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Episode 046 |
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Mathematical Morality “Dr. Atkin Jones, reporting,” said the doctor. Dressed in surgical scrubs with latex gloves and a face
mask on, the youthful doctor with pale, washed out skin stood over the
operating table, the microphone hanging just over his head. The bright lights at the corners of the
table glared down around him as he adjusted the metal trays of tools near
him. On the table in front of him was a monster. Entirely black, its huge eyes were rolled open while
its mouth hung open as if by default.
It had huge bat-like ears and massive hands that seemed too large,
even for its thick twelve-foot frame.
Its thick skin looked just between scales and flesh while scraggly
hair pierced through the joints. The
doctor looked over the body for a moment, then up at the microphone. “I would like to go on record and ask about
why all monsters have to be ugly.” He
reached for a scalpel and positioned it over the sternum, just to the left of
a gaping bullet wound in its right chest.
“I mean, is it too much to ask for you guys to get a mermaid or
something? Or maybe a siren. We could learn a lot about sirens,
especially their bust size, you know?”
He drew back from the scalpel and considered the lack of a cut. “I mean, I’m not asking for much. But just once, I’d like to come in here and
not find some god-forsaken abomination on this table. I’d like to see something hot, you
know? Something I might actually feel
bad was dead. Something that gave
beauty to this world. Something I
could take some pictures of and hide under my mattress for when my
girlfriend’s out of town.” He
paused. He
looked up at the microphone. “On
closer consideration, I’ve decided that last joke wasn’t so much funny as
creepy. Please strike it from the
record.” The elevator doors parted to reveal Sarah. Wearing her black trench coat and her
ever-present half-bored stare, she stepped out into the cool air of the
medical floor. Amongst a row of beds,
all prepared to act for emergency surgery, she passed by all of them, finally
pushing through the swinging double doors. Waiting for her was a laboratory with two nurses
playing cards. They looked up at her,
but neither rose. She glanced at them,
then walked passed through a second set of double doors. Through these was a glass wall, beyond
which was the operating table. On it,
the huge black monster was laying open and displayed, while the doctor bopped
his head to Lead Zeppelin’s Immigrant’s Song as it played overhead. She reached towards the glass, about to knock on it
when a voice came into her ear.
“Sarah,” came Assif through her earpiece. “Report.” “Sarah,” she said, stepping back out into the lab. “I’m down in the medical bay, about to
speak with Dr. Jones.” “Is the autopsy done?” he asked, an edge of hurry in
his words. “Hard to say,” she replied. “I literally just walked in. If it’s not done, though, it’s pretty well
underway. I can tell you that much.” “Well, get him to hurry,” Assif said. “We need the results as quickly as we can.” “What’s the rush?” she asked. “We’ve been contacted by a group in |
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