It was night at the ministry, the moon shone over the fog that formed around the cathedral.

In the ministry’s graveyard, Terzo had recently gotten out of his casket. He smelled musty and a little gross. He kept rubbing at his neck, dried blood and the stitches irritating his skin. His clothes were dusty and he stumbled, shambling around. He was literally a dead man walking.

Terzo: “What..?”

Terzo said with a raspy voice, looking around.