ROLE - PATIENT ZERO

[maladied]

pATiEnT ZErO.

the illness... the Deaths. iT's aLL yOUr FauLT. eVERytHINg iS—

THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IT's ALL because Of YOU! How could YOU do this to US!? YOU ARE TO BLAME FOR EVERYTHING!!

...our blood will stain your hands.

NOTES:
- This is NOT a secret role, however it is EXTREMELY in your best interest to NOT make it public or be found.
- At the beginning of every new week you will receive a "memory" or "flashback" of previous victims. This will continue should you die.

♡

Comments

W2

[maladied]

a poisonous kiss.

You lie in a sick bay, where giant crackers stand in place of walls and various medicinal supplies line the shelves of hollowed out bread. The cloying scent of candy rises from the bed fitted with pink striped sheets, and the pillow that props you upright resembles an oversized wrapper. As if you've been transported to a world of sweets, the metal pole from which two bags of fluid hang and drain into your bandaged leg stands out as to be oddly ordinary.

Near the foot of your bed is a blond man with a curled eyebrow. Your attention rests on him as he takes another long drag on his cigarette, the golden bracelets around his wrists glinting in the room's artificial light. Despite the harsh set of your brow and tone of your voice as you wind down from your impassioned speech, your feelings toward him are nothing but fond.

"It's exactly what we deserve," you say. "We're a band of murderers!"

"Don't get me wrong," says the blond man, leaning forward in visible distress. "I have nothing but hatred for them, but why you? Why do you have to die?!"

"I still have my emotions, but Father had me augmented into an accomplice who cannot disobey his orders." You lift your chin as your gaze rises to a nondescript spot where the wall meets the high ceiling, utterly calm in the face of your imminent demise. "My hands are stained with blood . . . I deserve death."

[necromants]

[Another memory, another baffling experience that isn't his own. This one's strange and it takes him a moment to place it - but that man has a feature similar to Reiju's, right? Their unique eyebrows. Given the fondness, he can only assume that this was her memory.

Much of it doesn't make sense. But there's a part that echoes around in his head, even as the memory leaves him...

It's exactly what we deserve. We're a band of murderers!

The concept of "deserving" death for something you've done is already a bit of a foreign one, but... Hmm. A thing to consider later, he supposes. (Or never, ideally.)

More pressing is why her memory. Why now? She isn't dead, as far as he knows. The only person who died was—

Ah.

Zvei can't help himself; he laughs. He laughs, and laughs, and is seemingly unable to stop because it's so damn funny that after everything this is how it ended. But eventually he has to pull himself together; he has to get moving.

Who knows what the next set of memories may hold, after all.]