed in all black, they seemed almost inhuman in appearance. Past yknow- the fact that they weren't human, in technicality, they were a zombie. The Captain had long, dark hair, speckled with streaks of white from their previous tangles with the afterlife, and murky violet eyes. Their skin harbored a faint green tint, once again a hint to their slight problem. They wore a long black coat with a silver stag painted in silhouette on the back, dress pants and a tight black turtleneck. Leather gloves hung at their belt, beside a holster and the handle of a small blade. Their boots were layered in dirt, as if they wandered through mud as a normal past time. 
The trains doors slid open, and The Captain stepped inside. It reeked of cleaning supplies, but it was empty. Meaning it was meant for them. Thank the gods, it would have been mildly concerning if somebody else had to end up on the train back up with them. They weren't exactly skilled at conversations. 
Vaguely, they wondered where they'd end up this time. 

A cave.
The train left them in a cave.
Bloody fucking hell.
The Captain sighed, cracked their knuckles, and started walking. It was a shallow cave, considering the light was right in front of them. They noted the gruesome irony of it- walking into the light after crawling up from death for the first time in just about 13 years. At least there was a comfort in knowing they'd likely never have to walk into it. 
Outside, they startled. Loop air. It was sweeter than usual air was- untouched by time in the same way they were. They didn't smell sweet though- this coat had stunk of old cigarettes and soil for decades, and they doubted it would change any time soon- but this air was familiar. 
Scent memory. It could bring back memories that otherwise wouldn't be recalled, trigger some bitchass neurons to go "Oh boy! We know this one, boss!", basically. 
Silently, they cursed their psychology degree and kept walking. 
Judging by the haze of salt that stuck to the sweet air, The Captain was on some sort of island. They ran through a mental list of island loops in what felt like the early 20th century- maybe late as the 1940s, though they couldn't be sure until they saw the people. The Captain trekked through what they assumed to be a bog, carefully making their way across with extreme precision. They had already gone out by suffocation. They didn't need to mark that off twice. 
Once on the other side, Niko looked over their shoulder and scraped their memory for any loop that had a cave entrance. There was one in California, Wales, greater London, and a couple on a scattered collection of islands off the coast of Argentina. Narrowed down the list enough. The California loop opened to a desert, while the Argentinean ones were all below ground and basically tombs. Greater London was a train station, not much of a cave but they had referred to it as such one time and now it's stuck. Leaving Wales as their best bet.
They didn't remember much welsh. Fuck.
The Captain stole an apple off a low hanging branch and started down a well worn path, bouncing the fruit in their palm as they tried to decide what to do next. The obvious answer would be to get back to the present, create a whole bunch of fraudulent documents, and try to live quietly until a white eyed bastard caught wind of their revival. The fun answer, though, was to find the residents of this loop and strike up a new allyship. Any of their old ones likely grieved them and long since moved on, an unfortunate drawback of death and rebirth. 
Even immortality lacks perfection.