CONNECT: The Undead King

A young man lay flat and lifeless on a state-of-the-art operating table in a small lab. The laboratory was a sterile, well-lit room filled with advanced medical equipment. The young man's eyes had been plucked out, and his abdomen was partially open—the skin not entirely cut but peeled back enough to reveal the inside.

A short distance away, a medical tray was cluttered with bloodied surgical tools: scalpels, forceps, and the like. What stood out the most were the two eyeballs placed neatly on the tray, wide open, eerily staring down at the body that laid lifelessly on the table.

Sitting on a metallic chair at the far edge of the small lab was an old man. His wrinkled face and thinning white hair made him look ancient, almost out of place, but the lab coat he wore and the glasses perched on his nose suggested he belongs here, and the specks of blood on his lab coat is a prove that he was the one who operated on the body. He typed away at a computer, his back turned to the lifeless body on the table, oblivious to everything except the task at hand. There were specks of blood on his white coat, but he remained calm, seemingly unfazed by the grim scene behind him.

The room was silent except for the soft tapping of the old man's fingers on the keyboard. Then, something strange began to happen to the body on the table. The young man's partially opened chest twitched ever so slightly. Then again. And again.

It was almost as if the lifeless body was coming back to life, with the chest rising and falling slowly, like the beat of a sluggish heart. The movement grew faster with each passing second, and soon the wound in his abdomen started to close up. The parted skin began to knit itself back together with a disturbing churning sound.

The old man, still typing, was suddenly pulled from his focus by the sound behind him. He quickly turned around and froze in shock. The body he had just operated on—a corpse, as far as he knew—was now sitting up on the operating table. The young man looked confused, his hands instinctively moving to where his eyes had once been, and the old man saw that the chest wound had completely healed.

Panic gripped the old man's heart.

"What's happening? I cut his chest opened, myself, how did it heal back?"

He muttered, fear clouding his voice.

The young man, disoriented, staggered to his feet and began walking blindly toward the medical tray, bumping into several pieces of equipment along the way. His hands continued to rub his face, frantically searching for eyes that were no longer there.

"What's going on? I can't see anything, am I blind, where's my eyes?"

The young man whispered, as if trying to make sense of the sensation. He moved closer to the tray, drawn toward the pair of eyeballs that seemed to call out to him.

"Where is this? How did I get here?"

"Monster!"

A terrified voice shrieked from the left.

The young man instinctively turned his head in the direction of the voice, but all he saw was darkness. His eyes were gone, leaving only empty sockets.

"I can still feel them... my eyes... What have you done to me?"

He shouted, his voice quivering with fear as he realized he might be trapped in this darkness forever.

"Guards! Get in here, now! Something's happening in the lab!"

The old man screamed, his voice tinged with desperation.

The young man heard the sound of rushing footsteps coming from behind him but still far off. He knew he had to act fast. He continued toward the medical tray, knocking tools onto the floor as he groped for his eyes. In his panic, he accidentally knocked one eyeball off the tray, but his hand managed to catch the other.

"What is he doing? Is he trying to put his eye back?"

The old man muttered, unable to believe what he was witnessing.

The young man clutched the eyeball in his palm. The footsteps were getting closer. Desperate, he moved the eyeball toward his empty socket. As soon as it made contact, blood-red tendrils shot out from the socket, wrapping around the eyeball and pulling it in. He grunted in pain, stifling a groan as the eye reattached itself to his body.

The guards stormed into the room, but from their angle, they couldn't see what had just happened. The old man, however, had seen it all.

"Connect?"

He whispered under his breath, the word barely audible.

The young man, knowing the guards were almost upon him, abandoned the idea of retrieving his second eye. He frantically looked around for a way out. His gaze—now clear in one eye—landed on the old man standing near a window. The old man trembled, visibly shaken.

Without hesitation, the young man sprinted toward the window, his feet barely keeping him upright as he ran. The guards were right behind him. Just before they could reach him, he leapt through the glass, shattering the window, and plummeted toward the ground. Shards of broken glass tore into his flesh, but he didn't care.

The guards rushed to the window, watching in disbelief as the young man's body tumbled down the side of the building before vanishing into the darkness below.

"Who would be crazy enough to jump from a 21-story building?"

One of the guards asked, clearly unimpressed.

"What are you standing around for? Go get him!"

The old man shouted.

"For what? He's dead. No one survives that kind of fall,"

Another guard responded.

"He's not dead! Go get him, now!"

The old man insisted, his voice rising in panic.

The guard who had spoken earlier began walking back toward the old man, his demeanor indifferent.

"Look, old man, the guy jumped from this height. How do you expect him to survive that?"

"I know what I saw!"

The old man stammered, but before he could say more, the guard grabbed him by the collar and lifted him toward the broken window.

"Want to try it yourself? If you survive, maybe I'll go look for him,"

The guard sneered.

The old man shook his head furiously, fear gripping his entire body.

"Remember, my job is to protect you, not to chase after your stray rat, like a cat,"

The guard growled, releasing him roughly.

As the guard walked away, the old man staggered back to his computer, his mind racing. He typed quickly into the search bar:

*Who knows about the Urban Legend 'Connect'?*

His computer pinged repeatedly as countless messages flooded in, all referencing articles and posts about the mysterious phenomenon. He scanned through a few, his finger anxiously tapping his lips.

"It matches... it all matches. He's definitely a Connect,"

The old man whispered to himself. A gleam of hope crossed his face. "I must report this to the higher ups, this could change everything for us."

Just as he was about to shut down his computer, a late message came through:

*Did you come across a Connect? Or are you just curious? I'm willing to collaborate on more research.* – Mira

"Huh?"

---

Moments earlier, when the young man had hit the ground after his jump, his leg had snapped on impact, the bone jutting out grotesquely through his skin. He had screamed in agony, but somehow, just a few minutes later, he was back on his feet.

He staggered forward, clutching his stomach as a deep, gnawing pain shot through him.

"Arghh..." he groaned, the pain becoming unbearable. "It's happening again. I'm hungry... and I don't have any spare meat at home."