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Realistic or Modern z e n i t h // info

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| || | the setting
an old mine is the homestead of our sadist foe. enclosed by an equally worn forest, outer civilization would take several days to get to on foot. a quarry is to its right, cutting a deep hole in the ground that'd surely hurt if one were to escape and slip. suspicions are that the home is located in some distant part of new york, that he coaxed the county's police station to overlook the place under their jurisdiction. all of such things are true. he took his own plane to get to each captive if they were far enough, showing only how deep-set his callous tenacity for his research truly is.

his home is modernized but small, sitting comfortably over the basement in which he keeps his subjects. a thick metal door, a keypad and its number code to the right of it, and countless stairs are the only things standing in the prisoners' way - besides their cells and the locks that hold them in there, too. punch in the code, the door opens with a hiss, and the spiral of a staircase could lead to potential freedom if they hadn't already tried. and they have, countless times.

the mine starts in the basement; deep, echoing, and refurbished to his use are the snaked caverns. its largest section, and conveniently the mine's entry, is where the cells reside. put together in a circle, the glass is both a blessing and a curse. they can see everything. the scattered papers on the desks on which he writes their responses. the stacked monitors to the left that show what's recorded on the security cameras he's placed around. the metal bookshelves that surround a table in the corner, which quickly became a common place for calm interrogation to end in struggle and sedatives. and even the only other pathway out of the main room that lead to their multiple deaths; four walls that shine a blinding white, while the only things entailing it was a room was the glass window on the back wall and the chair with straps riddled all over it in the center, morbidly facing the window by which the doctor sits behind when his experiments take affect.

their cells only hold them, a cot for them to rest upon, and perhaps a potted tree in the corner depending on the cell - as if that small glimpse of earth would make up for their lack of surroundings. a stream of water connects all of them, creating a small hatch at the bottom of the glass for it to flow freely throughout. that is, perhaps, the only thing they've come close to using to pass along items they might've taken or simply to remember what touch felt like, regardless of how vague beneath the water. vents, too, connect the cells to each other, making it difficult for preventing more than one person to drop when gas floods a cell and eventually expels into another through the grates; however, it could be used to their advantage.

food and water are provided through the locked, sliding openings on the doors three times a day. time has little relevance, but is seemingly accurate when the main lights go out and are replaced with black lights to signify evening hours - dark enough to fall asleep with, but still noticeable.
| || | the project
the nde project was never one without casualties - for in order to complete it, the subjects would have to repeat their singular casualty over and over. death seemed easy enough to come by, but specifics seemed to get the job done faster, maybe even more accurately. certain deaths were easier to manipulate, easier to come by. hooking up neural transmitters to record what the patients heard or said was far easier to do when they were kept still. heart attacks, poisoned gas, injections, drowning; the begging was only a small part to him as he walked to his place behind the glass, tuning in on life beyond death like no other before him.

"in the name of science..."

he wants to prove them all wrong. his coworkers, his bosses, and the rest that attempted the experiment and failed when they didn't have the guts to do what needed to be done. he thinks it's a necessity, a breakthrough. the key to immortality rests in his hands, or more appropriately inside his subjects. and, perhaps, that was what set him apart from going too far off the deep end in his studies. in the end, the doctor knew they were people too, but greed and the potential of power outweighed what little good he had left.

"i don't think you realize how important this is."
"you're a sick bastard, you know that?"

to harness the great beyond is likely one of the most ominous powers bestowed. for him to harness that power, however, seemed too good to look over. the interest began when a young male was admitted to a hospital in new zealand. pronounced dead on the emergency room table, there wasn't much they could do. until the man's wounds closed in front of their eyes, and he gasped for air not too long after. near death experiences became a trend, dating back to some far off time and continuing tradition ever since. some lied, some told the truth, but those who were truly "gifted" the ability stayed silent for good reason. it was in 2011 that doctor novell departed from his colleagues' quiet work to dig in to what he perceived as the greatest opportunity for mankind.

there was an option of never dying or simply knowing what they'd see when people took their last breath. the fountain of youth was hardly a thought now.
| || | the other side
the other side, for as basic as it would seem, is far more complex than what meets a spirit's eye. made up of layers and the vast planes that lie therein, even to the chosen, death is still quite unknown.

an nde leads them "swimming through stars," per se. galaxies and constellations of the sort are almost touchable if they weren't actually light years away. but there's a floor, as strange as it seems, and deep within the apparent room there sits an old woman with blankets of the same astral patterns; hair shades of varying grays, face creased like rings of an old tree, and eyes that stare right into a soul, as they do. while it's strange to come upon, it feels familiar, nostalgic even, as if a full circle was created without one's knowledge. behind her lies a door, only identifiable by the window cut through it, and before her lies a hole - spinning, dizzying, and alluring. this place is a crossroads, in a way. she asks a question, the chosen answer, and whatever she's looking for eventually presents itself. only then do they receive a gift, and only when they're ready does she give a piece to their escape.

"how did you die, dear?"

the door behind her with it's window keeps the astral plane from what so many have deemed "heaven." she calls it peace, and peace can only be granted when their time is truly up. she's never said anything more nor less. the mother knows best.

"what troubles you?"

if one were to look out the window, though, they'd find whatever they deem as paradise - with the exception of seeing others that have passed on roaming about as well. it's beautiful but untouchable for the angels, as are all things deserving. they still have a job to do.

"what defines you?"

the other layers are still a mystery to our undying. whatever the mother tells is all they seem to need to know. however, dying doesn't always bring them to the familiar room with a thousand stars. death will challenge them, puzzle them, push them. they will find out the other layers soon enough.

"why are you here?"
 
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