Do you know who I am? | Yungi

14

This will be a tad bit gruesome lol

Cold echoing footsteps reaching the very ledge of the door which is painted the same color as the wall. A small crack with a light orange glow reveals it to be what it is, a simple door leading to who knows where. Yunho has no idea what waits for him as he stands there.

The wind seemingly howls and even as Yunho reaches for the crack which he rams his fingers into in order to pry it open, he shivers in pure terror. Surely this won't be the end of him? The last few breaths he'll take, the last thoughts that will cross his mind? No person would willingly enter a place they knew they wouldn't escape, unless they were doing it for someone else, right? What would Yunho achieve if he succeeded in his mission? To kill someone who kills, violence with violence. Truly, he hasn't had enough time to adapt to his new lifestyle, to his new expectations.

The gun feels more like an emotional weight than anything else, and his very own footsteps are the only sound in the dimly lit warehouse. A ceiling much taller than any warehouse he's entered before. His next step is a resounding splash, the bottom of his pants drenched, the metallic odor a stench he never wanted to smell in this capacity. He dares to look down, swallowing some of his own reflux of the simple fruit he had in the morning.

Blood. Red, sticky, fresh, blood. The way it paints the gray floors, the light only adding to how alive it looks, flowing in large quantities. His shoes are practically drowned by it as he walks towards the source. No sounds but his own splashing, his heartbeat, his quick breaths.

His only thought that crosses his mind now is how screwed he is, not feeling protected by his weapons, not feeling comforted by the fact that all he sees is the blood. That blood is ominous, out of place without a body to compliment it. It wraps his chest in bloody vines, he feels choked from the smell and from the deadly thoughts that pound in his head.

How could he? A simple doctor, barely any experience in life as it is, expect to kill a competent murderer? One who feels entitled to decide when one's life is necessitated to end. The lights are out, so quickly, so suddenly.

The orange glow is uncanny, too similar to his dream for their not to be a connection. As out of this world as it is, he feels as if it was this very room he stands in now that he was in during his dream. The expanses and the smell. All he needs is the slime to drown in, maybe it was blood all along. The blood that keeps rising.

"I don't want to die." He calls out to the void, shaking. The lights flicker at his shout, the color turning red to match the new paint on the ground. Blood on blood, Yunho feeling stuck to the ground he stands on. The new light tint draws his attention to the wall, words, drawn like ink, dripping down.

Tastes so good

The handwriting matches the other images he has been shown, much more fresh of course. He knew he might be too late, but still that prospect haunts him as he stays stagnant. What? Has he come this far just to be killed next to another, for his blood to mix so gruesomely with someone else's?

"Why did this person need to die? What have they done to you?" He asks desperately to the nothing, to the empty.

"You ask so many questions." Nails clutch his throat from behind, light trickles of blood flow down his shirt. He lets out a choked sob, partially from the sharp pain but also the confusion. How was he expected to beat this? It's inhuman. "Let me ask you one, Yunho." He holds him there, speaking against his bleeding neck as his nails dig deeper. His breathing is beginning to be restricted so that if it kept up like this he wouldn't live another hour.