Cutscene: Alles Vergängliche

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Three after noon. Last summer semester biology class for the day.

Professor Higa gathers his things in a slightly-worn leather satchel. Students file out, chattering of things inconsequential. He doesn't hear it; all he can hear is the rustling of several pages being shifted and filed. He doesn't hear it because he doesn't care.


A dim voice breaches his audition, but his conscious pays no mind. It is, however, persistent.


He can feel himself getting agitated at the back of his head, like the dim buzz of a fly caught in his skull. His teeth reflexively seize. Again, he pays no mind. The voice becomes clear:

"Professor Higa?"

His eyes blink once. With a lift of his head a young lady is there, patiently waiting for his attention. When his gaze settles upon her she smiles in response, a sheepish gesture. She's well-aware that she's intruded on his silent duty.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but can you help me?"


"help me..."

The voice is weak, worn by fatigue and throat raw from pointless screaming.

"please help me, please help me, i don't want to die..."

There is no reply. Only silence, save a gentle, pulsing beep.

"can anyone hear me, please..!"


"Please??" she all but begs.

"Sorry," the Professor quietly tells the young woman. He can't even remember her name. He used to be good at names. Now..?

"I've got a late appointment."

The girl sulks in defeat. Professor Higa offers an apologetic smile as the satchel is latched shut and slung haphazardly over his shoulder. "I'll be available next week for assistance."

She nods quickly and smiles. "Thanks professor!" He smiles in response as she turns to scamper off after her friends, offering a small, parting wave.

When she's gone, all emotion bleeds from his face as his gaze falls to the expensive watch on his wrist. Nearly three-fifteen.


Fifteen minutes pass.

"not like this," that voice pleads into pitch darkness. Once again, only silence.

"i can't die like this, not in the dark. my head hurts. why does it hurt so much? what is wrong with me?"

Silence, save that agonizing, ceaseless beep. What /is/ it, anyway?

"i'm dying. i'm really going to die--why?? what did i do to deserve this??"

How long has it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months?

A broken sob chokes out of a hoarse throat. "oh god, i'm really dying i--"

Then, a sound. A steady, low pace of something--feet? Footfalls, beep, footfalls, beep, footfalls, a latch.

"hello??" Has someone heard their cries? Their desperate beg for a savior in the darkness?

"please help i'm stuck, i can't move i think i am dying!"

A piercing light breaks the darkness. Eyes accustom to the dark are forced to flinch painfully, a sharp gasp of agony escaping dried, cracked lips. Several seconds later eyes cautiously crack, attempting to adjust to the pale, sickly glow of florescent bulbs.

"oh thank god, please help me"

A snap of latex greets the beg for mercy. That sound. "oh god, no" It's him.

Strength and resolve reborn, a desperate toss and fidget drives as Subject Six struggles to free itself from the restraints binding it down to the gurney. Try though it may, Subject Six cannot break free, its efforts futile. It remains bound, as its captor intends.

"It has been precisely two and a half days," the figure that enters speaks into a small hand-held recorder. "It shows signs of incredible resolve. Subjects Two and Three were not as resilient. Impressive."

"what is wrong with you??"

Approaching Subject Six, Doctor Higa observes a small monitor at the head of the gurney. Subject Six again struggles against its bindings. The Doctor does not seem to notice.

"you are a fucking monster" its voice cracks desperately. "kill me"

"Cerebral activity shows no real signs of promise," the Doctor calmly speaks over the sounds of shifting and struggle. Leaning to the monitor, he squints thoughtfully. "Deduction is that Subject Six, while displaying impressive physical and mental fortitude, yields roughly thirteen percent promise. No more."

"you are fucking insane, kill me, kill me now" Subject Six begs through thick tears.

Sighing, the Doctor rises up and shakes his head. The monitor is turned off. A gloved hand reaches out, touching the Subject upon its head. The Subject blinks. It can't feel anything, but it knows its hand is there.

"You will feel nothing," the Doctor explains in a tone that is far from sympathetic. It's scripted. Systematic. "It will be quick and painless."

"fuck you, man, fuck you"

"I thank you for your sacrifice. It has not been in vain."

"fuck you fuck you fuck you--"

Silence. A gasp. One last, rattling, ragged breath. From the exposed skullcap the doctor removes his scalpel with a defeated sigh. "These efforts are becoming troublesome," he mulls softly to himself. The recorder continues to run with a distant whir in the small, silent little chamber.

A glance is spared only to the storage locker a few feet away, wherein lie disposal tools.

"My work is never done," he says, removing an old, aged bonesaw from within.


"...done for the day, you're dismissed." Students rise, packing their things and begin to leave.

Except one.

"Professor!" It's the girl again. Inwardly the Professor frowns.

"Are you available for some tutoring today?" she wonders with a sheepish expression on her young face. The doctor offers a small, tired smile. The signs of sleep deprivation are clear across his pale face. "Most certainly."

"Oh, thank you," she exhales with relief. "I'm concerned about my understanding of our current chapter. I have tried tutoring but I just don't get it. Thanks for helping me, Professor!"

"Of course."

He still cannot remember her name. But what point is there..?

Everything is transitory.

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