Injection.

Prologue

​

by

Abigail

Shadows seemed to creep from the corners of the room, stealing as much of the air as they could before the dim light cast from the flickering, broken lights chased it back into the depths of darkness. The only light in the cracked ceiling cast a dull yellow light from its almost shattered bulb, reflecting off the filthy glass that lined part of the front wall. Underneath, a dashboard filled with flickering buttons and cracked screens collected dust. Blue light seemed to glow from a single monitor set on an old metal table on the opposite wall of the glass. The computer’s slick black rims flickered in the inconsistent light, images switching on its screen every minute. The split screen seemed to show four different locations, the first two consisted of broken corridors, and the second two displayed doors. Suddenly, the mouse clicked, freezing it on the four images, as someone had gently swung open a creaky door, peering around carefully. They gently shut the door, black hair shrouding their face in wavy locks. The person, a girl it seemed, brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. What it revealed made a smile spread across the face dimly reflected in the screen.

 

The long black sheets of hair were neatly held back by a single pointed ear, it twitched as the girl listened intently for some sign of any living thing inhabiting the complex. Her deep green eyes searched the hallways, her footsteps light and agile. A deathly pale hand brushed away some golden crumbs that had fallen onto the table, and a chair creaked in protest of its occupant vacating it. A new figure appeared in the glass, an appearance that would make any sane person sprint away, screaming for their lives. It was a boy, dressed in a buttoned-down white dress shirt. His black dress pants were ruffled from long hours of staring at a computer screen, waiting. His jet-black hair was a bit mussed, yet neat nonetheless. The first oddity was his skin. It was such a color of white that it seemed almost transparent, like a ghost. The thing that sent the bravest men screaming, the most emotionless hearts to freeze with ultimate terror, was his eyes. The eyes that could hypnotize the most resilient of minds, or could destroy the most fortified ones. The ones that, if seen with this intention in their owner’s mind, would slowly drive you to insanity through the most traumatizing ways, make you beg for death, torment you even more, then end your life with their frigid power. These eyes were not human, nor animal, but the eyes of death itself. These eyes adorned the boy now, glowing and white, unstoppable yet controllable only by him.

 

He set down a paper plate adorned with mostly eaten raspberry-lemon cake, fluffy and moist, and smoothed his messy yet trim wave of hair. The contrast of his skin against the black sheen of his hair seemed to make him even more unsettling. With a napkin, he wiped a small speck of red frosting from his colorless lips, and smirked, eyes narrowing with dangerous power. His voice was like the coldest frostbite, inescapable, able to make the most optimistic fool break down sobbing with dread.

 
“Showtime.”