[fictional suicide cw, like really, proceed with caution]or, ‘starts of stories i’ll never get around to using’
Suicide junkies, finding salvation at the bottom of a barrel. Their ringleader puts the gun down the back of his throat. Pulls the trigger. Jerks forward, crumpling to the ground.
His body twitches and judders as the nanomachines in his spine get to work, stitching his nerves back together before his brain flatlines.
Light glows from his mouth and his nostrils and his eye sockets.
When he sits up, his eyes are still glassy, but he grins. His teeth are bloodstained.