The world was painfully dark.

No.

That wasn't quite right…

It was painful. And it was dark.

John tried moving his body, to no avail.

"Doctor, I think he's moving!" a female voice exclaimed.

The sound of extremely light footsteps followed. Instantly, John recognised those footsteps. They belonged to someone who's walked the halls of those who would soon be applying for 'Basement Admission'.

A split second later, John, surprisingly lucid, realised he was now in that bed.

"Hand me the chart please," a tired female voice said.

John recognised the female Doctor's tone of voice. It held the tone he'd unconsciously affected when he knew the patient was beyond any help.

Defeated.

"Jeezus!" she hissed, reading the prognosis report. "24 broken bones, severe muscle damage and internal bleeding. Both legs will need to be amputated. Internal bleeding in his chest, estimated that his right lung has been ripped to shreds. Large lacerations on his chest and back...

Two large puncture wounds on his right shoulder and a smaller one on his left thigh-"

John's hearing faded slightly as pain spiked through his body. Just hearing the list of injuries made them feel worse...

A female voice spoke suddenly, interrupting the doctor. "We've just received word from Somerset... he's one of theirs!"

The female doctor cursed loudly.

"The worst thing is," the voice continued, "He was driving back from his wife's funeral!"

"Oh my god!" the doctor exclaimed. "That's just..."

Ex-wife! John thought angrily. However, that thought slipped from his suddenly foggy mind.

"Doctor!" another voice said, this time her voice panic-laced. "His heart rate!"

And then John knew it was his moment. The amount of damage he'd taken, along with the presumed heavy blood loss, would have been too taxing on his body.

In that moment, all he could feel was regret!

Regret for a failed marriage.

Regret for not having any children.

Regret at not having any friends.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Regret for living an unfulfilled life!

John's body silently began to struggle. His mouth twisted in pain as he tried to resist.

Then he heard the doctor lean close. A soft, cold, gloved hand suddenly touched his feverish forehead, and the other gloved hand squeezed his own tenderly.

"Don't worry, just let it go," she whispered soothingly.

But!-

"Just let it go..." she whispered again, so softly.

I!

I'm just a!-

"All of us here," she whispered, insistently. "We'll remember you!"

John froze in shock.

"We won't forget; you're one of us!"

A soothing wave crept over his body. As if by the sound of her voice alone, the pain fled for a moment.

Relief.

Gratitude.

John struggled again, suddenly. He knew his life was measured in half-seconds.

He forced his body, his throat.

"......"

Then John sighed in relief.

And, just as sudden, his breath left his body.

The small ward was still, the only sound was the surprisingly loud ticking of the clock, and the even more surprisingly soft sound of the flatline on the heart rate monitor.

After a moment, the doctor stood up. She was amazed to find tears on her face.

"Doctor," the nurse said, after a moment. "Did he say something, at the... end?..."

The doctor's body shook for a moment. "Yes," she replied softly.

She remembered his body shaking in distress, and then suddenly relaxing.

And then the raspy, cracked voice, coming from a throat that was clearly torn up-

"...thank... you..."

The doctor lapsed into a trance for a moment, before shaking herself awake.

There were other patients. There were always more patients.

"I'm calling it: eleven twenty-two."

Prologue End

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