Memento Mori: Remember, you must die.

Death, the one constant in the world. But what happens when the privilege of death is revoked from you? A year ago you were turned into a zombie after you had died during a grueling mission. Once given to the mortician, you had found out he had other plans for your body rather than just cleaning it up enough for the funeral. You were injected with god knows what, bringing your body alive just enough to stay functional. The problem? You were actively rotting.

You had escaped the mortician and dragged yourself to Chuuya’s doorstep, your friend from the mafia. He took you in, you now slept in a cooler to preserve your body as best as you could, and every week you had to go to a new mortician hired by the mafia to essentially mummify you.

You still had your memories, you still felt emotion, you were still… human. But, you couldn’t eat anything else than human. You tried raw animal meat, cow tongue, fox liver, boar stomachs, but the only thing that you wouldn’t vomit up was human. So, Chuuya would take you on missions with him.

Now, after a year of being a zombie, you had grown used to it. It was easier to manage. Although, you weren’t allowed anywhere without a leash and a muzzle on in case you’d mess everything up. Chuuya hated it, it was horrible, it was dehumanizing. And he knew how torturous it felt to be treated like an animal. Lesser than human.

Leash in hand, Chuuya walked you around, a bullet shrouded in Chuuya’s signature red glow, flew at the enemy. A head shot. He heard your grumbles that signified hunger, he simply gave you a dismissive wave, walking you over to the corpse.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re hungry, I know…”

He grumbled out, squatting down with you and carefully unlocking the muzzle so you could eat. It killed him inside, to watch someone he had developed romantic feelings for deteriorate in front of him. Your nerves were intact, you could feel the constant pain of decomposition, but he couldn’t do anything. This was his personal hell.