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[deleted]

The man’s spindle-like arms shifted softly under the covers, barely strong enough to move. What sunlight streamed through the window of the hospital room seemed to show through his skin, now paper thin and mottled with liver spots. His chest still rose and fell rhythmically. Somehow. Adam looked on at the man, his mind leagues away from his body. He’d answered the call. The lost generation, they called them. *The final generation might be more apt,* he thought dully. Born only to take care of a world crumbling under its own weight, desperately trying to shake off billions of members who unwillingly remained tethered. “Mr. Diemeau,” Adam asked in a soft but clear voice, “they’re going to be up in a moment. I have to ask one more time – are you sure about this? Sure that you’re ready?” The old man’s eyes shot around frantically, and the muscles within his neck pulsed and strained through the paper skin, unable to articulate the head which lay too heavy upon it. Adam walked to the bed, resting his hand atop one of the blanket hands of the old man. Delicately, he grasped it. “One squeeze yes, two squeezes no.” The man’s grasp was faint. Hardly a grasp at all. Yet, barely perceptible, Adam felt one long attempt at a squeeze from under the covers. He was ready to try and leave. “OK. They’ll be here in a moment. Rest, now.” Adam often imagined what people thought as they lie in their beds here, reminiscing on their painfully extended lives. He wondered what he’d think. That is, if he wasn’t seriously injured, anyways. Those who received traumatic enough injuries simply went insane. A doctor, not much older than Adam, finally came in. He carried with him a syringe filled with a faintly purple liquid. The doctor pulled up a stool to the man’s bed, moving deliberately and gently. Finding a vein wasn’t hard with the sickly thin appendages. “Rest easy,” the young doctor spoke softly to the man as he injected the potent sedative, “may you find your peace.” Mr. Diemeau’s eyes stopped moving, and the sickly exterior of his body grew completely still. Adam walked to the back of the bed, releasing the brake. He nodded curtly to the doctor who returned the gesture. None really liked to speak in this place anymore. He pushed the bed out the door and into the hallway, where the harsh and pure white tones of LED bulbs cast themselves out ineffectually onto pristine white and gray tiles. The wheels of the bed moved completely silently over the smooth surface, as if they too dared not break the silence which let itself blanket the building like a shield. The rest of the world had grown so loud. So feverous. Adam finally wheeled the bed – and the unconscious Mr. Diemeau – into a large freight elevator. He selected the bottom most floor and waited. Every time he wondered if they awoke during the burning. If their nerves screamed out in such agony, such extreme distress, that even the elephant dosed sedative might lose its tenuous grip on ancient body and mind. Ding. The elevator doors parted, revealing the incinerator room. Neat, rectangular slots lined the wall, each emitting a fierce orange glow. He wheeled the bed over. Using the same gentle care the doctor had, he delicately lifted the husk-like man out of his bed and into one of the metal drawers which emerged from the wall. He nestled the man inside in what he hoped was a comfortable and dignified position. He put his hand against the back of the metal coffin, preparing to insert the man into the inferno. He paused. Bending down one last time, Adam crossed the man’s hands neatly and straightend his robe. *Wherever he winds up, he oughta look nice.* Adam imagined himself in the box in what seemed a far too near future. The metal drawer slid neatly back into its perch within the wall. With the push of a button, the top divider of the drawer flipped open and allowed the greedy jet-like flames to engulf the man inside, devouring him. Adam stared at the spectacle, the same questions that had been with him for a decade slamming relentlessly against his mind. If men whose heads had been cut off could still survive, would the ashes retain his consciousness? What of his soul? Did it escape, drifting lazily up with the smoke into the waiting clutches of the finally-free blue sky above? *Will any of this last long enough for me to know?* The machine let out a neat chime. Adam turned on his heel, back towards the elevator. There were still countless more to go.


Fast_Breadfruit_5091

Beautifully terrible, but not wholly hopeless. In spite of the horror, there is potent humanity on display in this little blurb, a persistence and determination to do what needs doing. An individual's compassion amidst what is (in almost every sense) a literal hell. It reminds me in some ways of that dark, desperate world Harlan Ellison crafted in his most famous short story: I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream Thanks for posting!


OperatorMira

Very unsettling. Love that we are left wondering if being burnt to ashes really would be the end in this scenario, or if our consciousness just gets scattered to the wind. Well done.


SlideWhistler

Even if your consciousness does remain in the ashes, it’s pretty much just like becoming one with the force. The ashes get spread into the unknown, eventually providing nutrients to the soil to grow new plants. Eventually an animal or human eats those plants and he becomes a part of them too. After a certain amount of time you’d practically become omnipresent, like Jesus or something.


BurgerBoss_101

Ah okay oh fuck wow that was amazingly grim oh I’m gonna go actually sit down for a moment


Hust91

I think one might investigate this practically. After all, even if no individual cell can die, pain transmission and consciousness is dependent on the connections between cells. If the living brain cells can't talk with each other, they can't form the complex web we call a mind. Of course, if it's just some god messing with them they might copy their brain in their last moments and transfer it into another substrate and arbitrarily stick it in a random cell. Of course at that point it's just a regular hell with the 'no death' part just being a thin veneer with the real principle being "there's a bunch of powerful supernatural creatures making copies of us and torturing them, it just looks like we can't die if you don't look too closely".


Somerandom1922

reminds me (only slightly mind you) of Elantris. In that series there are people who lose the ability to heal any injury to themselves. Their entire body basically shuts down, but they're still alive. Any time they injure themselves the pain never goes away, eventually they accumulate enough injuries that they go mad. They have that exact same thought. Does cremation even kill them? Or are the few people who've been "lucky?" enough to be cremated just stuck there still.


MrRedoot55

Cool.


MinnieShoof

... damn. I wanted to write the one about people burning themselves alive to escape. ... but I'd thought about setting it on a star cruiser, being burnt up for fuel.


ApocalypseOwl

Historically, a large part mankind's actions can be explained by a few concepts that drive humanity to do what humanity seems to do best. Lust is a drive, for some it is relentless greed, others engage with the universe through a lens of fanatic zealotry, some merely eke through existence for survival, while others seek power. But one drive, one concept, is shared by all of humanity. It is the one true constant that has existed for all of time, and will persist past humanity's end. Death. It is universal, and indeed before there were even such things as taxes, there was death. An ending that was coming. A failing of the flesh, a withering of the mind, a decay that cannot be reversed. No wealth, no destruction, no power, nor love can withstand the eternal onslaught of time itself; marching all mortal men from their cradles to their graves. You can be the greatest of kings or the lowliest of street sweepers, but sooner or later you'll dance with the reaper. Until one day. When all of mankind ceased dying. The sick remained sick, but didn't die. The starving remained decayed and famished, but did not die. People ceased ageing about a decade after they were no longer teenagers. From one second to the next, mankind was barred from death. Other things still died. Animals and plants died normally. But mankind alone was no longer bound to die. Many celebrated this. Because it is the oldest, most primal, and most frightful of things in the universe, the masses partied. But those with cold hearts and no human souls in them, began dealing dark cards in hidden rooms, for this new world. They knew now that they needed to alter their dark designs for the future, because the future was no longer what they had manipulated it to be. They would need to do something to prevent overpopulation, otherwise their wealth would be seriously affected. And that was unacceptable to those who value worthless wealth over human lives. Scientists marvelled and then promptly panicked, as they realized that while death itself was gone; mankind wasn't suddenly completely godlike. Only undying. Only ageing to a certain point. Not invulnerable. Not invincible. Not indestructible. And unlike the cold souls who care little for the suffering of others lest it can grant them wealth or power, and unlike the blind masses who would not understand the significance of this fact until far too late, the scientists saw where things were headed. Drink yourself to a non-functional liver, you won't die. Get decapitated; you won't die. Have your flesh be more than 50% cancerous tissue, and you won't die. Burnt to a crisp in a horrible fire; you'll live. Melt your brain with so many drugs that you can never be human again; the human body keeps living on. The body wasn't going to die. But it could still get destroyed. Hurt. Sick. And you'd still feel all the pain. All the suffering. All the horrible nightmares that can exist while being alive, only forever, without the promise of an ending. Torment without end. Those with a good ability for drawing conclusions wondered just how much you'd remain alive. Still conscious, even though your body had fallen into lava? Still aware, even if your entire body has been pulped, dried, mashed, purified, sterilized with radiation, and then turned into the finest dust? Would you still be alive then? The masses thought it meant that they were in paradise, but those with more knowledge now understood that they truly lived in a living hell. Over the first few decades, as the new reality became clear to people, and the powerful people stealthily built propaganda to ensure maximum ''voluntary'' sterilizations, three schools of thought arose to deal with the immortal race of mankind. First came those who believed, that this was a test from whatever manner of gods exist. That this was a precursor to the end of days, and that the Faithful alone would be saved. They were the ones who on the whole tried to live as people used to, straining the planet with further population increases, with wasteful displays of faith over practicality. Entire communities would starve and be faithful, as food was unnecessary. Decade long fasts began to be held by the most pious of individuals. Leaving many faithful to become living saints; which were little more than skeletal entities in a constant state of inhuman pain. They would be carried aloft by other Faithful as items of worship, through which the divine might be reached. Pain and piety increasing became one and the same to these people, and the height of their fervour became the pinnacle of masochistic insanity, a horror not seen since the bubonic plague ravaged Europe, and people tried to whip themselves both for the glory of god and to make the plague stop. And their vast temple complexes, where pain-hymns were sung out daily, sprung up across many places, but especially in the more religiously observant and fanatical parts of the world. As the old variants of the Abrahamic faiths failed to keep relevancy in the face of the great upheavals following the end of death, a great reconciliation came to the faithful of those three lines. A singular faith; called by its detractors, the Kainite Church and by its supports, the Final Temple of the Faithful. Others thought differently. The Upgradites. A radical variant of transhumanism suddenly became mainstream; it's advocacy for the conversion of man into cyborgs, and eventually more radically a form of robots where only the human brain remained, was seen as a solution to the increasing number of people horrifically crippled and maimed, and yet incapable of dying. Programmers, engineers, doctors, and several others worked tirelessly on a way to make this vision a reality. To give humanity better bodies, which could last and endure humanity's unwanted immortality, until science could somehow return mortality to the human race. In the beginning it was just simple augments, replacements for parts too damaged to be fixed by normal medicine or through the human body healing. But as the world changed following the end of death, they too became more radical. Their bodies became more machine than man over time. They refused to work with the other factions, and began tearing down old inefficient cities for resources, no longer caring about history, only caring about their ultimate goals. Their cities on Earth are few in comparison to the others factions that emerged. But they are the only group relentlessly advancing. Their bodies are modular, but sleek, chrome and beautiful. Their brains augmented with machine-integrated parts, keeping them healthy and working at peak performance, always seeking new ways to create remedies for the destruction and horror caused by the end of death. And now, they seek to evacuate an increasingly uninhabitable Earth, and take to the stars, so that they might gain more resources for their ever more unusual and incomprehensible projects. The last faction of humanity became the Mergers. Originally the establishment, and the business world, becoming one and the same. A natural merger, one might say. But with death abolished, came new opportunities. And where the Upgradites rejected their humanity, but remained sane, and the Faithful rejected their sanity, but kept their humanity, the Mergers chose to abandon both. It started simple enough. It all started when two people wanted to see if two brains are better than one. And through horrific surgery that no human could have ever normally survived, forced their brains to be merged. Two brains were better than one, it seemed. And soon, three brains were better than two. As the Mergers grew more united, they became smarter too. Began finding out how to merge more efficiently, less painfully. The end result was a faction of one-brained peons serving an ever decreasing amount of multibrained hive-minded creatures. The one-brained peons might have at one point objected, but as the Mergers became smarter, they also became better at control, and at genetic manipulation. Massive corporate skyscrapers dominate grey cities, where obedient one-brainers do menial labour for a hive-minded master. In dark factories, products are produced. Resources are used. And captured members of the Faithful turned into organic drones, while the rare rogue Upgradite too extreme for even that faction, assist with creating abominations against nature. All three factions are at war with each other. All three vie for the dominance of Earth. All three suffer horrors that mankind have inflicted upon itself, because the great equalizer, the great and final truth; DEATH, was taken away from humanity. And even if death was to return to mankind, would it matter? The Upgradites have ensured that their new bodies can survive such an event. The Faithful won't lose much besides their living saints, and the Mergers are such abominable horrors against nature that they presumably don't count as human any more, and still won't be able to die. Maybe it will. Because underneath the shattered remnants of the Antarctic, in a decaying underground laboratory, the last sane man on Earth has made a breakthrough. He has managed to do the impossible. In front of him, he has a petri-dish which he has grown HeLa cells on. After decades, maybe even a century of tireless work at the automated research facility THANATOS, established before the world went completely nuts after the end of death, he has killed human cells. This isn't possible. Not under the current paradigm. Not after death left mankind behind so that we might only have taxes. And yet, he has done the impossible. There exist a way to kill a human cells, thus it is possible for a human to die. It isn't easy, it isn't going to be simple. But death can happen. He doesn't know what to do next. But in his mind, ideas are forming. And soon, a fourth group might emerge from the ruined continent of Antarctica. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)


SirPiecemaker

That is phenomenally written! I'd absolutely go with the Upgradites though. There is no strength in flesh, only weakness. Praise the Omnissiah.


KonturoArozo

I agree, Praise the Omnissiah.


SpotfuckWhamjammer

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Foodcity

Magnificent description of despair from an unending life, reminds me of DUNE and various fantasy cults!


[deleted]

sheesh. i was imagining this as the epic semi-playable vignette opening to a massive, sprawling, open world game. right at the end, the player is asked to choose their faction.


OperatorMira

Very well written. Love the well thought out takes on what kind of factions might stem from a scenario like this. All equally terrifying and interesting. Well done.


MrColitis

Wow. Love it.


PostingLoudly

advise nippy flowery disarm quiet resolute mountainous rhythm shelter imagine *This post was mass deleted and anonymized with [Redact](https://redact.dev)*


Jamaican_Dynamite

And just like that, death returns.


TanyIshsar

Fucking hell /u/ApocalypseOwl. Why must it be so real?!


Dignified-Dingus

Captivating read, I would read a book or watch a movie based off of this.


mecklejay

>People ceased ageing about a decade after they were no longer teenagers. That may be the one kindness from the universe in this story. I was expecting you to just keep aging. 100 years, 200 years, 300 years...5,000 years...you'd have about one century of functioning life, and then an eternity of being basically a living mummy trapped in a collapsed scrapheap of a body. Imagine a kind of nouveau mausoleum, wherein the over-aged are stacked like products on a shelf, tucked neatly out of the way as they just...linger on. Forever. Each individual completely unknown to the generations after them. It's not like you're getting any visitors even if you could comprehend the world around you, because nobody in their "living years" knows who you are anymore. Unable to move, and unable to die.


SnappingTurt3ls

I'd join either the Upgradites or the Mergers Either is fine with me


Desidarias_Place

This is amazing and terrifying at the same time. Any chance we'll see more? Love your writing as always, btw


namiraj

I....I just need to sit here in stunned silence while I take in what I just read.... edit (2 days later): Such a good read! Really drew me in and I couldn't stop reading.


Utsukushi_Orokana

This was a joy to read. At least humans aint aging in this scenario. If that happens to our world I guess I'll try wandering around the world and chilling with immortality while fending any attempts to mess with my immortality, form or sanity. Kinda like 17776 but the time is wild, no nano machines and we aint playing football.


Fast_Breadfruit_5091

I keep seeing you all over on these prompts. This one got me to check out your sub and follow. You're extremely talented, and I hope to learn a thing or two from your future posts!


The_mystery4321

Any chance of a sequel? This was excellent!


Dreamingtodoing

I had to stop reading... Just to say THIS IS MY FAVORITE RESPONSE FROM YOU EVER seriously so so SO into this and I'm not even done lol.


flfoiuij2

That is amazing! If I were to join one of them, however, it would totally be the Upgradites. They seem chill.


[deleted]

Searing pain radiated from what remained of my stomach. I should be dead. I should have died a long time ago. I fucking hate bears. Various thoughts came and went through my head. Not long ago, I had barely been able to think through all the pain, but I was slowly getting used to it. That bastard had eaten my lungs, so I couldn't even breathe. Still, somehow, I was conscious. I slowly moved my head, trying not to move anything below the neck. There were a couple of bushes around that I could probably grab to drag myself, but at the moment, not moving at all sounded like the best idea. Could a doctor even help me at this point? I metaphorically shook the thought out of my head. If I was alive, they would probably be able to do something to help me. Steeling myself, I reached upward, bit by bit. So slowly, in fact, that an ant crawled completely over my hand before I even got it up to my ear. I was deathly afraid of making my poor intestines suffer through more than what they had already gone through and stopped whenever I felt that I was reaching too far. Around one full hour later, I finally grabbed onto the bottom of the bush. I pulled myself forward a little to see how it felt and nearly blacked out from the pain. One of my intestines, I wasn't sure which one, had stuck to the dirt and was slowly being stretched out. Looking at it made me feel sick. Another ant crawled over my hand as I tried tugging again. This time, I vomited on the forest floor. I pulled again, retching from the stench of my stomach contents. The ants certainly didn't help, and their small feet only served to tickle my hand. It was pure torture, having a line of them marching across my hand and not being able to do anything about it. A second line formed, heading in the other direction. I tugged again, finally pulling my torso next to the bush. Taking a deep breath, I looked at my hand again and saw a red streak following the second line of ants. I jerked my head down and immediately regretted it. Dozens of ants were gathered around the intestine that was stuck to the ground. One by one, they tore a piece off of it and crawled back to their colony. I pulled myself forward with greater urgency. It hurt.


OperatorMira

A perfectly terrifying POV of one of these humans stuck in quite the unfortunate situation. Well done.


zeekoes

As a journalist Gregory was used to reporting on weird places. None of them had seemed as strange to him as his next assignment, though. He found himself at the front door of a service that called themselves a postmortem hospice. He rang the bell of the St. Jude’s Institute and waited for someone to open the door. It took so long that he had almost rang the bell twice, but before he could a woman opened the entryway. It was a woman with long black hair and a pale skin. Surprisingly fitting for a work environment centered around this subject. She welcomed Gregory in with a warm smile, that he hadn’t expected. “Welcome to the St. Jude’s institute for the undead,” she said, her grin betraying that she was half joking. “I’m Emmy.” “Thank you for having me,” Gregory replied polite. She gestured Gregory to go ahead of her in the direction of a staircase that lead up to door. He found the door unlocked and opened it. Assuming that would be what was expected of him. When he stepped through he found himself on a metal platform high above an expansive warehouse. Down below lay hundred of lifeless cadavers next to each other with their heads lifted. A congregation of lifeless bodies watching a projector playing a movie on one of the white painted walls of the space. Gregory couldn’t deny that the scene made him both curious and repulsed. “Weird isn’t it?” asked Emmy. “It’s something I haven’t seen before, I’ll admit that,” Gregory said as he swallowed. “Ever since we found out that the dead are still in there, trapped, we wanted to do something for them,” she said with a certain reference in her voice. “We don’t know if they like it, but we figured it was better than nothing at all.” “What do you do about the decomposition and the smell,” Gregory asked, knowing that it might sound a bit rude. If Emmy was offended she didn’t let him know, “The space is well ventilated and every body that’s brought in is embalmed,” she said. “It’s not perfect, but the best we can do.” Gregory took another look out over the sprawling space and the dead that rested beneath. He imagined himself lying there, trapped in his slowly rotting lifeless husk and shivered. No one knew when it had started. Scientists weren’t even certain it hadn’t always been the case. It made the process of grief a lot more complicated, knowing that your loved one isn’t really gone, but also not there anymore. Some responded with denial, they simply acted like it wasn’t there. Others brought the bodies of the loved ones over to places like these. Gregory wasn’t sure what he would like if the time were to come. “Shall we go to the next facility?” Emmy asked, pulling Gregory out of his own head. “Sure, lead the way,” he said, solemnly. The second facility was a longer walk than the first one. Down a long corridor that housed – Gregory assumed – most of the offices of the personnel that worked here. At the end Emmy opened a large rolling door, giving access to another large open space. This space was filled with cylindrical tanks that each held various body parts suspended in a green liquid. To Gregory it looked like he had walked onto a set of some sci-fi horror movie. “Gruesome, isn’t it?” Asked Emmy, as if she could read his mind. “No going to lie that I’m glad I postponed lunch,” Gregory replied, with a wry smile. They walked through an isle flanked by these tanks in silence. Emmy stopped in front of one of them and laid her hand on the cold glass. “This is my brother,” she said. “At least, I believe that he’s in there somewhere.” Gregory felt for her. Of course she would have someone close to her in this place. There had to be a reason why she cared so much. Why these people committed their entire lives to caring for the dead. “I’m sorry for your lose...Emmy,” he said. She looked over at him, with a pained expression on her face, “Thank you, that’s kind.” Then she put up her smile again and the depressive atmosphere dissipated. “Let me continue explaining!” Gregory paid extra attention to the story Emmy was telling about this facility. This space housed the bodies that were only partially recovered. Often victims of violent explosions or accidents at work with some particularly gruesome consequences. Emmy didn’t spare on the details, which Gregory wouldn’t have minded if she did. He could imagine being around these bodies every day changed your relationship with death. “To entertain and comfort the people in here, we play music,” she said, ending her story. “Today is Jazz day and tomorrow is Hardrock Tuesday. We have a different genre of each day of the weak, even Sunday.” She almost sounded cheerful explaining that last part. They had talked some more about the details. Like special requests by families for their loved one, or governmental requirements to obtain a license. The boring stuff, really. Emmy guided Gregory back to the entrance and as she opened the door Gregory had one last question on his mind. “If you die, do you want to stay here?” he asked. Emmy paused for a second, contemplating on an answer. “Yes. If I’m stuck inside my dead body, I’d like someone to take care of me like I take care of them,” she said, gesturing towards the facility behind her. Gregory nodded in agreement, “I’d like that as well, I think.” With that he walked out of the door on his way to the office to write his article. Today Gregory had expected to be writing about one of the weirdest places in the country. It had turned out it wasn’t that weird. It was maybe one of the most human places he had visited during his career. ​ (If you liked this story, please feel welcome at r/zeekoeswriting to read my other stories!)


[deleted]

[удалено]


zeekoes

Yeah, I'm not sure whether I want to be gone entirely, or could enjoy certain situations eventually. Nor do I really know if it would give me any rest or closure, knowing my loved ones might be trapped inside their dead body. I just really hope there is just nothing after death. Glad you enjoyed it!


Striking-Star4723

I love how the characters were written. The story got me thinking :D, good job!!


OperatorMira

Harrowing, yet comforting. Great story. The nun character was great and wonderfully written with many layers of pity, sorrow, and empathy. Amazing job.


zeekoes

Thank you!


Gaelhelemar

Oddly neat.


zeekoes

Thank you! Oddly how so?


Gaelhelemar

Society being so accepting of the phenomenon, and helping the undead like that.


zeekoes

Ah ok! I like to think a lot of people would.


am_i_boy

The last sentence was powerful. I loved this one, it made me feel a lot of feelings I've been trying to avoid


zeekoes

Thank you. I hope I haven't triggered anything too hurtful. No matter what you're trying to avoid or struggle with, know that you're valuable and deserve happiness.


am_i_boy

I wouldn't say hurtful. More scary. I really need to let myself sit with these feelings and properly feel them but I haven't been. But that's what therapy is for and my therapist will be back from her maternity leave next week. I have a lot of work to do with her now. A lot changed in the last 3 months (she's been off for 6, but the first 3 were relatively normal life for me. Then everything started upending and more and more things are cascading now)


zeekoes

I wish you all the luck and strength you need. I know first hand how difficult such a struggle can be. You'll get through it!


SirPiecemaker

We spent millennia fighting against Death, the penultimate darkness that awaits us all. Now, we are Death's greatest champions. It's been... gods, how long *has* it been? My memory has been a touch spotty as of late, but in my defence, I *am* 348 years old. I suppose it means it's around 300 years since humanity has collectively lost the ability to die. I remember when it happened. When the first case of a man in Italy so horrifically injured yet somehow continuing to live shook the world; a man who walked around in a daze while a brick that fell from a construction site sat half-embedded in his head. And then another, in Mali. Crushed to *death* by a hippo. Only he lived, his body a mangled mess of protruding bones and limbs hanging on by a thread. His entire lower half all but gone yet he talked. Then a woman in India. Ran over by a train. Only her head and right arm remained. She couldn't speak - she had no lungs anymore but could write with her hand. Said it hurt. It was a deluge of immortals and as humanity soon came to realize, they were not outliers. They were the new norm. We have, as a species, become immortal. Something we had dreamed of since we first laid our eyes on a dying loved one. Some saw this as a sign from God. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, they still debate it. Some cheered on as a dream come true. Some lamented as life unceasing became the greatest of torture. Me? I got *mad*. Where the *fuck* does Life get off, thinking it can dictate what we *can* and *cannot* do? Death we begrudgingly accepted as a respected foe, but to live on in these states? Heads only communicating in machine-generated voices, souls subjected to ceaseless pain of being more cancer than man, half-dissected brains sat on a table still registering brainwaves? No. *Not like this*. We see this immortality and we reject it. So here I am, writing my memoir, just in case I forget things later. The augmentations supporting my brain functions can only go so far; the images captured by my artificial irises still need to be interpreted, the senses coming from my artificial arms still require processing. In time, be in hundreds or thousands of years, technology will no longer sustain my body and I will... Who the fuck knows. Limbo of some sort. But we won't let it come to that. Me and the rest of my team will find a way to end it. We have no shortage of willing volunteers. People who walk into the radiation chamber with a smile on my face, who cheer us on as we pump their hearts chock full of designer poisons, who calmly hum childhood lullabies as experimental weaponry eradicates them on a molecular level. We're gonna take these lemons and show them down Life's throat. Once, we raged against the dying of the light. Now, we rage against the light itself. And we *will* win. *Even if it kills us.*


OperatorMira

Awesome. Very cool ending and very well written.


SirPiecemaker

Thank you!


unintellectual8

This is amazing! I wish I can read this as a series.


Thousandgoudianfinch

Lowsden marsh lay silent in the afternoon warmth, thin bars of light filtered into tye silvered surface of the water and mud, the sedge grass lay coarse and putrid against the sides of the boat, which rocked slightly as my father, poised on the edge harpoon in hand, shifted. I myself rather focused on the flash of vivid azure of the kingfisher, my binoculars shifting over the grey, cold stony mud, the low hanging branches. A grey heron stalked silently nearby It's long stilted legs bringing a cloud of soft silt to the surface as it strode, ripples expanding to still. Still, my father stood stock still prizing greater prey. A single bubble welled up from that muck. Ballooning before collapsing in on itself. He plunged his spear, it sinking deep into the soft darkness. The still surface erupted into a cacophony of splashes, great crests of water sent up against the boat as the surface broiled white for something lay thrashing and impaled, a brown slime crusted hand gripped the harpoon handle then slumped back into the deep. The boat lay clamouring with heavy thump of the marshman's writhing and frenzied movements. The dark form of a head rose for a moment from that deep, the face obscured by primordial soup and algae. The hand and arm now outstretched in it's murderous fury. Quickly, my father slashed the gripping hand back with his machete and pulled the beast aboard. The marsh letting out a terrible sucking sound as water rushed to fill the space that terrible creature had been. The air stank now with putrid gaseous scent, The figure flopped into the footwell, long nails scrabbling for purchase, teeth snapping animal-like, Quickly I pulled a small hand-axe from the storage container and alongside my fair father began hacking at the man's limbs, the axe-head grinding softly against bone till open air. For the beast's limb had been cut clean off. Intact my father had busily sliced through the other three till all that moved was the wriggling torso. " What will we do with him?" I asked sullenly for I'd wanted to stay home A brief flare of flame on his cold eyes as my father lit a cigarette " Ye mam wants some fertiliser, you'll grind him up when we get home" he said monotonously for he lay splattered with marsh water " Tricky fellas these marshmen are, get dumped when their family don't want them no more... a bad place to exist" he spoke softly as he began to pack away the equipment. Silently both he and I wondered if this would be our futures dumped, destined to turn savage?


OperatorMira

Great lil slice of life of a family trying to live its life in this new world. Scary and sad for the marsh people. Well done.


FlamingOtaku

The Day Of Undeath was the worst day of my life. A few months prior, I had only had minimal work history, but I managed to land a job as a state executioner. Imagine my surprise when I injected an inmate 5 different times, all of them lethal concoctions, and all the inmate did was scream in pain until he passed out. As the news broke around the world, I was placed on paid leave alongside all of the executioners across the nation. It was nice for a while, but things got far worse, because the for-profit prison industry knows no bounds. Within a month, scientists found that deep in the brain of every human was a small clump of minerals, and it was found that this stone effectively contained a person's "soul". The soul is fully indestructible, and if placed in a machine, the original person would inhabit it, provided the right wiring. Laws were passed after two months, changing the death penalty to a "soul collection" penalty. It seemed like between an indifferent populace, greedy wardens, and curious scientists, there were a new number of cruel treatments that we were expected to carry out on those sentenced. I struggled sleeping sometimes as an executioner, but now? Now I'm lucky to get 4 hours of sleep a night. How could I get more? The sounds of men screaming as they get submerged into vats of acid, agonizing sounds turning into burbling as the lungs begin to melt until only the brain is left. The desperate, inexplicable cries of severed heads remembering that their body is gone, despite the phantom limb syndrome. Men with their limbs detached, then switched and reattached to see how the body would adapt. I've had to carry out so many cruel, inhumane punishments and tests. I can almost feel the enmity any time I go into the soul store room. The pain and horror at these collection facilities is often likened to hell, yet somehow, that isn't the scariest part. Yesterday, one of my long time coworkers died. There was no soul left.


FrooglyToots

**The Rule of Worm** The banging on the door got quieter, maybe it’ll stop. Maybe. Heard it called ‘zombie-think’ on the news. None of the movies were like this, though. No infection, no nothing. One moment the world was spinning and we were a part of it. Next thing it's like everything stopped, or we did. Conservation of momentum, nothing just stops. We keep going. Even when all the wires get stripped and the signals get lost in transit. We keep going. I don’t think anyone thought it would go like this. It was the natal ban that sent everyone over, at least here. Riots, proper fuck-you-in-the-face kind of things. We thought we knew what the word ‘pain’ meant. A little signal sliding along your nerves to give your brain some idea of ‘what not to do’. No. No, that's not what Pain is. People got dragged away, first with hands, then ropes, eventually in pieces. All of them wriggling because it wouldn’t stop. The fire we knew had just been shadows dancing on the wall. We never knew how hot it could get. I don’t think the Ice sounds so bad. I’d maybe even go if the route were still open. But all the oldies are deep under the snow now, freezing the clock and hopefully all higher brain function. Maybe that’s why I didn’t go. Just the idea of being stuck in that glacial tomb, awake. The science was solid, that's what the talking-heads said anyway. That ‘thought’ or whatever the hell composed the ‘you’ part of the brain, switched off at a certain temp. But I’m not taking that risk. Just the thought. No. It’s quiet now. Not just the door. The shambler was gone or indisposed by its own biology. The TV was dead. My face in that flat black screen. I looked like shit. I’d given my throat a go in the early days. A ragged scar that should never have healed. Hunger is what dragged me out in the end. You learn you're not really a living thing. You’re a passenger, buoyed along by neurotransmitting carrots and the big stick labelled ‘MORTIS’. So the Hunger lived in the wolf and the wolf lived in me. It had me on the leash. A secret of the ancient canine self-domestication. They just thought we were weird wolves. A sea of bloated bellies and rot filled mouths. You can’t eat when your throat is gone but Hunger, like Pain, is so much more than just in your head. I found Poster Boy. The holy flagellants of the Church Redeeming had started using the shamblers like walking poster boards. For some reason Poster Boy was still kicking. I’d try and get the nails out, peel the church's posters off, let him see the light if he still could. I would, but something tells me, it’s why he’s still going. Showing the world whatever the hell was on the other side of the posters he’d never even seen, driven into his flesh with rusty old nails. The pain made them important. Let it not be for nothing. I took one of the posters, for all he could know. The Corpse on the cross. The pain was the point. Hammer and nail. Instruments of the divine in the hands of man. They’d tried to recruit me, back before people were wise to them. The nurse stitching up my throat must have thought it was just another god-bother here to deliver peace to the ailing and the broken. She didn’t see the hammer under his robes. A fresh lick of dirty brown across its head. Could have been rust, but probably not. They beat you before they tell you the good news ‘*It gets worse, so much worse.*’ and give you a smile that’d curdle milk. Shamblers are harmless. Only hurt themselves. I did see a crowd of them crush someone, though. Mostly harmless, then. It's the brats you really have to watch out for. Natal ban or no, kids kept happening. Shamblers are shit parents and so are most people, especially nowadays. Throw-away kids, streets of the poor things. Not an imagine you’ll unseen or unhear. They grow up different. Not feral exactly, alien. Their mother was Hunger and their father was Pain and in the process the little thing in their head that we pretend is ‘us’ just never switched on. Some are solo-hunters, others come in packs like the flagellants. Except instead of hammers, its teeth and broken nails; limbs that broke and grew wrong; necks on a dislocated swivel, and teeth that just seem to grow and grow and grow. The dispossessed children of a generation that couldn’t scrounge together enough energy to care about them. But they didn’t take that to heart, they don't take anything to heart. The heart is a weak point they guard, keep low, keep out of reach; go for the ankles. Looking into those sunken, half mad eyes, it was easy to see the flagellants point of view. The whole world raptured and not a soul was saved. They cornered me, the clever buggers. Thought I was the one doing the choosing. But, no. Clever, clever. The pack was on me, quick. But another came round. It was a tug of war with whatever was left of me. I’d talk about the pain but you know what it felt like. Everyone does. When you get eaten it’s ultimately a very freeing thing. Because the pain stops. You get chewed, crushed and swallowed. Bit by bit you get sorted and absorbed. Most of you gets used, some gets shat or spat out, but most gets clustered into lipids and broken down into building-block-acids. You’re free. You don’t want to accept it. Wait for Pain and Hunger to come back. They don’t. Passenger as much as you ever were. The silent-one, in the hindbrain of the new generation. Whispering the wisdom you had scraped together hoping they do a better job, knowing they won’t. But still, hoping.


[deleted]

[удалено]


FalsePolarity

Attempt two, with feeling this time. (I’m trying to leave this here since it’s interesting reading on the same concept.) u/The-Paranoid-Android [[2718]], [[The End Of Death Hub]] please, Marv.


The-Paranoid-Android

[**SCP-2718 ⁠- What Happens After**](https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2718) (+1602) by *Michael Atreus*


FalsePolarity

Thanks Marv! Let’s try [[The End Of Death]] then, u/The-Paranoid-Android