Re-posting another short from DeviantArt today. This was formally titled "Immortal", but I decided to stick with the naming format from "Of Sheriffs and Saviors" for consistency's sake. I still haven't figured out how to fix the formatting errors that FFN likes to hit me with, but I should generally be able to fix them manually before anyone actually sees them. If not, be a dear and just pretend you didn't see them for me. As always, any sort of criticism is welcome, no exceptions. Anything you think is worth your time to type is worth my time to read and consider.

And, of course, I'm just playing in Mr. Jolly's sandbox. No ownership here. Enjoy!

...

I have died three times today, and as I let off a few useless bursts from the P90 I picked up earlier, I realize how utterly fucked I am at this very moment, and how inevitable it is that the count will soon be raised to four. In front of me is… well it used to be Tricky. I don't know if this flaming monstrosity is still the same being. I don't fancy getting caught in either his hands or his jaws, but my other option is the chasm that I thought I had sent the clown to his death in moments ago. This body is mostly held together by stitches and bandages at the moment. I don't like my chances of surviving the fall.

This thought takes only a fraction of a second to go through my head, and afterwards it strikes me as funny, in a morbid, slightly fucked up way, that I am more concerned about how painful this death is going to be, as opposed to attempting to hold death at bay. I can't find it in myself to give a shit any more. Hearing the click of an empty magazine, I decide to jump and hope that the impact will end me before I can register the pain.

…

I underestimated how fast the behemoth truly was. It caught me with a swipe from its claw, and I got my wish of falling. The wound hurts, but I know that soon I will be enveloped in the sweet embrace of Death.

…

Holy mother of FUCK I'm alive and the pain is everywhere and I can't think and the left side of my face is gone and if I can reach my axe I can kill myself and SHIT he got me again and I don't care anymore he'll just have to kill me-

"Get up."

"No!"

…

Resurrection was not a perfect process before. I don't know if it is because of limitations in the Improbability Drive's programming, or if the guy up top just didn't care before now. I suspect the latter. This time, however, I don't feel the pains of my previous deaths. I am not tortured by the shoddy stitch job that my body has become. Under different circumstances, I think I would have liked to keep this body. Right now, however, I just want it all to end. I am alone in a pit with a pissed off demon, and I have a new body for it to play with. There is no escape.

I hear the deafening thuds and feel the vibrations as two towers crash down behind me. Instinct takes over as agents pour through the doors to meet their ends, and I revel in the strength of the new Hank Wimbleton. I know what I have to do now. It's what I've always done. As I sprint through the closest door and begin a new slaughter, I feel numerous forces driving me on. Fear, adrenaline, rage, bloodlust, pain… and one emotion that I have not felt in a long time. It takes me a moment to place it, but as I enter the elevator, I realize what it is, and immerse myself in it.

Hope.

…

"Goodnight Hank."

I had banked on hope. I don't know what I had hoped for, but I'm sure this wasn't it. The pain of Cristoff's sword in my midsection is now but a dull throb, however, and as time slows to a crawl, I realize that this could be the end for me. Christoff wants to end the program. If he does it before the Auditor decides to toy with me some more, there won't be anything to bring me back. I find peace in this knowledge, and glee when I see the twitch of his index finger, signifying my death. I am happy.

…

Pain lances through my shoulder and my wounds forcefully repair themselves. I open my eyes through the blinding pain and see blackness. I attack my surroundings and feel metal surrounding me. In my panic I find a gap and quickly try to pry it open with both hands, only to find that my right hand is gone. I don't know what this thing is, but I am now too frantic to worry about it. My left hand manages to pry open the door and I quickly stumble out, off balance from the difference in weight in this new form and the much larger and bulkier arm-claw-thing on my right side.

It finally dawns on me that I have once again been denied my rest. My anger continues to build when I notice the body of a man that I recognize. I have a hard time placing the name. I am not processing anything as fast as I should be… Deimos. The techie.

I have to end this. Nothing will stop until The Auditor is stopped.

Time for one last dance with death.