Three years following the Final Ride, the dead begin to return. This is not the zombie apocalypse. Six people so far have been resurrected across the globe. Each occurrence has been accompanied by a figure dubbed the White Reaper in a public place. Religion and science are grappling with this anomaly. One question many asked: who would be next?
Tension ran especially high within Stockton Prison that day. Heavy thunderstorms had pummeled the area for three days straight. Yard time had been restricted as a result of Mother Nature's bitch fit. Someone picked a fight with the visiting priest about the White Reaper, which resulted in lockdown. After lockdown ended, the AB shot caller Ron Tully learned that a shipment of contraband would be delayed for a week.
None of the other Aryans dared to speak during dinner. No one wanted to be the new focus of Tully's wrath. Tully had to concede that it was a smart move. Conversation was the last thing in which he wished to engage after that utter shit storm of a week. He delicately ate a slice of pie as his followers discreetly cowered.
Pie always made him think Juice. He had the Puerto Rican for a brief time, but it had been such a good time. The other man had been a wreck when he entered Stockton. He had been a wreck still going in slow motion throughout that time. Every day he wondered if his lover would come to a stop. If he had been given more time, Tully could have re-forged him into either a perfect lover or a master criminal. He could've done both. It was such a waste.
"Do you feel that?" Someone whispered.
A strange energy crackled in the air. All sound ceased. The inmates involuntarily directed their gazes to a single spot. Tully vaguely recognized it as the spot on which Juice bled out. Bright white light exploded. It should have blinded him and the others, but he could see a skeletal figure in a white shroud hovering six inches off the ground. The claw like hands drew something equally luminous from within its cloak and gently deposited it on the ground. Two swirling balls of blue energy, what had to be its eyes, fixed a glare on the shot caller. A lesser man would have shit himself while having a heart attack if he met that gaze. The being faded from sight seconds later.
Sound returned in the form of wheezing from the little form on the floor. Without thinking, Tully knelt next to this marvel. The white light was fading away to reveal a tiny child with tanned skin and thick black hair. The chest, with visible ribs, was heaving. He reached out to touch. His innate curiosity got the better of him sometimes. He narrowly avoided being hit as a little arm flung out. It lacked the pudginess of normal childhood, but that was not the focus of his attention.
Staring up from the forearm was a Reaper, not in black ink, but pink scar tissue.