2pac Autopsy Photo Novels & Stories

He opened it. The first photograph hit him like a gut punch. There was Paolo, eyes vacant, mouth slack, three neat bullet holes in his head. His white dress shirt soaked through with blood, dark red and almost black in the dim forest light. His body was slumped against a tree, head tilted to the side in a grotesque, unnatural angle. Gone was the arrogant power Paolo had always wielded. He looked… small. Dead. Luca’s stomach churned. The next photo showed the scene from farther back, a man crouched on the ground, body crumpled, blood on the grass.

“The grim reaper is ready. Are we green?” “Hold,” I said. “Not until he’s in the room. I want him to watch.” The safe door popped open with a heavy clank just as the elevator chimed in the hallway. Perfect timing. Marcus reached in and pulled out a black external hard drive and a thick manila envelope. He handed them to me. I opened the envelope. Photos. Photos of Damien, high, eyes rolled back, slumped on a couch next to a woman I recognized as the daughter of a cartel leader. Photos of lines of cocaine. Photos that would easily endanger my brother’s life and destroy the Grayson name.

"I'm going to show you some of them. You don't have to look but I think you should." I looked. The official record had given me a sanitized version of my father's death. Clinical language, processed findings, the bureaucratic distance of a conclusion already reached. These photographs were not sanitized. They were crime scene documentation taken before the scene was processed, and they showed me things the official report had either omitted or actively contradicted.

While she'd tossed the group of photographs in my face only seconds before locking herself in her room, I'd been able to figure out the single picture that had taken the utmost toll. I stood at the window in my office, glaring out at the quiet seas, wondering how Aleksei had managed to get his hands on the information. From what I could tell, the photographs weren't from law enforcement records, but handled more like art. If I was right in my assumptions, Santiago Garcia was a very sick man, his penchant for death unlike anything I'd experienced before. The pictures were merely trophies for his particular proclivities. Slaughter.

Though she was never on good terms with Ivy she had never imagined the woman’s fate would take such a gruesome turn. Akeem studied her carefully, as though trying to gauge her reaction. His next words came slower, weighted with gravity. “I’m sorry to hear that. But perhaps you can answer something for me.” He pulled another photo from his pocket, this one far more chilling. It was Ivy’s autopsy, the image of her lifeless body marred by jagged wounds that resembled claw marks. Her pale skin was marred by scratches and punctures, her expression frozen in eternal terror. Akeem pointed to the photo.

He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a couple times pulling a picture up he took for us to see. "The body is at the morgue getting an autopsy done, but I did take a photo for you guys." He says to us. He showed us the picture, and we didn't say anything knowing who it was. It was a picture of a body laying there it was Briana.

He stays there, thumb still in my ass, cock twitching, making sure every drop stays as deep as it can. When he finally pulls both out, I feel empty and filthy and wide open. A thick river of white runs out of me onto the couch. Marcus wipes his cock on my inner thigh, then pulls his phone out. “Stay like that.” I hear the camera shutter. He takes three photos — my wrecked, dripping holes, my flushed face, his shirt rucked up around my waist — then pockets the phone like it’s nothing. “Insurance,” he says. “And something to look at when I’m in meetings.”

He was an aged man and he has been working with the Bandas for as long as I can remember. "Luca! You are welcome. Please take your seat. He called as soon as we entered his office. I took my seat and we went straight to business. "We are yet to get the autopsy report but am I permitted to give my professional assessment? He asked cheerfully. "Why not?" I responded and sat tight. "They were poisoned. The scratches on their bodies are evidence," Prof Pan said.

Mark became so comfortable and confident that he began rhythmically nodding his head to the club dj's Latin hip-hop mash-up of Daddy Yankee, De La Ghetto and Vico C. There was a sinister reason behind why 2Pac wasn’t fighting back. He was scanning Mark’s suit to see if he could find any integrity violations. The metal soldier went through his database of past prisoners he executed, and he searched for the cleanest and most efficient way to kill Mark.

his eyes were full of hesitation that was unlinke Mace. “But what?” I demanded. “Please look for yourself,” he hesitantly reached for the phone in his pocket and handed it over to me. The moment I looked at the photos on the screen, I was stunned. I had asked Mace to dig up Dante’s grave on the Blackwood’s Alpha family’s territory. I knew that Dante would not have been easy to kill. Nor would he die easily but what lay in front of me in the photo was a Dante in the grave. His face was torn up just like I saw last time and everything was the same.