God Said Bang (Shizuochan & Jays)

[Jays]

Disbelief and excitement warred on Andrew's face, stretching his face into a stupid grin, then horrified confusion, then to a mixture of both that looked neither like a smile or a frown but something more resembled crying.

"What the fuck?" He said in a high pitch tone not for the first time, only he hadn't said it aloud so it wouldn't have affected the phone call. It spoke volume that Andrew cursed the way he did, considering how he usually avoided swearing like the plague, and more so with the word "fuck" in fear of sounding like a basic bitch.

"What the fuuuuuck?" He repeated, this time sounding exactly like a basic bitch, not least because his voice incredibly rose so high-pitch it became a girly squeak. "You got away with the fucking P.I. line? Was she drunk or something?"

Even with his incredulity Andrew's elation couldn't be suppressed. The stupid grin came back and he gripped the steering wheel with agitated hands, tapping a random maddeningly catchy tune he couldn't remember the source of with trembling fingers, and practically danced in his seat.

"I can't believe it worked. I can't believe it fucking worked." Andrew fidgeted so much he almost bit his own tongue running over a bump on the road. "Fuuuuuuck. I love you so much dude. I can't believe that fucking worked." The words came tumbling out without much conscious thought or filter. "We just gotta take a look at that body. The answer is there. I just know it. I can feel it. I can fucking feel it. We're so close." He slapped Matt's shoulders hard repeatedly despite the other's protest. They were close. They were so close. He was going to make a breakthrough that'd put his name in the history book. The father of super human. He could see a million dollars, a billion dollars, a mountain of awards, headlines, interviews, hoards after hoards of girls. And his dad shaking his hands vigorously with an actual, genuine smile on his face.

Andrew swerved madly to one side nearly hitting a car coming the opposite direction. Somehow he managed to regain control and stayed on the road, his hands suddenly damp and trembling for a completely different reason. He laughed nervously at Matt trying to brush the issue off. Not yet, he told himself. They had to get there alive first.

Belvidere was the kind of town that every single television show depicted, a tiny community with a single school, a single hospital, a single everything that stayed clustered around the loosely called "center square" while every family household tucked themselves away in their own stretch of land that made little effort concealing the intention of being as far away from everyone else as possible so they can do whatever the hell they wanted untroubled by the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of neighbors which, ironically, were the very backbone of such communities. But Belvidere wasn't just any town, oh no, it was one of the many parasite towns that prided themselves on leeching off the scrap of the respectable and wealthy rather than the usual coal mine or factory other lowly peasant towns had to content with.

Belvidere was built around several estates and luxury spas and golf courses people with money from Chicago came out here to enjoy. They partied and lounged to their heart's content knowing everything within a 30 miles radius was built specifically to carter to their need, they probably fed off that single fact as much as they did derangedly expensive food from places nobody can even pronounce and champaign that cost more than people's house.

Brian Mondays was such a person. Andrew knew little about the man except that he was rich enough to make it to the front page of an online tabloid specifically dedicated to "news" about people richer than God. The article also mentioned that he was unmarried and without family member, so however stuffed he was in life, nobody gave a rat's ass about him after his death. Except the vulture journalists of the Belvidere Daily of course. His luck, that.

GPS led him straight into the town's center and through a couple of narrow side-streets until they came to a halt in front of a massive hospital. The building looked well-decorated, fully functional and above all, expensive. Its three wings took up an embarrassingly large amount of space, no doubt with every single departments common and uncommon included, capable of effectively quarantine and treat several thousand people in the case of a deadly biochemical outbreak, or thoroughly examine any white guy in polo shirts rolling up in a golf kart who had a weird-smelling cough. All in all, the exact thing he had expected to find. The morgue was in there somewhere.

Andrew eased the car into a spot in the expansive and mostly deserted parking lot next to the building. "What now?" He asked, bubbling with excitement. "What did she tell us to do now?"

 

[Aero Blue]

Matthew found his partner's excitement infectious, like the joy of an eternal brooder finding a once-in-a-lifetime sort of love, or the wide smile of a down-on-her-luck romantic lead unraveling and revealing her true beauty. Only those concepts were only made manifest in movies, and -- like Andrew's slow-cooked elation -- were conceived through entirely false pretenses. For a moment, Matthew Holler stifled a sigh, as he conceded to some omnipotent third-party that, yes, perhaps he felt the slightest bit guilty.

But mostly, he needed to think of what to do next, to protect 'that stupid grin', as it were. He scanned the expanse of the parking lot, bemused by the emptiness of it all. Belvidere, Richville Ghosttown. Employee parking probably accounted for the good doctors, attendants, secretaries, and security, rounded off by a smatter of patients and relatives. All things considered, at least getting into the premises wasn't likely to be a big deal.

Matthew gazed, perhaps too long, at the security guard in the parking lot booth, before replying to Andrew with level tone, "… we just walk in, man! The guy was rich but it's nothing top-secret classified, Andrew. Let's go."

Another glance at the security guard -- who was now occupied with washing down cheese puffs with a diet soda -- and he left out the side of the passenger seat. It occurred to Matthew that, surface-level, they fit the setting well enough; probably skewed younger than the average Belvidere denizen, but Andrew's ride was spot-on and worth at least a hundred credibility points. Matthew led Andrew around to the side of the building perpendicular the lot, which held the main -- and only visitor accessible - entrance. Rich pricks couldn't design a building layout to save their lives, apparently.

The twin doors past the flowery path swung open of their own accord, something chrome, plexiglass, and sleek like out of science fiction, at least fifty years ahead. Stepping through, they entered into a world of white, their surroundings almost blindingly so -- rooms and halls so evocative of sterility that it may well have been a germaphobe-paradise. Chrysanthemums and daisies were placed about almost as if afterthoughts, some superficial, vain sign of welcoming life to counter the drab, state-of-the-art efficiencies.

He was no stranger to these lab-like ambiences, but even Matthew's casual swagger was diminished as he approached the receptionist, a twenty-something lady with thick glasses and a bob-cut. She looked from her paperwork to the two of them, back to the paperwork, and then back to the two of them as if demonstrating her preoccupation would cause the interlopers to disappear. When they failed to do so, she finally held her gaze, and Matthew couldn't help but notice the sad beleaguerment written on the twenty-something with all the verve and energy of a forty-something.

"Good afternoon!" Her attempt at a happy inflection ended in a squeak that was more like a sad little whimper, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Matthew took over, enunciating clearly -- and in his best approximation of "professionally" -- to appear as if he fit in, "Hey there…" He leaned over and squinted at something along her shirt, "Anita. I need a, aha, guiding hand towards the good mortician, Doctor Howell?"

"Sure! I'll page her and make sure she's free-."

"No need, no need, Addy's an old friend of ours. A mentor figure." He glanced briefly towards Andrew, wondering if by then he had caught unto his lie, "I called ahead, so if you could just help us out with finding her office, so that I could just do a good old-fashioned ambush-hug? Be much appreciated, Anita."

Anita blinked a few times from beneath her thick-rimmed glasses, before pointing to the far left, "All the way left… like all the way left, then all the way right, until you hit the water fountains, and then it's on the other side."

"Thank you, Anita."

The particular wing was eerily empty, and without event -- or doubtlessly Anita wouldn't have allowed them to enter unchecked. The siderooms that were unlit were empty, the ones that shone with a dimmy grey held patients that must have resided within for days, or weeks, or months. The whole place seemed almost haunted, and it occurred to Matthew the inequity of it all. A place so excessive, so expansive, for the mightiest few. It made his interloping on less than honest pretenses seem almost righteous to him.

They hit the water fountains, and Matthew knocked upon the door of Adrian Howell's office.

Silence.

Silence.

Steps.

He could almost imagine the reluctance upon her face as she decided to answer.

Answer she did, pulling the door open with a look of supreme displeasure, and there she was, her in her white jacket and her face, without that false smile of hers.

And Matthew's fist lashed forward, with a some sort of microcosm of Herculean strength supplied by adrenaline. He felt the satisfying crack of nose-bone against knuckle, and a sort of unforgiving give, and the recoil as the doctor's resistance faded and she fell from beneath herself, unconscious.

He was gonna protect that stupid grin, after all. If Andrew wanted to see the body, Matthew was going to make it happen, he resolved to himself, as he looked towards his partner, "Hey, so, that P.I. thing… was sort of a no-go. But, hey, we can get the keys to the morgue room from off her."

 

[Jays]

The muted chrome palette of the hospital dulled the edge of Andrew's enthusiasm with its sheer audacity to be so obscenely monotonous. The worst thing about it was that it reminded him of his father's lab, all sparkling surfaces and maddeningly inescapable humming of machineries.

Despite all of this, he eagerly followed behind Matt, happy to not take the lead and half patting himself on the back congratulatorily for his restraint. Somehow, for the first time ever, unleashing Matt was not a total disaster. In fact, it was proving to be the effective mood. Andrew looked at his friend fondly, chiding himself for all the doubt and incredulity he had had in the past. Perhaps he had been wrong all along. Perhaps he had simply never given his roommate a chance to rise to the occasion and prove himself more capable than the wishy washy bonobo charisma he so effortlessly exuded.

The exchange between Matt and the receptionist was odd to say the least, and had Andrew been in any less tunnelled state of mind he would have smelled something fishy.

He breezed past the reception and into the interlocking hallways behind Matt, his heart pounding thundering as they drew closer to the doctor's office. Only then did Andrew realize he hadn't thought this far. His mind churned with exhilaration and nervousness for the upcoming meeting, coming up with and discarding scenarios as quickly as his frantic tapping of his fingers on his legs.

In front of the office, Andrew plastered a wide smile on his face as fake as the absolutely self-assured manner he assumed immediately after, a special taxing treat he reserved for just such an occasion when he had nothing more than words and attitude to save his life. His hands clasped lightly behind his back, prepared to come forward with a handshake the kind only politicians sometimes manage to pull off. He was ready to charm his way into the biggest scientific discovery of the 21st century, maybe ever.

Andrew's fake smile brightened as the door opened, then Matt punched the doctor in the face. He watched numbly as she fell over, the smile frozen solid on his features, and hear the sound of something shattering inside his chest. His crumbling sanity, perhaps. His new-found and absolutely fucking misplaced trust in Matt, certainly.

Andrew stood very still for several moments. Then his composure cracked, his smile falling away and he hissed furiously: "What the fuck?? WHAT THE FUCK???" His hands gestured wildly at the unconscious form of the doctor, then at Matt, his mouth working frantically but no word could be form. "What the fuck??" This time he pointed an accusing finger directly at Matt, his voice furious.

 

[Aero Blue]

For a moment, Matthew wondered if he had fucked up, horrifically.

Then, he didn't.

"Hey hey, hey; sh." He chided as he eyed the doctor's fallen form with a queer sort of curiosity, even prodding the tender, discolored patch on her face where his fist had landed. The interloping hand hopped to her sidepockets, fingers instantly gratified by the cold touch of a keychain. Matthew dangled his 'trophy' before Andrew, like a parent might tease a child with a reward in the hopes of good behavior.

"Look, now you know: plan A was ass so I went plan B. What were we gonna do if I didn't take some sort-of drastic measure? Go back into our corners and have a humid, sweaty jerk-off session while we read the world's least erotic studies with limp dicks in our hands getting nowhere?" He questioned rhetorically, as if his word was some final, resolute, never-wrong gospel, "You wanted to view the body? Well, honestly? We get free-reign of the morgue, we might be able to take the body and run whatever experiments you want, Andrew.

I did that shit for you, so let's get the good doctor out of plain sight and go."

 

[Jays]

Andrew's expression looked like he just swallowed something foul. His mouth worked silently not being to form words as he fidgeted restlessly from one foot to the other, his hands on his forehead. The sound of footsteps startled him out of his indecisiveness, and in a sudden burst of action he pushed past Matt, pulling the doctor's limp form into the room and quickly shut the door behind them.

He put his ear to the door and listened intensely as the footstep approached, passed by the door and retreated further down the hallway.

Andrew turned on Matt, his face bright red with fury and dismay.

"You have NOT thought this through, have you?" He hissed angrily. "What are we gonna do now? Just waltz into the morgue and cut open the body? Have you ever done any practical surgery? I sure as hell haven't. Do you know what we're looking for? I don't know what it looks like or where the hell things even are in there. We need her, not just access! Do you even know where the morgue is?"

Andrew wanted to smash his head against the wall, or pull his hair out. He slumped into the doctor's chair like a puppet with its strings cut.

"We are so screwed. There are cameras back there. CAMERAS DUDE! Two guys walked in asking for a doctor who immediately after get assaulted? A monkey could connect the dots! We are so screwed." His voice drop from a violent hiss to quiet solemn whispering. "She's gonna probably press for assault charges. We could maybe get away with first-timer community service, but they sure as fuck gonna kick us out of Uni.

My dad is gonna fucking kill me."

 

[Aero Blue]

"Or, alternatively," Matthew picked up without a hitch, as if nothing at all was wrong in the world, as if all of Andrew's furious words were but a gentle breeze, "He'll make it rain all over the school board with his cha-ching-cha-ching, I'll get expelled, and you'll get to stay in school like a good, rich boy. Besides! I punched her! You were just, ah, a bystander under considerable duress."

He hooked both hands between the unconscious doctor's arms and began to drag to the far corner of the office, obliterating safe-practice for injured victims in the process. There was an unnatural ease about him, an uncommon tranquility that seemed to stem from moving around lifeless bodies. "Look, I'm sorry. I am."

Matthew seemed decidedly unapologetic, more like a con-man attempting to shift blame -- no, to turn blame into the next con, the next lie, the next hopeless deception. "I admit it, I'm more used to thinking on my feet. But what? Were we really gonna be allowed to sit in and gawk at some rich old man's innards? Or were you going to make your great breakthrough eye-fucking his pale, wrinkly zombie-skin? We're here, let's work from this.

We can… we can get in, get the body, and wheel him out on a trolley or something -- we'll find scrubs to wear. We'll find some other skeevy underground surgeon who got booted for malpractice to open him up, or, or -- we'll just smuggle her out too. Bring her somewhere, pay her off to do the job and stay quiet or something. And the uh, the cameras… we'll find out where the footage is stored, where it gets sent, and we'll work something out there too."

He ran his hair through his hands as a nervous tic, but wore a smile that made it almost seem like some suave movie star's attempts at superficial charm, "See, we've got a gameplan. We can make it happen."

 

[Jays]

Andrew swivelled his head side to side incessantly as if trying to shake Matt's words off, but no matter how much he tried they reached his ears and wormed their way in like some kind of brain parasite. In truth, ill-advised ideas are more contagious than any disease, and Andrew was already feverish with infection.

Slowly, he raised his head off the crooks of his arms, a mask of savage abandonment eventually clouding over his features, hesitant at first but growing more determined by the second. "Fuck it." He said, his eyes looked far away past the tiny office toward a future only he could see. "Fuck it." He said again, louder as he rose to his feet. "You're right. This doesn't matter one fucking bit. We're about to make the biggest scientific breakthrough of the 21st century. And in all revolutions there are casualties and necessary sacrifices. This doesn't fucking matter."

Andrew's eyes burned bright with the prospect filling his head. He turned to Matt and grabbed his friend's shoulder gratefully. "Thanks man. Thanks for making me see clearly. I was lost in the moment. But you're right, of course. We'll figure something out. What we're doing justifies all of this."

Pulling away, Andrew stepped deftly over the unconscious form of the doctor he had fussed over only a minute before, uncaring. He started to rummage around the doctor's desk. "First thing first though, we have to find where that damn morgue is at. The security room, too. Come give me a hand."

 

[Aero Blue]

There was not even a trace of surprise on Matthew's face as Andrew gripped his shoulders with a renewed camaraderie. As if it was all as it should be, as if this was all that it must be. Andrew and Matthew, Matthew and Andrew, on some flight of fancy with the frenetic verve of a situational-comedy. It was a lot of things, and even as he parroted the pretentious, bullshitting voice in his head that spoke of meanings and breakthroughs and true-callings, the truth was: it was them, and it wasn't boring. And that was perfect.

"You're goddamned right, man. Just a sec." He fumbled at the large, metal closet pressed against the opposite wall of the doctor's desk, pressing after key into the knob until at last one found purchase. Bottles of disinfectants and rubbing alcohol lined the rusted bottoms, while an almost barren rack held aloft white scrubs. The Doctor was small, but they were some skinny college kids, and Matthew gathered that they could fit. And besides, that she was small meant that he could:

He grunted, as he lifted the Doc's unconscious form and placed it upright into the closet, like a vampire in his coffin, the closet door slamming shut with some sinister clang.

He circled around the desk towards Matthew, the keys jingling merrily from his hands, a wide smile upon his face. "Gonna be hard lugging her around while we're doing our thing. Now… you know, I spent a year being a prof's clerical bitch, so if I've learned anything from that it's…"

Another key opened the file cabinet, what with all its folders and papers pressed compactly into its confines, so tightly that Matthew imagined them screaming for release. His fingers traced the papers until he arrived at the very back, a folder hidden away by the others. First day on the job type stuff. Orientation, if Matthew didn't know any better.

He opened a red folder, and as if beautiful, lovely fate, a layout of the hospital wing presented itself.

 

[Jays]

"Nicely done, Mr. Clerical Bitch." Andrew traced the outline of the map with his fingers excitedly, crossing through names after names until the encountered what he was looking for. His face immediately soured, however. The section marked "Mortuary" was all the way on the opposite side of the hospital.

"It's gonna take us a while to get there." He said worriedly, looking back and forth between the map and the closet with the doctor messily stuffed into it. They needed time, and a lot of it.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

Rushing to the closet, he threw it open and started rummaging around the bottles until he came up with one labeled "Propofol". An anesthetic.

It was at this moment that he paused to consider what he was doing. Andrew wasn't a professional. He had no idea how much would knock someone out for how long, or if the bottle even contained what it said. It might very well be an empty bottle the doctor kept rat poison in.

Then he threw that thought away the very next moment. They had come this far, hadn't they? Might as well.

Andrew fished around some more 'til he found a stack of fresh syringes and needles in one of the doctor's drawers. He fitted a proper injection and pulled about 5 cc of the colorless liquid inside the bottle, paused, considered, and pulled 5 more cc. Surely that wasn't enough to cause cardiac failure.

"There, all done. Now we have all the time in the world." Andrew wipes his hands on his jeans, shut the closet door and was about to throw the syringe in the trash before thinking better of it and stuffed the thing into his inner jacket pocket. Couldn't hurt to leave one less set of perfectly usable finger print for cops to find.

"You got the morgue key? Don't know which one? Just take all of them. We''ll return them afterwards." Of course they would. They weren't criminals.

"Let's go then. I don't think we need to sneak, do we?"