Dr. Liebert at World's End

Chapter 001

August 7th, 2028 

 I awake from my sleep, slumped over my desk, the dim glow of my computer screen painting my face in cold, artificial light. My mouth is slightly agape, and a trickle of drool has snaked its way down my chin, seeping onto the neatly arranged documents before me. The once pristine papers are now marred by my unintended drool stain. 

 "I passed out?" I ask myself, my voice hoarse and disoriented, barely more than a whisper. Blinking rapidly, I struggle to clear the fog from my vision, the disjointed fragments of my recent work slowly coming into focus. 

 Around me, the cluttered desk is a chaotic mix of half-drunk coffee mugs, crumpled notes, and an ever-growing stack of paperwork. The faint hum of the office's air conditioning is a constant, almost soothing presence, but it does little to chase away the throbbing ache that pulses at my temples. The clock on the wall shows that it's well past midnight. I must have been at this for hours, possibly days, without realizing the toll it was taking on me. Rubbing my eyes, I try to piece together how I ended up in this state. My mind, sluggish and reluctant, flashes through snippets of fragmented thoughts and unresolved issues that had been consuming my attention. I shift in my chair, the crumpled paper under me rustling softly. My body feels heavy, as if it's struggling to catch up with my awareness.

I glance at the scattered documents, their once-crisp edges now bearing the tell-tale signs of my unintended slumber. I need to regroup. I tell myself to focus, but my gaze keeps wandering back to the puddle of drool on the papers. A rueful smile tugs at my lips as I reach for a nearby tissue, attempting to salvage what I can. The irony isn't lost on me: I've been burning the midnight oil for so long that even my dedication has become a mess. With a deep breath, I push myself upright, stretching out the stiffness in my back and neck. It's clear I need rest, but the pile of work ahead looms like an insurmountable mountain. I take another glance at the clock and try to assess the damage. Maybe a short break will help clear my mind and restore some semblance of order to this chaotic mess. 

"I still can't believe he got away," I murmur to myself. 

I settle back into my chair, determined to make some progress before surrendering to the exhaustion that tugs at the edges of my consciousness. Patient 107 was an important part of all this research, he was the first person I successfully brought back from the dead with the revival fluid and machines. I did everything I could to perfect it, but Patient 107 appeared to be an anomaly. Originally I had another purpose for him, but due to the fact I ran out of corpses to test the revival fluid on, I used it on him.

From what I was able to gather I suspect Patient 107 was a descendant of the divine ones. The research had been revolutionary, a leap beyond the edge of science into something that bordered on the impossible. The ability to bring someone back from the dead—something once confined to the realm of fiction and mythology—was now a reality. But with that reality came unforeseen consequences, and Patient 107 was the perfect example of this. 

Despite the enormous potential, there was always a risk when delving into the unknown. Patient 107 had not just survived; he had thrived in ways that defied all the known parameters of the revival fluid's efficacy. His return was accompanied by subtle anomalies that had baffled the entire team. His physical form was flawless, but his behaviour, his reactions—they suggested something far beyond ordinary human experience.

The latest report from the security footage replayed in my mind: Patient 107 had managed to outmanoeuvre the security systems with an ease that suggested a level of intellect and capability far beyond normal. He escaped the facility without leaving a trace, a ghost slipping through the net of our most advanced technology. This was more than just a setback. It was a crisis. If Patient 107 was indeed a descendant of the divine ones, as my research hinted, then his abilities and potential were far beyond anything we could comprehend or control.

My mind raced through the implications. If there were more like him—if the divine bloodline still existed—then they could potentially harness the revival technology, or worse, turn it against us. I needed answers, and those answers lay buried somewhere within the chaotic mess of my documents and notes. I forced myself to sift through the clutter on my desk, my fingers moving with a practiced efficiency despite the lingering fog of exhaustion. I retrieved a folder marked "Patient 107—Post-Revival Observations" and began flipping through it. Each page was a jumble of notes, data points, and sketches of the various experiments and observations we had conducted. Amidst the chaos, one particular document caught my eye: a handwritten note from the last few hours before Patient 107's escape. The note was a brief summary of his recent behaviour, but one line stood out: "Subject exhibits profound understanding of human emotion and advanced cognitive functions. Potential link to ancient lineage?" Could it be that Patient 107's escape was a deliberate act, a sign that he was aware of something that we had missed? If he had a deeper understanding of his situation or of our research, then he could be planning something far beyond mere evasion.

I ran my cold metal hand through my hair that had begun turning grey, trying to organize my thoughts. There was a pressing need to understand Patient 107's motivations and capabilities. I would have to go over every scrap of data, every security feed, and every interaction he had before his disappearance. But first, I needed to clear my head.

With a determined sigh, I stood up from my desk and made my way to the break room. The room was dimly lit, with only the faintest glow from a lone vending machine. I grabbed a cup of coffee, its rich aroma offering a brief respite from the haze of fatigue. As I sipped the hot liquid, my thoughts drifted back to the divine lineage theory. Could it be that Patient 107 was not just a product of advanced science, but of something far more ancient and powerful? If that was true, then the very fabric of what we understood about life, death, and resurrection was about to be challenged. I knew that if I wanted to get to the bottom of this, I would need to approach it from every angle. I needed to analyse every bit of data, trace every step Patient 107 had taken, and most importantly, understand the true nature of the divine lineage that seemed to be intertwined with our ground-breaking research.

With renewed resolve, I returned to my desk, ready to tackle the mountain of work before me. The journey was far from over, and the challenges ahead were daunting. But if there was any chance of uncovering the truth behind Patient 107 and the mysterious divine lineage, then I had to face it head-on, no matter how long it took or how many sleepless nights lay ahead.