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It was a muddy plain, rain pouring heavy and constant. The sound was thunderously loud. Otto's shoes had long been lost to the sinking muck, with each step a test of strength and endurance. He felt heavy. The atmosphere trying to keep him down. All he had to do was reach the cave, and he'd be sheltered from the storm.

If only those pesky zombies weren't hot on his tail, shuffling easily over the mud as if it were no issue. Friends faces were among the undead, decaying and ugly.

Bones and bodies emerged thanks to the heavy rain revealing their final resting place in the muddy field. Some stirred to life as Otto passed clumsily. Some remained still for eternity. Hands shot up to try and grab him. The gaggle of bodies dragging themselves after him were closing the distance quicker still.

If only he could be quicker. If only he could run away faster. Run, run away.

Otto was done for. He was too deep into the dream to remember it was only that. A dream. As the horrifying face that looked all too familiar came in for the kill...

Bang.

Otto flinched as the bits of the former human splattered on and around him. He hurried after the hooded figure. Something inside him knew who this was. He could trust them, he was sure. Trust was a difficult and fragile thing. Too easy to break, but so tempting to keep in tact.

A dark room within a trap door was better than a hoard of killer zombies. Otto slide inside, in a hurry to save his skin. He'd deal with the suffocating darkness. He'd cope.

"You again.." Otto murmured, doing his best not to pay much mind to the cameras. However, every so often his gaze strayed and focused on them. Every movement caused them to follow. It was interesting. It was alarming.

"My wish huh...." He slowly walked toward the table, his gaze settling back on the familiar woman ahead. "I dunno. I don't got much I could wish for. Things are pretty ******** dandy as far as Deus goes."

"I have a project. A purpose. I have people that I love, and I'm never lonely anymore. What could you possibly hope to offer me?"

That wish. Otto risked a glance to his arm where that dreaded tattoo sat waiting to be used. Something he didn't ever really want. Something he supposedly couldn't run from.

"I do? You assume a lot of me." He clenched his fists, his nerves beginning to bubble. He was scared, even if he tried not to let on. "You think I already know what I should ask for, and I feel like I'm missing somethin' here."

"Enlighten me."

While Otto's focus was on what Sam was saying, the same couldn't be said for where his eyes travelled. That Prada dress made it too easy to peek. As she finally leaned back, his gaze found her face once more. Sam was a terribly distracting woman, even after death.

Why was it he always saw her in his dreams? Why her?

Otto looked to his arm, where a key and an hourglass marked his body. Parasites. The word made his stomach turn. He'd never considered Tenya an invading species, but now that Sam had made it known... The very inkling of it made Tenya unhappy and restless. It made Otto uncomfortable. The longer he stayed alive working for Deus, the more his body would take the beating. Maybe he was just a corpse who forgot he was dead. That was, after all, how everyone became a hunter.

"Well, how about the key.. for now." He knew he'd gotten the hourglass from Death. He knew it meant he had a pact with him. He knew it required a wish. The details were skim, but not as skim as his key.

"It came to me, but I don't know why. I don't know what it does, or what it will do. Ever since I took it on, I felt like it was holding me back. So... tell me what you know of it."

Otto blinked back surprise. He didn't like the sound of this. It sounded bigger than himself, bigger than what he could process. A war was familiar. Being a puppet, sadly, was also normal, albeit unpleasant. That he had been marked for it was another. What was it that scared him about it? That he didn't know the details? Fear of the unknown was usually what feared most if not all of his discomfort.

Something wanted him. But why?

And now, Sam helpfully gave him the price for this information. Memories. Memories were precious, and important. "I..." He huffed, shaking his head and ruffling his hair. "It... it doesn't matter. Take whatever memory you want." It didn't matter. He didn't care. How could he choose any of his memories? Bad or good, they were all important. He had a feeling memories of past meals wouldn't make the cut.

But, did he dare ask for more? But when would he get such an opportunity? Memories for information. He just... didn't care anymore. He wanted to know. He had to learn more and more.

"I got lots, Sam." He grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "A ******** ton of them. Just tryin' to remember'em all."

Screw his memories. Screw everything. If he was a puppet, he'd be a well-informed one.

"A war between who or what? What's my role? I also wanna ask about Death and his friggin' wishing well tattoo he gave me and the others. I got a Hell of a lot of memories at my disposal, so I can go all day."

Only now did Otto become shaken. The perfect copy of him shattered his resolve. The very idea of some copy playing him made Otto writhe in discomfort. He'd never allow it. In his impulsive need for information, he neglected to wonder what would happen to him. He had forsaken the consequences for knowledge. He really would need to carefully choose his memories, if Sam didn't already have her eyes on a choice few. They would be going into the production of Otto 2.0, after all.

And sure enough, the thing using Sam's image had him trusting too easy, even if he'd been betrayed by that face before her death.

Otto stood in uncertainty and panic. What was he going to do? He couldn't just rattle off questions now. What good was information if there was no one to share it with? What good was it when he was as good as dead?

"But... resurrecting... bringing back the dead it ain't... natural." He murmured, feeling sick to his stomach, his eyes unable to leave his double. "Even if it ain't for me. I lost friends, but the dead should stay dead." Growing up in a Funeral Home, watching families grieve.. he knew the pain well. He also knew the reality of it all. Death was the end. Was he meant to bring back something greater? What about Death himself? "Unless like... if Death.. Charon, really died... I mean he was important so..." He groaned, running his hands through his thick mop of hair again.
He missed everyone he lost. A lot.

He was scared. Curious; horribly, morbidly curious. But so so scared. He had one, burning question left. More important than the others.

He began to sweat, his blue eyes trained on his double with a disorienting fixation that left him woozy.

"I think I know what I'll wish for... I'm just stuck on the nitty gritty of it... but... there's one thing I'm worried about... I dunno if it's worth giving up my own existence for it but.." He gave another pointed stare to the double. A sick, nauseating feeling overwhelming him.

His gaze flicked back to the one who wore Sam as a mask.

"Who, or what, are you?"

"You're Death." He murmured back. He was certain of it. Death had taken Sam's form in the past.

"Can I bring you back? Like... return you to what you used to be?"