The steady beep of a heart monitor fills the room… then flatlines.
Silence.
"No, no, no! Not again! I can't lose another one!"
My fingers fly across the keyboard, frantic keystrokes echoing off the lab's sterile walls.
The patient's body jerks, back arching as electricity surges through the electrodes. A last-ditch effort.
"Doctor Hughes, we have to stop this. You can't study the afterlife like this—it's inhumane!"
"Screw it all!" In a blind rage, I sweep everything but the computer off the table. Equipment clatters to the floor.
"I'm going out for a smoke."
"Doctor Hughes! Wait!"
Clack, clack, clack. My footsteps hammer down the hallway.
Flick. Woosh. The lighter flares, and I draw deeply from the cigar.
Drip, drip, drip. Rain drums against the pavement.
"How many more subjects are we going to lose before you admit this isn't working?!" Mark's voice is raw with frustration.
I exhale, a thick plume of smoke curling into the damp air. "Do you think I know? I've scoured every text, sacrificed everything! I need answers! What happens when we die?!"
"Then interview survivors! People who've had near-death experiences…"
"Every account is different!" I snap. "You think I haven't tried that?!"
I storm into the street, pacing like a caged animal.
"Your research only proves it's impossible to study!"
"So what, Mark? You think this is all pointless?!"
"I think you're lucky you haven't been arrested! This isn't science… it's torture!"
Then… light. Blinding. A horn blares. Tires screech
Silence.
…
Darkness.
No sound. No sensation. Just… nothing.
Seconds stretch. Or is it minutes?
Then… flickers. Shapes. My vision swims back, but…
This isn't the street.
Trees tower overhead. Undergrowth tangles at my feet. The rain, the lab, the city—gone.
"What in the bloody hell?!"