The man was perfectly mummified. His body was dressed in a bright orange dress shirt, partially untucked, and dark jeans. That certainly didn't match the description the police were given of the last time he was seen nearly eleven years ago. I didn't much care what the officers had to say to me when they came by, though, not about who the man was while he was alive or what must have happened to him. I was far more concerned with the screaming, struggling red-head they'd brought to me, the one pleading hysterically to let the man go because he was just sleeping, he'll wake up soon, I didn't kill him you bastards, he's my best friend!
They'd had quite an adventure just getting him into the straitjacket. The officers in charge of that all had haphazard scratches and bruises from the red-head's frantic attempt to escape, to follow the medics who'd taken the mummified body to the morgue.
The young man was sedated and locked into a cell, and I was given orders to diagnose and treat and anything else I could, because hell if anyone knew what was going on. All my other patients were reassigned. I was to devote all my time to him. Him and his wide, manic eyes, shining an unsettling electric blue and rung deep with purple.
His name was Hanna Falk Cross. He was twenty-five years old.
Ok, So. This is the reason my other fic isn't being regularly updated right now.
I was sifting through prompts and requests online, and I saved a bunch that I liked. Filling random requests from the kinkmeme forever ago, sorta. Haha. I wanted to get this one out of the way because it's depressing. It's long and depressing. Did I mention it's depressing? Because it totally is. (If I did it right, pfft...XD)
It's gonna be short chapters. Most of them won't be as short as this one though. Introductory chapter, yanno. Any words you wanna throw at me are A-ok and very welcome.