The Memoir Of Shinigami

THE MEMOIR OF THE SHINIGAMI

THE MEMOIR OF THE SHINIGAMI by C Francis. (Also author of Stealing Minds)

"In the brightest light, the deepest darkness will fade, but in the deepest darkness, the faintest light will shine."

DEDICATION

For my mom and dad, thank you for never breaking my heart.

BOOKS BY BEN ZICKELIUS

Once upon a time, I buried my head in a book

And made the library my grave

And I've never felt more alive

THE MEMOIR OF A SHINIGAMI

Preface

"Are you even human?"

"I've never considered myself human... I once did but not anymore. I'm neither driven by what's good nor what's not right like humans do. I'm more driven by... sagacity. If killing yields the desired outcome, I will kill."

"What are you?"

"An aberration... that should have never been. That's the only way to put it."

"Are you mortal?"

"I don't know, but I bleed."

"Are there others like you?"

He goes quiet. The seconds pass. One. Two. Three. Four.

"Yes." He answers and leans back in the chair.

I meet his gaze, it exudes a distinct aura, something between cold and warm. The swirl of his almond eyes suggests he has witnessed a lot of bloodshed. His eyes are dark and impassive, reflecting the same ominous atmosphere mingling with the faint traces of darkness that pervade the room. With a casual gesture, he moves his right hand. The cuff on it slides down and gets stuck mid-way as he scratches his shoulder beneath the jumpsuit. Regardless of his calm demeanor, I can sense that he knows exactly why he's here; it's not for a friendly chat or anything of the sort. It's a custodial interview.

"Are you done?" he asks calmly. Despite me being the interrogator, he holds all the cards, and everything is proceeding at his pace. I feel more like his prisoner.

"What do you call yourself?" I ask. He goes quiet again. Seconds pass. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

"A Shinigami."

Chapter one

The gate slowly opens as I disembark from the boat and step onto the dock, which is more of an overextending metal ledge of the wall. The entire place reminds me of a school in the way the blocks are arranged, but for the high barbed walls running around the area, not to protect the structure in case the oceans get unwelcoming but rather to keep in or out unwished-for sprees

The buildings are mostly made of steel and concrete, in different architectural designs, scattered all over a concrete floor spreading in all directions of the island. But the most eye-catching is the middle building not far from the main administration block. It has an eel feeling to it, plastered with the name "Ndende", 25 stories high, wide as a football ground, and with numerous small windows fit for a hand only. It's where the prisoners are kept. It's like the Burj Khalifa here, of course in an electric fence, 18 to 25 meters high and it's within a clear, thin glass wall twice the height of the electric fence.

The place is called the Rock Institute, founded ten years ago. It's not exactly an institute; rather an international prison where they keep the world's worst criminals. These are people who wear their demons on their sleeves, devoid of any empathy for any kind of human. Torture, rape, and mass murder were once all in a day's work for them. They're like the king psychopaths and sociopaths, very powerful people most of whom had vast resources at their disposal. Pablo Escobar pales in comparison to them.