The room was pitch black, kept alit by a single, flickering lightbulb that swung unsteadily above his head, illuminating the area in small bursts of light, only for it to promptly be submerged in darkness once more.

Hector threw his head back, his messy white hair falling over his eyes in waves as he ran a hand through it, grunting quietly. “I’m getting real sick and tired of this, you know.” He pressed a hand against his newest wound, a series of stitches over his neck, sealing up the large gash that had been spewing out blood only moments ago.

“Dying, being brought back to life, and dying some more.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Lovely. I mean, who wouldn’t love this kind of life? I’m so thankful for everything you’ve done for me. I mean, seriously, it’s an optimal condition to live in.”