CASE 13

MEDICAL FILE — CASE 13 Status: ACTIVE Clearance: LEVEL 3 REQUIRED Thirteen patients. Thirteen unresolved outcomes. The file remains incomplete.

CHAPTER I She woke on cold tiles, surrounded by darkness so complete it felt imagined—perhaps a residue of the vicious headache pounding through her skull. In the suffocating stillness, the soft tapping of a white overhead lamp pulled her back from drifting thoughts. “Where am I…?” “…Who am I…?” She sprang to her feet in panic, glancing wildly around, touching her face as if it might jog her memory. Where had she been? How had she ended up here? “Who am I?!” Her breathing quickened. She tried to steady herself, fighting both the relentless ache in her head and the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on her. “Calm down… calm down… I’m fine.” Her gaze dropped to her clothes—a medical uniform, deep crimson in color. “A doctor’s coat… psychiatry… good, good. I’m a doctor.” Something caught her eye: a ring on her ring finger. “Married…?” An engraved name circled the band—A.D.—but her own name had been viciously scratched out, carved away with something sharp. A sudden cold draft brushed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine as the reality of her situation settled in. The darkness was so dense she could barely see beyond the weak pool of light above her head. Suddenly, another lamp flickered on nearby, illuminating the floor at her feet—urging her forward. As she turned to look around, the light behind her died, replaced by yet another lamp casting its glow on a white door marked Pharmacy. She opened it to rows of medicine shelves. Her eyes lifted toward the glass barrier separating pharmacist from patients—only to freeze at the sight beyond it. The front of the hospital lay in ruins, as though a war had torn through it, as though two different worlds occupied the same building. She hesitated, instinct screaming for retreat. Then the lights began to shut off one by one, steadily herding her forward. A sharp screech from a lamp pierced her ears. She clamped her hands over them as colored rings swam before her eyes—until a small girl darted past and vanished into the darkness. “You—hey! Wait!” She stopped, searching for the child, but the blackness rooted her in place. “What do I even have to do with her…” she muttered. She turned and exited through a shattered doorway, her steps heavy as she reached the edge of the debris. Carefully, she descended, clinging with every ounce of strength to a bent electrical pole lodged among the wreckage. From beneath the rubble came a low, distant rumble. “Who’s there?” Only the wind answered, slipping through the ruins and brushing her face—heightening her fear. “Answer me!” The silence gnawed at her thoughts until they unraveled. She lost her footing and tumbled down a slope. Somewhere nearby stood a crane, hollow with echoes. Her attention slid back to her leg—the one that had struck the ground first. A deep gash split the flesh beneath her knee, blood trailing down to her ankle. Her headache throbbed, fraying her nerves as she stared at the wound. “How could this possibly get worse…” A voice cut through the air. “Those who refuse their own fate are burdened with the fates of others.” A male voice. It stole the breath from her lungs. She turned to see the shadow of a man—late twenties, long silver hair, piercing blue eyes—hovering above the ground. His clothes were… wrong. Other. “Who are you—?” she stammered. “Are you floating?” “I am the light of your path, wanderer,” he said calmly. “Lucian will do—you humans prefer names to define yourselves. Come. We must find the child. Your way out depends on her.” “I’d usually enjoy a child-hunting adventure,” she snapped, “but if you haven’t noticed, I’m injured. And what kind of way is that to speak to someone?” “Quantum physics behaves differently here,” he replied. “And so, everything else follows. Didn’t you notice? The ground drank your blood.” She looked down. There was no trace of it. Her gaze flicked back to the wound—deep, yet already clotted, as though time itself had intervened. He reached out and helped her stand. “Are you going to explain?” she demanded. “This place, the child, the hospital—why it’s destroyed—why—” “I understand your confusion,” he interrupted gently. “But I’m not permitted to reveal much. Walk with me. I’ll tell you what I can.” “Walk with you?” she scoffed. “You’re floating. That hardly seems fair.” He smiled and led her through the wreckage, toward a fog-laden path. Night pressed in around them, obscuring what little vision they had. They walked in heavy silence. Her footsteps echoed strangely against the ground, as though it were returning sound in a way no human surface should. She fixed her eyes on the fog ahead, but it seemed to move with them—concealing the path as much as revealing it. “Lucian… where are we, really?” He didn’t look at her, his blue eyes fixed forward. “You’re in a liminal realm,” he said quietly. “A point of intersection between your world and the underworld. You call it Barzakh sometimes… or the Lost Expanse. But in truth, it resembles none of your concepts.” She stopped walking, breathing hard, as if the air itself weighed on her chest. “Why am I here?” “Because you’re suspended.” “Suspended?” “Between life and death. Between regret and acceptance. Between guilt and forgiveness.” Her eyes widened as she struggled to grasp his words. She looked down again at her leg—perfectly healed, impossibly so. “Am I… dead?” He shook his head. “Not yet. But you’re close. This place is reserved for those whose balance has not been decided. If you complete the path—if you uncover the truth, ease the restless souls—you may return to your world. But if you fail…” He paused, a crooked smile touching his lips. “…you’ll either remain trapped here forever, or be cast into the depths—where there is no return.” A chill ran through her. That smile stirred something in her—something uncomfortably familiar. Panic tightened in her chest beneath his cool, mocking calm, as if her heart already sensed what lay ahead… as if part of her knew she had walked this path before. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I woke up moments ago with no memory and… I—” She took a deep breath. “Why the child? What does she have to do with any of this?” He finally looked at her—eyes devoid of pity or cruelty, holding something else she couldn’t name. “The child is a part of you,” he said. “Lost when you chose to forget. And not just her—thirteen lost souls. Doctor… don’t you remember your patients?” “I barely remember anything,” she said softly. “One name… just one. Are those souls… my patients?” “I’m not allowed to answer.” “Fine. Then is the child’s name Limbro?” “I’m afraid I can’t answer that either.” She sighed, looking away, scowling. “You’re useless,” she muttered. “Your light shows me no path at all.” He exhaled, then descended until his feet touched the ground. Walking beside her now, he flicked her nose lightly in response to her irritation. “Alright,” he said. “Limbro was your favorite patient. Try to find your reports on her.” She stared at him, amused. “Oh? So you finally decided to honor the ground with your steps—” She suddenly snapped her gaze toward the fog. A strange sensation prickled at her spine. A sharp ringing filled her ears. Small footsteps echoed among the rubble behind them

CHAPTER II Lucian stopped with deliberate steadiness at a certain point within the fog. He raised his hand, gesturing forward as though sketching the boundary of another realm. Slowly, the mist thinned—then vanished—revealing an old wooden door standing alone in the middle of the path, surrounded by nothing but emptiness and silence. The doctor stared at it, wary and awed, as though she stood at the edge of an abyss whose depth she had yet to grasp. “What other abilities do you possess?” Lucian smiled—but there was no warmth in it. It was cold, sharp, like the whisper of betrayal. “Room 313. West Wing,” he said. “I won’t enter with you. I’ll wait here.” Her breathing grew heavier as she hurried to ask, cautiously: “You realize it has only one way in… and one way out, don’t you?” A dense, suffocating air settled between them before he gently—but firmly—took her hand and placed it on the warm handle, as though the door itself were alive, pulsing beneath her palm. His voice turned grave, the threat beneath it unmistakable. “Doctor… I thought you were smarter than that. Remember—there is a chance you won’t come back out. If you fail… the abyss will swallow you.” She stepped back, her eyes reflecting a blend of fear and defiance. “Then what am I supposed to do? What does ‘success’ even mean?” His voice was calm, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “Free the fifth soul,” he said. “I wish you a bitter loss.” Before she could protest, he shoved her inside and shut the door behind her—with a disturbingly warm smile. The moment her foot touched the ground, the familiar headache returned—worse than ever. Lights flared and fractured. A piercing whine filled her ears. The stench of choking smoke invaded her lungs. Between her eyes, a vortex of clashing images spun violently: the flickering lamp, the child’s footsteps, an old man moving chess pieces. All of it tangled together like a torn film reel endlessly spliced back together. She looked around—and froze. The place had changed completely, as though she’d been pulled into another dimension. She walked across an ornate red carpet threaded with gold, through a corridor far cleaner than it had any right to be. The walls were adorned with priceless paintings: American Gothic to her right, The Birth of Venus across from it, The Creation of Adam further ahead. The final space, however, held only an empty frame—beside it, words carved violently into the wall in a foreign language: Finish it. She whispered to herself, “Finish what?.. Perhaps the fourth painting is what I’m meant to find… but the victim was the fifth…” She felt along the frame’s edge, trying to pull it loose. A folded note slipped out and fluttered to the floor. --- Patient 13 — corrupted Preliminary Diagnosis: Auditory hallucinations, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder corrupted Record: – Four violent altercations with security – Severe assault on a woman in corrupted – Theft of anesthetic medication – Murder of four cats, discarded in neighbors’ homes – Suspected involvement in five homicides – corrupted in juvenile detention Session 3 Physician’s Notes: She was transferred here under armed escort. She babbled incessantly, barely coherent, refused food and sleep. Sat for hours staring at the officer without blinking until her eyes reddened. When I entered, she smiled—baring her teeth—and said: “You’re very young for a doctor. Why are you still trying with me? Aren’t there patients more suited to your level?” I didn’t respond. I placed a notebook and pen in front of her and said: “Why don’t we start with why you stole local anesthetics?” --- She barely breathed the words: “Limbro… this has to be her file.” She wandered the corridor until she reached a room saturated with a foul stench and dim red light. On a small table sat a glass of wine untouched by dust. Across from it, a figure occupied the chair—wrapped in silence and shadow. She spoke softly: “Lucian? You didn’t tell me you could pass through walls.” She stepped closer. The red light spilled over the chair—and she recoiled in horror. A skeleton sat before her, dressed impeccably in a gray suit, white shirt, a pocket watch resting neatly in place. Sparse strands of hair clung to the skull. “God have mercy…” she whispered. “What is this, Lucian? Whose soul am I freeing now?” She examined the remains, nudging them gently. A middle-aged man. She picked up the watch—it read midnight. She stepped back and accidentally collided with another table behind her. On it rested a chessboard, the game frozen mid-play. As she explored further, the red light reignited the ringing in her ears. She found files, papers scattered across a desk. “Bank checks… real estate deeds… a merchant…” She pulled out a ledger—names lined beside obscene sums of money. “Lawrence—24 million. Adra—69 million. Odell—73 million… A debt book. How does one man lend this much? No one is that wealthy.” More files followed—exposés, photographs, newspapers. “Embezzlement… smuggling… marital affairs?.. worker abuse… child trafficking—my God…” She swallowed. “He’s a blackmailer. Without a doubt.” She circled the room again, finding nothing—until she returned to the chessboard. The white pieces had captured a pawn from the black ranks. The white king blocked a black pawn’s advance. The black pawn strained forward, but the white knight sealed every exit, choking its movement. Black sacrificed pawns desperately, grasping for escape. Outside the board lay the white queen, the black queen, two black pawns, and a single white pawn. “White has the advantage… knight on d5, bishop on f4. Black is behind—king exposed, knights undeveloped. A losing game.” Her gaze drifted to the skeleton. “He was playing black.” The white king piece was strange—its tip sharpened with iron, stained by a dark substance long dried. She ignored it and continued searching, stealing glances at the skeleton. A torn scrap of paper caught her eye on the floor—blank, save for initials at the edge: L.W Then the red light intensified. The ceiling began to move. This wasn’t an illusion. It was descending—crushing shelves, closing in. She ran for the door, wrenching at it as her vision blurred and the headache roared. “Lucian! Lucian, open the door! I’m being crushed!” No answer. Suddenly, all the light focused on the chessboard. The pressure eased. A faint hum filled her ears. She remembered the words carved into the wall. She sprinted back, dropped to her knees before the board. “Finish it… I have to finish it.” Her thoughts raced. “The merchant was the weaker side. He chased quick gains—of course a blackmailer would play recklessly. The one across from him kept forcing the knight… pushing him back. He would move the white knight to a8—Elisha would respond with Bd6…” The ceiling descended faster. She tipped the board onto the floor, crouching low, whispering frantically. “Bxd6… Kd7… d5…” “No… no. Black can’t win. He wouldn’t play cautiously. He wouldn’t look back.” She spoke aloud, faster now: “Black sacrifices pawns in desperation. The white knight seals every path. The black pawn pushes forward. The white king blocks it. White takes the pawn.” The ceiling brushed her back. She screamed, eyes shut tight: “Black resigns!” Silence. No pressure. No suffocation. She opened her eyes. The room was empty—bare, abandoned. No luxury. No skeleton. No chessboard. Only the white paper remained in her hand. --- The Paper: My fifth offering… remnants of a past left unburied. Elisha Rodion. A filthy businessman in his seventies. Obsessed with board games. Greed incarnate. His stench of wine drove everyone away. Yet with wealth comes hunters. Elisha—the man who decided April fourth. He didn’t recognize me when I sat across from him. He didn’t see the child who survived him. I was clever. I toyed with his mind, lured him through what he loved—chess—while pulling names from him, names that stained April with souls. I let him drown in wine laced with muscle relaxants. Slowly, his limbs grew heavy. His voice faded. When he looked at me and asked: “Who are you?” I smiled for the first time since entering and said: “I am what remains of your actions.” Then I slit his throat—using the king piece I sharpened myself. --- Soft footsteps echoed behind her. She turned slowly—only for a face to spring into view, stretched into a wide smile, eyes gleaming with something deeply unsettling. Lucian, his tone calm and mocking: “So… how was your first test?” She breathed out, fury barely contained. “To hell with you and your tests. What kind of madman are you?” He denied it with a light smile. “Me? I only observed—from a distance. That crime scene… was orchestrated by your patient. Limbro.” She replied coolly, “I figured as much.” He caught her gaze, challenge darkening his voice. “You freed Elisha’s soul. He was trapped in the liminal realm. Now he’s in Hell… He longed for the end of his match.” Their eyes met— And the headache returned, brutal and relentless. Her skull felt ready to split apart. Scattered lights burst like lost stars. Broken whispers flooded her ears. She murmured through the pain, “Enough… enough… I hear you.” Lucian’s lips curved into a knowing smile. He stood silent for a moment, then said slowly: “She’s close… very close.”