Patient B-2

Prologue:

 A delicate, feminine hum floats across the room, a stark contrast to the cacophony of screams and gunfire that had filled the air only moments before. Strangely, the screams were almost more comforting than the haunting melody. My gaze remains fixed on the weathered ceiling of the old warehouse, unable or perhaps unwilling to turn toward the source of the soft sound. The memories of violence and horror replay in my mind, each image etching itself deeper into my consciousness, a burden I fear I will carry forever— though I'm nearly positive I don't have much longer.

 Flashes of orange gunfire and stark red targets. Bodies, once colleagues, used as shields. Their distinct screams echoed through the cavernous space. A figure moved with blurred speed. A presence both human and monstrous. A whirlwind of violence, too swift to comprehend, leaving only fragmented memories in its wake.

 Before I can catch it, a cough erupts from my lips, splattering crimson across my face. The gentle hum comes to an abrupt halt, footsteps freezing in their tracks. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately willing my racing heart to quieten, hoping against hope that she'll just pass by without noticing. I silently plead, praying to God, but He doesn't answer.

 She does. "Hm, almost missed you."

 Adrenaline surges through me, overriding the pain from the myriad wounds that litter my body. I muster all my strength, pushing myself onto my knees, determination fueling my every move as I prepare to flee. But before I can fully rise, a sudden force knocks me off balance, sending me crashing to the ground face-first.

 "Look at me," her voice commands, firm and unwavering.

 I don't, remaining stubbornly defiant and refusing to meet her gaze. She doesn't give me time to regret it, wasting no time swiftly asserting her dominance. A forceful kick knocks me onto my back, the impact sending waves of pain throughout me. I feel my body losing its heat, but it's the coldness of her eyes that has me freezing, keeping me from attempting a second escape.

 "Tell me," she begins, her voice laced with an ominous edge, "you wouldn't happen to know where they're keeping Aren Wellington, would you?"

 The first name eludes me, but the last name, Wellington, would ring familiar to anyone. She interprets my silence as what it is— ignorance, then stoops down before me, her hand poised to grab hold. Suddenly, a beeping emanates from my pocket, piercing the tense air. Her eyes widen in alarm, and without hesitation, she reaches for the phone. Bringing personal items to work has been strictly forbidden for nearly two years now, a precaution against leaving any traces of information behind. Especially now, with the recent surge of deaths in the company, it's practically a given rule not to.

 She must know this because her eyes gleam with a newfound intensity, indicating that I've unwillingly provided her with her first real lead. She quickly turns the screen toward me, employing facial recognition to gain access. I can only watch as the red-eyed monster navigates through the digital contents, delving into every piece of information she can unearth.

 "W-Who are you?" I manage to stammer out as she rises to her feet, seemingly content with her discoveries.

 "You don't know?" she questions, her head tilting slightly to the side, strands of bright blonde hair falling across her face, almost veiling it, yet the glow of her red eyes remains unmistakable.

 I shake my head weakly, a few more coughs escaping me with the motion. "I'm the last face you'll ever see," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

 And then her boot is raising just enough to meet my gaze. It swiftly descends, and the last thing I hear is the eerie melody of her humming, mingling with the sickening sound of my face caving in. 

//

I finished the layout much quicker than I thought I would and ended up writing a good couple of chapters, so may as well publish them, right?