Ceasar did not die.
After being thrown in the mist, he thought that was the end of his journey. The end of his short-lived presidency.
But that was false thinking.
The mist was indeed a scary, deadly thing. As it traveled, it took along most of those that got lost in it. In there, he had come across countless rotting bodies. It smelled like rot, chemicals, burnt toast.....many different things at the same time.
And it whispered. It knew his name, his greatest desires, his darkest secrets. It tormented him with those whispers, teased him and made him almost beg for death.
He had no idea how many weeks had passed while he lingered inside it. Or how many imaginary speeches he had given to the voices that whispered.
He had fallen ill. A cough, cold and fever plaguing his body to the point of bringing him to his knees. But not even sickness killed him.
