Pulp Fiction Dead Storage 소설 & 이야기

For instance, there was no way to undo regret or get my life back. Soon, the sounds of police sirens filled the air. Several police officers then approached the scene, taking in the bizarre sight. There was a man in tattered clothing trying to slip checks into a private hospital's paramedic's clothes, a horribly frozen corpse in a curled-up position, and my ledger notes scattered on the ground—notes in which I asked Mom and Dad to sell my organs for money. The officers quickly secured the scene and began checking everybody's identification as usual. "Alright, show me your ID! Who is the dead person here? And what do all these notes on the ground mean?"

And I’d do it all again. Because love wasn’t just gentle words and promises. Sometimes love was violence. Sometimes it was blood on your hands and bodies in the dark. Sometimes it was becoming a monster so she never had to. My phone buzzed one final time. Unknown number. I answered. “Mr. Moretti?” A voice I didn’t recognize. “This is Officer Chen. I’m calling about Alicia Morgan.” My blood went cold. “What about her?” “I’m sorry to inform you she’s dead. Apparent suicide. Hanged herself in her cell about an hour ago.”

Every sin cataloged, timestamped, archived neatly like they were proud of their crimes. “Idiots,” I muttered under my breath, smirking. “You should’ve changed your damn passwords, or you could have just deleted it… why keep something that can ruin you” It didn’t take long before I reached the good part the folder labeled ‘Abyss.’ That was where they stored the really toxic stuff. Videos, call logs, death orders, contracts. Dirt on every major mafia family in America the Hales, the Fosters, the Sorrentinos, even my family name was there.

In this life, consider it a debt repaid. Finally, on a night one month later, Stellan died. When he went, his lips were still moving. I had to lean close to make out the word. It was Ansel's name. I stood in the doorway of the cell for a long time without speaking. Then, I had his body wrapped in a straw mat and thrown into the common burial ground. It was not an act of cruelty. He simply did not deserve more than that. Daphne died a few days later. She starved to death. From beginning to end, I never went to see her again.

He is the head of the Italian mafia. I kept the contract aside and picked another file from the drawer. Opening it I saw peoples information. They had their status written as dead. All dead, not a single one was alive. There were more than five hundred pages in here. Under causes, I saw it written some as torture, bullet hits, fire, drowning, burning alive, burying alive... What the fuck!? Then I saw a name making my eyes tear. Lucifer Arson. Status: dead. Date: August 4th 2021

He didn’t need to do so, since no human instrument could trace his fingerprints, but he’d rather not give the police something to scratch their heads about. Inside, the cool air rushed out to meet him. It was dark, but his inhuman vision cut through the shadows. He navigated past empty desks and through hallways until he found the room where the corpses were stored. The smell of chemicals and decay grew stronger, and the chill hit him like a punch as soon as he entered. Wasting no time, he pulled open one of the steel compartments with the name Paul Hernandez etched on a small plaque. He slid the tray out and removed the cloth covering the body.

' Sarah's message popped on the screen and I turned to see. Almost immediately another came in, 'Nothing exactly new but I got footage that captured the arrival of the mercenaries into the apartment. Guess what, it was deleted from the CCTV system but also guess what, remember the program I was working on. The one that retrieves deleted data from a system, yes, nothing completely vanishes from this world, Sofia ' Me: Including my deleted p o rn search history? I hit send and a smile formed at the corner of my lips and Sarah's message pinged in after three seconds.

He walked to the adjacent ward and opened the door, but there was no sign of me. Frowning, he went to the nurses' station. "Where is patient 807? She just had kidney surgery. She shouldn't be moving around." The nurse checked the computer and replied calmly, "Patient 807, Jocelyn Pryce… was declared deceased at 5:20 p.m. this afternoon."

And yet— Yet here he was, trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol, like that ever helped anyone. Victor’s eyes were suddenly drawn in by the low flicker of lights coming from the flat screen television. He tried to drown out the sound of the same news that had been blasting all over the country. “…….OVER FIFTY MANGLED BODIES WERE DISCOVERED DEAD IN AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE LOCATED IN TULLMERE. AUTHORITIES SUSPECT THAT THIS MAY NOT BE THE WORK OF A WILD ANIMAL, BUT A SERIAL KILLER INSTEAD. INVESTIGATIONS ARE STILL ONGOING….”

The packhouse was bustling with activity, but I tried to remain inconspicuous as I searched for Hugo. I took a deep breath and stepped into the packhouse. The familiar scent of wolves hit my nostrils, bringing back memories of my time as a prisoner. I cautiously roamed around the packhouse, trying to stay hidden. As I turned a corner, I saw Hugo sitting at the dining table with Dawn and another man I didn't recognize. The aroma of the food they were eating made my stomach rumble, reminding me of the meager meals I had in the forest dungeon. As I was about to call out to Hugo through the mind link, a warrior rushed into the dining room from another angle. He lowered his head in respect for Da