Walten Files Mortality Novels & Stories

"I had the ticket. 'Elion Marrow. 9:48 AM. Blunt force trauma.' I was ready. I had the paperwork filed." "Cancel it," Cale said. "You can't just cancel a death!" Vane shouted, though no one on the street seemed to hear him. To the passersby, they were just two guys arguing about money or sports. "Do you know how much paperwork this creates? The Entropy Audit is going to be a nightmare. Again." "Put it on my tab," Cale said. "Your tab?" Vane laughed. It was a terrible sound, like glass grinding in a disposal. "Your tab is maxed out, friend. Look at your arm."

Carl was a freaking monster. My throat burned. “How many survived?” Taylor tapped the screen, pulling up some red-highlighted reports. “Not many. Some disappeared into other institutions. Some… well, the files don’t even bother to hide it.” She clicked open a medical report stamped TERMINATED in bold letters. Ed swore under his breath, pacing the room like a caged animal. “He’s a butcher. A goddamn butcher dressed in fine suit.” But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Because in the middle of that sea of names, one glowed like a warning flare.

Upon getting there, Alpha Cillian demanded to speak with the team in charge of autopsies. “The results are ready. Apologies that we couldn’t get them across to you. We’ve been handling so many dead bodies and it’s gotten to the point that we may soon run out of room,” the pathologist said. “Well, get on with it. What happened to them? Why are they just dying so carelessly?” “It’s wolfsbane, Alpha Cillian.” “Wolfsbane? Impossible. Our lands have been rid of those deadly plants for centuries.” “I am afraid it’s true. All the people who died had wolfsbane cells, either on their skins, or in their bodies. It’s what caused them to die so fatally.”

The revelation didn't hit me with the force of an explosion; it felt more like the slow, agonizing crawl of frost over a windowpane. I didn't scream. I didn't even look back at the man—the thing—sitting in the rubble behind me. I just stared at the yellowed document in Julian’s hand. A death certificate. Ethan Arthur Wolfe. Age: 7. Cause: Respiratory Failure. "He was the first," Julian whispered, his voice cracking as he stepped over a twisted rebar.

“People d‍on’t just‌ ap⁠pear at twen‌ty-‍five.” “E⁠xactl‍y.” Kieran pul​l⁠e‌d up a​noth⁠er d‌ocument​. “This is a​ death cer‍tificate. Wom⁠an named‌ Elena W‌int‍ers. Died fi‌ft⁠y⁠-t⁠hr⁠ee years ago.” My stoma​ch dro​pp‍ed. “Someone with the‌ same n‌ame. T​hat’s​—‌”

There were still most of the files locked. Greta stated that it would take her some time to crack the encryptions., vintage codes. Dead technology, languages that have been forgotten. One file but was still open. DOVE Project. I picked it. Photographs showed kids in sterile white rooms with shaved heads and blank eyes. Not a name. Just figures. Numbers in rows and rows. They had short files. Subject 07, after Trial 2 passed away. failing organs. Subject No. 12. fired for acting erratically.

She used to be sure it was no, but now… “I didn’t think there were at first but… I’ve personally never looked through the papers in his office. I’m not sure if Hazel has. But before me, Zasper Zavier did, I think. He used to joke about how losing Valor’s office to a fire would be more tragic than losing Valor himself because Valor wouldn’t be able to remember everything in those files passed down from one commander to the next. I used to think it was only for good humor. But Valor never really laughed. He smiled to be amiable because Ferdinand and the others from the ministry found it funny. Maybe Valor just didn’t want to cause a scene.” Greg considered their options and urged, “Sush, we ne

I knelt down and began sorting through the papers with shaking hands. The first file I picked up made my blood freeze. It was labeled "CASE #47 - RESOLVED" and contained photos of a woman I didn't recognize. Inside were medical records, psychiatric evaluations, and a death certificate. The woman had supposedly committed suicide three months after being committed to a private facility. I grabbed another file. "CASE #63 - RESOLVED." Another woman, another suicide, another family destroyed. File after file, dozens of them, all marked the same way. All women who had become inconvenient to someone powerful. All dead.

Died from massive trauma. Danny. Marie's brother. I knew him. Good kid. Nineteen years old. Dead. I write it down. Dispassionate. Exact. That's my role. The body count keeps rising. By 7:30 AM, I've recorded sixty-three deaths total. Thirty-four wolves. Twenty-two vampires. Seven fae. Mathematically, the Rookeries is losing. More deaths per minute. Higher casualty rate. But they're still fighting. Still standing. That matters.

I even type in his own father’s birthday, but sickness hits me at the back of the throat when I type in my birthday…the lock singing out to grant me access. The sick fuck. Using my birthday as his code. My eyes widen with wonder as if I have found the depth’s of the earth…files upon files of secrets that could take down Calian and this pack. My mind is wonders at the endless possibilities. “No, I just need my father’s report for now.” I remind myself, flicking through files in a desperate hunt to find my father’s death report. It has to be here…even pack members at the time will have needed to give a full written statement of the incident, especially when it resulted in the death of the beta