Empty: Book 1

7 : Food

Illustrated: Conan

JOAS

Carrying a tighter grip on intuitions for this moment of gathering conceptions is a minimum work. Teeth on the brain, a nose for authenticity until everything starts to bleed.

Hostility makes a sound by the opening creak of the door, a revelation of the smiling undead beyond inside who's not expecting our reunion, not removing the curve engraved in his mouth although disallowed to devour, as one of the remnants of our city's cause of ending, cause of all disappointment next to Werth.

It says all here the way I see it; this time, the smile on its face sparks a pitiful help, restrained on the wall for guts inventory through the multiple wires injected into its limbs, smiling even for a natural study after being not a very good boy.

An old man can be seen standing across its toy, an alive human presenting his own persona in a lab coat and a suppressed will. A doctor specialized in studying infectious diseases I calculated by the charts on the wall aside from specimens living on a jar around the shady corners. You can't find another type of living human in this place but the doctors who'd taken a role of a disabled god as I realize. So may hell and heavens have no mercy on their penalty if no one turns out truly medically treated, or more so spiritual.

This section turns out to be a mini-laboratory where everything we're seeing seems to have been sitting for 40 years. Except for the happy freak placed at the center wall, safely can be criticized, so new, and I'm watching it more than could ever but no longer as an addict.

"How long have you all been living? It's been so long time since I saw one." an old doctor initiates in a grip of a syringe where everyone turns their head at once, I receive his eyes on mine to battle with.

Cheska's confidence ends the pause, "Dr. Abreo recommended you can help us. To discover more about those uh... smiling... zombies... like him, that ruined our town. Can you help us?" The old man nodded, smiling. Syringe kept, and his way onto us began closer.

"Yeah... I know. I'm Dr. Foster." he introduced."...take a seat." the jest directs towards an old sectional sofa next to the table they obeyed. Conan joined me standing at one side as the pretentious escorts.

"...unlike Dr. Abreo who's responsible for taking care of patients of this underground like a mother. I am the very guy who was tasked with observing any changes that occur to her kids. We've been here for over 13 years." the old man remarked in a note full of mastery, rummaging for proof he was trying to find inside a cabinet next to a rusted chair. Thirteen years, enough period for unsettling unknown possibilities to materialize and for this world to never be found until now.

"...we're first to figure the tragedy above after we have discovered a poor creature from the higher ground that appears to be tied to the existence of Unalives. We preserved it as a result. But it was only after we had finished viewing it that we learned... it lacked any particular quality that Unalives has or even relativity." he continued, a sound of professionalism and concern detected in his aim to ascertain. I won't call him a knowledgeable person, but I understand if he's smitten with tyranny.

"...that is to say simply, it is an Undead body, hundred percent. And humans are not limiting their target victims. All these significant periods of development of our Unalives could be easily wasted by those zombies in just one bite. Pana is the only patient it cannot touch. Have you met her?" he pointed to get these people nodding deeply occupied by his nominal details and I'm still uncertain if they could see where my eyes staring at.

Bluntly, I joined, "They are her food." I spoke with the drive of fluent intonation, the clue is in my gazes darted over the entertainment occurring in his back. Their eyes dazzling in confusion are now released on mine.