[Center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/25b9f4eb-a8b1-46ca-8ab3-88c168ed18b3.png[/img]

Joel Beck 
[b]Location[/b]: Ceramic factory 
[b]Tags[/b]: Grim, the cast of Chicago PD, some fucked up shit[/center]

[i]Why did I come back?[/i]

It wasn't so bad at first; hardly any different from the non-death limbo that he had been drifting in. The ashes and shards carefully mended together, binding and hardening into fresh bone. Cartilage and ligaments formed to hold the weak structure together. It wasn't until nerves and muscle began to slide across the new body and weave together that Joel wished he hadn't survived.

The pain was indescribable. Nothing else mattered but agony. He could do nothing but exist and suffer. Joel laid in a heap on the floor of the kiln, completely unaware of the drama unfolding around him. He wasn't privy to the heat that hindered his healing process. He had no way of knowing about the horrible croaks and anguished cries leaving his throat.

Organs began to form, a peritoneum ballooning out of nowhere to cradle them. New muscle formed over top, and suddenly, Joel could move. He writhed and thrashed in pain, but he couldn't escape the heat. Still blind and deaf, he had no way to find an exit, if one even existed. 

It wasn't until he came tumbling out of the oven that his healing could speed up. Without the heat actively baking his fresh tissue, he could finally form adipose and epidermis. His inner ear brought itself together and allowed him to hear. It was muffled at first. Someone was screaming. 

Joel could hear a voice next to him speaking, but only just barely over whoever was screaming bloody murder. Wait...that was him. Joel snapped his mouth shut and suddenly the other voice became much more clear. It was Grim, speaking words of encouragement and comfort to him. He must have freed Joel. Poor guy; this had to be awful to watch. 

Finally, new eyes allowed him to see. Joel's skinless face tilted up to look at Grim, acknowledging him for the first time. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was another rough croak. Finally, skin began to form over the exposed muscle and tendons. This new canvas was remarkably perfect: no blemish, scar, nor bruise. Joel couldn't remember a time when he wasn't covered in marks from his chosen line of work. Now he was renewed. 

At last, hair formed and made the man recognizable. Joel trembled, doubled over on his knees on the gravel and weeds. The stones pressing into his new skin didn't even register. Finally, the suit that had allowed this affront to nature reformed to cover him. Immediately, Joel moved to rip the mask off. He panted loudly, gasping for cool air to fill his lungs. Sweat poured out of his new glands, and tears streamed down his face. He looked very similar to the way he did last night, during his episode. The same, terrified look in his brown eyes; like a wild animal backed into a corner. 

Joel glanced around at his new surroundings, now that they finally had meaning. He wasn't inside the factory any more, and half the East Chicago police force was watching from a safe distance. He retched as if to vomit, but all he could expell was acid, blood, and left over ash. The offensive black mixture spilled onto the grass. Joel then tried to stand, but his shaky muscles failed him. He lurched forward, narrowly avoiding his own puke, thanks to Grim. 

"Get," He coughed roughly, clearing his throat, "Get me the hell out of here. Please."