2pac Autopsy Photo Novels & Stories

"Former research prodigy Eliza Winters faces complete academic boycott following confirmed plagiarism allegations. The Healer Council has revoked all her credentials and banned her from presenting at any future medical conferences." A follow-up paragraph mentioned that even my family—the prestigious Winters healing lineage—had suffered significant reputation damage by association with her scandal. I tapped on another notification, this one showing recent images of Alaric. Werewolf journalists had photographed him visiting the Northern Territory hunting grounds alone at dawn—the same time I had allegedly been killed. The photo showed him standing at the broken perimeter fence, his tall frame

I know I've become very ugly now. ... August 20, 2025 The sleeping pills seem to be losing their effectiveness. The doctor advised me to just stay in the hospital. He said it would get more painful toward the end. I refused. I never planned to live until the very end anyway. ... August 25, 2025 ... The original text had been crossed out with a black line. Two new lines were added: Willow Dawson died on this day. But Echo saved her.

He looked like a demon who’d just been told he could keep the souls. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell gunpowder and copper and him. “You good?” he asked, voice rough. I nodded, throat dry. “Alejandro’s not here.” “No.” His gloved hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face up. “But he’s going to feel this.” He pulled out his phone, snapped photos of the carnage, close-ups of the dead men’s faces, their YBA tattoos stark against cooling skin.

Gianna “What?” Nico growled, looking pissed already. I subtly meshed my fingers with his in a warning. His jaw hardened in response, but he did calm down a bit. “Yes. Two gunshot wounds to the chest and…his tongue was chopped off too. We’re still piecing together the timeline. But we do need to ask if either of you recognize this man.” Ferraro said, pulling a photo from a thin file. I leaned forward instinctively, but Nico’s grip tightened slightly, almost like some sort of warning. The man in the photo was lifeless. Blood soaked the front of his suit. His face was slack, a jagged scar cutting down one cheek.

By the time reinforcements arrived, Patrick had vanished into the chaos of the brutal showdowns. The world cheered, thinking they had rid themselves of a menace. Behind closed doors, though, the cops prayed for his safe return. That following autumn, Tracy found Patrick at my grave. There he was, a solitary figure slumped in front of the stone. A mess of a man, staring at the black-and-white photo on my grave. Patrick cracked a goofy grin and whispered, “Yasmine…” He had completely lost it. When they rushed him to the hospital, the doctor determined he was fighting some serious demons in his mind.

But when the Silver Fang Elders cleared out the Alpha's manor, they found something — the document Kael had folded and kept on his person, never discarded: Ash's death certificate. On the back, in Kael's handwriting, was a single line: "Ash, Daddy is sorry." The Elder sent the document to me. I sat with that piece of paper through the night. The next morning, I contacted the Pup Protection Funds of both Moon Shadow and Silver Fang Packs. I donated everything Kael had left behind — the rights to the Alpha's manor, his personal share of the pack treasury, every asset that could be converted — all of it designated for the rescue and care of pups born with defects.

“He gave me money. I was scared. I did not want to lose my job. I did what he asked. I hope you asked.” Aldrich stood up slowly. His whole body was filled with silent anger. Not just at his son, but at himself. How had things gone so wrong? “I will fix this,” Aldrich said softly. “I promise you.” Just then, Edgar leaned forward. “Marco… Is there any way we can get footage from the fourteenth of April, twenty twenty-five? The day the patient died from an overdose?” Marco looked confused for a second. “That one... was deleted too. I deleted it with the others. But... maybe...”

"Now that I am the Head of the five mafia families in America, Ricardo will rule with me. I only hope you have a strong stomach and a stronger heart than my late wife, Ivyrose. Show her Seb.” Seb handed me a thick folder and I took it, placing it on my lap. "Police files?" I asked, looking at Gareth who smiled weakly and nodded, urging me to open it. The first thing I saw was the bloody empty eye socket. It was a picture of a man's dismembered body. The name on top read, Benito "big gun" Luka. My stomach twisted like crazy and the lump in my throat seemed to cut off my air entirely.

Damon gave me a look that said he didn’t fully trust Abel’s bravado either, but neither of us spoke it aloud. --- Later, Abel returned, but his expression was heavier now. He held a folder, dropping it onto the table with a thud. “We found bodies,” he said simply. “Plenty of them, all burned up in the wreckage.” He flipped the folder open and slid a photograph across to me. The corpse in the picture was charred, dressed in the familiar pristine white Phantom always wore. But the face, the face was obliterated, mutilated beyond recognition. No dental records, no DNA samples survived. Just a shell of a man who might have been him.

personal research. His lock screen was a picture of Max wearing oversized sunglasses and a gray hoodie. striking a pose like a secret agent who absolutely failed at blending in. I swiped the screen and entered the passcode. My birthday, of course. Pascha’s ego was just the right size to make me his security system. The photo gallery opened instantly. And I found… me. In the kitchen. On the couch. In the backyard of our old penthouse. In the car. In the mirror of a restaurant bathroom. At a train station, hair a mess, holding a cup of coffee with half-open eyes. Candid shots. Ones I never knew were taken.