Nevereign Morgue

[Mr_DC]

The city morgue. Often lacking in capacity to take in new 'visitors' but they try to strip incoming bodies of whatever useful parts they have as soon as possible. Used to be owned by the government but the rights have been sold to Alternate Medical United who acquire fresh organs and biological materials while charging to the police and anyone interested for information about the bodies which come in.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Got another one for you." One of the paramedics said as he pushed in a metal table with a mangled corpse on it. The man was wearing a full orange suit and a breathing mask - the regular uniform of the Alternate Medical. The city morgue - one of many - had bodies passing through it like a train station. There was always some poor sap examining them to determine the cause and what organs could still be used. Rushing through people like paperwork.


"Another?" Fleur sighed, pulling out her arm from the chest of a freshly deceased mess. There were a few drops of blood on her face and many more on the white apron she protected her light orange coveralls, similar to the uniform AM wore. "Just... Put him in the corner." She motioned her head at the corner of the freezer cold morgue where one other table was already positioned. She wiped some blood off her face with her elbow and looked at the body on the table in front of her. "I'm done for today anyways."


"Already?" The man asked as he pushed the table to where he was pointed to. "Not pulling another all-nighter?"


"I'm standing here since 5 AM." Fleur rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "I just wanna go home and sleep for a few hours until my other shift starts. What time is it anyways?"


"Just after midnight." The man placed his hands on his hips. "You won't be getting much sleep tonight, I guess." He chuckled.


"It will be enough." She said as she took off her apron, casting it over the corpse, and headed to the sink to wash her hands.


"You know..." The man slowly walked over. "I could help you out." He cleared his throat. "I know you have money troubles and I'll have an easier time taking a loan from our corporation..." He said but was quickly stopped by a raised wet finger from Fleur.


"Don't you dare. I'm dealing with this on my own. I'm making plans..." She lied - unsuccessfully.


"If you get over your pride, you know who to ask." He nodded, stepping back. "I just don't want to see you working at a bar." He added, walking out while Fleur finished cleaning herself up.


"Working at a bar..." She mumbled, remembering the working girls who passed through her hands, numerous like grains of sand. "I'd rather not die, thank you very much." She chuckled but finished with a sigh. There are bars with protection. She thought. Like the ones I already spoke with about a job. She thought, shaking her head and wiping the water off her hands.


"I'll see you in a few hours." She looked at the dead bodies before walking out the double doors and heading closer to the sound of rain.

 

[0stinato]

"God, Lull. Cynical arsehole. Learn to be more considerate. You know I'm dealing with a huge amount of absolute shit at the moment. You know that a client of mine wants me to make him a tranquillising earring? So that, if he pushes the back end somehow, the front shoots out and tranquillises the person it hits. I asked him why, of course, he said, and I quote, 'There're a lot of dicks in the world. I am one of them.' I mean, can you believe it? Then you go and get shot a million times and now I have to mourn too? Jesus, you're a piece of work, you know that?"


Ema knew the body on the slab wasn't going to talk back to her. He couldn't. He was long gone.


She'd requested to be allowed in to see the bodies of Lull Skullface and Lois Fukushima. At first, her word had gone over the head of the secretary in the lobby, but, after she'd provided evidence that she was indeed his previous employer, and that she had a legal right to see him, the secretary had led her to the room where they both were. There were a few more in there, awaiting treatment, kept still and static in the cold chambers, but Ema hadn't been that bothered. After the secretary had explained to the mortician on duty who she was and why she was here, he left, leaving Ema alone with the mortician to find the two corpses of the people she'd once called friends. Probably her only friends.


Lull's mask had been removed and Ema had never seen him without it on. Now she saw why he wore it - he wasn't attractive, not at all. But then again, Lull revelled in his ugliness. He always had done. His soft features gave everything away when it came to his weight, and it was clear his smoking habit had indeed affected even his face. But she wasn't here to critique his style. After all, beneath the still-zipped part of the bag, he was naked. And Ema didn't really want to see that. As interesting as his being intersex was, Ema was fine with knowing the theory. She didn't want to think about the placement of testicles in relation to a vagina. The thought caused her to look away a moment.


This man was a complete downer when he was alive. His duties when he'd been tied to servitude had been rather simple - cook, clean, don't smoke indoors. But what had Lull done? Smoked indoors. Whenever Ema wasn't around, he'd smoke indoors. Eventually, Ema had confiscated any and all cigarettes, stating that she would provide him with them when she thought he'd earned them. He didn't slack off though, despite this. He was reliable, and that was about his only positive trait. But even as a punishment, it failed. Lull would often request one more cigarette than he needed, and so would stash them ready to lie back on his bed and indulge himself whenever Ema left.


But she liked him. He was blunt, sarcastic, ugly and stunk of tobacco but... she liked him. It was just what Lull was. And, when they'd parted ways, he never phoned her. Well, that wasn't quite true - he'd phoned her once. On her birthday. Didn't stay on the line long but... it'd meant something. It obviously had meant something. Lull, the man who took her as seriously as a puppy takes a ball, had made an effort to think about her. Despite his overall shittiness as a human being, she was going to miss him.


She spent more time with Lull than with Lois, as the mortician had said it was likely she'd been strangled, given the evidence available. He'd told her Lull had been shot. And, if Lull was shot but not Lois, it must have meant that whoever killed Lull did not kill Lois. She didn't want to guess particularly but... she had a theory. Not one she really wanted to think about. His sister would be the second woman Lull had killed, the first being their mother. And he'd never got prosecuted for his first killing. He'd never told anyone but Ema. And, as far as the law knew, Lull Skullface didn't exist until he came to Ema.


So Ema stood by Lull, the mortician hovering behind her doing his own thing. She wasn't sure what to do. Touch him? Was she even allowed to touch him? Lull wouldn't want her to touch him. So Ema didn't touch him. She merely stood there, one arm across her body, her other hand on her cheek.


"At least you didn't care if you died," she said softly. "But some of us did... selfish prick."


She wasn't sure why she called him that. It wasn't the first time she'd called him such things - she often did when he was working under her. He never said anything of the sort back to her, but he would agree with every insult she called him. Although back then it had been more banterous than anything, even if it was true. Calling him such things now... he'd not roll his grey eyes to her and say seriously, "Is that news to you?"


But she wished he would.

 

[0stinato]

Ema had set aside an hour to visit the morgue, but she'd not filled more than 25 minutes. A place like this didn't exactly have visitors, so she'd not been waiting in line or anything. Most people dealt with their dead through undertakers' or church, and, although a layman's body could pass through the morgue, it was more a place for the victims of murder, suicide or inexplicable and unaccountable deaths. The place where bodies were kept incredibly cool to slow decomposition and to preserve evidence. Though it seemed the morgue was rather outdated now - very few murders actually got prosecuted. Only the ones where the culprits was a singular person, or maybe a small group, went ahead in court. Other ones, the ones chalked up to something to do with industry or business, were left. And, in their wake left broken hearts and broken spirits.


Ema didn't possess either of these things. Her heart remained solid and her spirit stayed ambitious. Lull was her employee. Hardly a friend and certainly not a good man. He'd had his fill of life from the early days and was done with it. The one Ema would undoubtedly cry over, though, was Lois. But that would come later. And so would the questions - If you knew you were in danger, and she was too, why not get me involved? All that kind of stuff. Ema doubted Lull would trust her, or anyone, enough to hand over his little sister to them, but he could have at least tried.


With half an hour left until her next appointment, Ema told the mortician she was finished. Once back out at the lobby, the secretary asked her if she wanted to receive a phone call about anything; she'd be informed about anything suspicious regarding the deaths, and also when the bodies were laid to rest in their final destinations. Ema denied the first part of the offer, knowing it was a) futile to get into finding who killed Lull and b) a distraction, if she was trying to be efficient with her current project. But the other offer she accepted. The secretary took her business number, and informed her she'd be told where they would be buried. Cremated, apparently. Ema nodded, asked if their ashes could perhaps go in the same receptacle, to which the secretary told her he'd see what he could do, and she left.


That was what Ema felt like she was doing now. Just simply acting out verbs. With nothing in particular on her mind yet - the thoughts of her next appointment would occupy her mind in due time - she walked. She walked until she hailed a cab, which she got into. She told the driver the destination and she sat back. She watched the dark-but-vivid world go by from the reflective window of the taxi, and she saw people at the sides of streets, and she saw children holding their parents' hands, and she wondered what Lull had done before he'd died. Maybe it was just a thought to occupy her, or maybe it was just to distract her from asking the 'why, how, who, where,' questions that would inevitably rise. But what had he done? He'd killed Lois with his own bare hands, at least, that's what Ema suspected. He'd loved her, truly loved her, and Ema wouldn't be surprised to hear he'd killed her because of love. Or selfishness, or just because he had to. Like a mother gerbil eating her children because she knew they wouldn't survive...


But at least she was thinking again. That was something. Not just sweeping her way through verbs. So, to attempt to take her mind off the fact she was a little more alone in this world, she wondered how the vivid colours of the signs and monitors raised high on the sides of the buildings, where balcony ledges were lit up in whites, blues and neon oranges, made very shadowed area seem darker. And vice versa. Light in the presence of dark, but neither interacting with one another so much as tolerating one another. The neon lit up light, and the shade overshadowed darkness.


The Palace was always a slight disappointment for Ema. Seeing as she'd practically lived in a castle before (in the 'Lull is my servant' days) the Palace always caught her imagination. She liked to imagine a high-rising set of marble-covered staircases leading up to grand polished doors. In reality, it was just a eastern-style hotel with a western-style modern flick to it. Ema always expected there to be posters up proclaiming the latest in technologies to help one sleep - cryogenics, water-therapy, acupuncture-while-you-sleep. In reality, she had no idea how any of those three things might aid someone in snoozing but it wasn't her field of research. All she knew was, this was her destination.


She exited the taxi, paid the driver absently without a word and made her way up into the hotel. She'd taken the liberty of booking a more private room, not just a capsule she'd be inserted into like some sort of massive sperm donation. According to the voice on the end of the telephone, the room, although not huge, sported a sitting area as well as a horizontal-standing capsule on the floor, more like a bed. She hadn't chosen the room because she preferred solitude over company, but because she wasn't exactly here to sleep. She was here on business.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Hey..." Fleur scratched the back of her head as she approached the night guard of the morgue. A perpetually drunk man who looked uncommonly sober for once as he leaned by the main door, spinning a baton in his hand.
"Any interesting bodies arrived recently?" She asked immediately remembering who she was talking to and how dumb her question was. Not only were all bodies that came through the morgue at least slightly unusual but the guard probably had no idea about them. "Nevermind." She shook her head. "Anyone working inside?"
"Nope." The guard answered, staring at Fleur like she just kicked his new puppy. "Just you tonight."
"Oh." Fleur nodded, cautiously approaching the door, fearing that whatever the guard was on might turn him unexpectedly violent. "Well, I might have to transport a body or two. Just gonna borrow the hearse if that's the case." She flashed a nervous smile. "Orders from up top." She quickly blurted, getting into the building.

He probably wouldn't stop her. The guards didn't stop anyone from doing anything. There were just there as decoration. Just like the security cameras outside which were never on. Getting the keys to the hearse from his office, though, might be a bit more difficult than she would like. Especially in whatever state he was.

The actual room where they kept the bodies was freezing cold and filled with a strangling scent of cleaning products. Fleur didn't know who did the cleaning. Even when she worked triple shifts, no one came to clean yet, when she was back the next morning, the place was spotless. Like there was some friendly ghost taking care of the place. That would make her talking to herself much less maddening. Much less lonely. A bit less lonely.

"Where are you?" She picked up a clipboard with some papers on it which laid by the double door she passed through. It was supposed to have information on whatever was going on with the bodies.
"Dozen new ones..." Her eyes trailed down the list. "Mostly civilians. Four bodies sent to the furnace. Two civilians. Two officers." She sighed. So many people fighting each other to get their bread. And there she was, doing the ghastly job of managing what's left of those who will never eat again. At least, not if all those zombie movies were false.
Her weak smile at the strangely amusing through of dead walking was cut short when she read the notes by the cremation order. It was an urgent job. Something which came down from the shadowy top. Not what she was looking for, though. She had to find the two bodies.

Nothing useful on the list, Fleur discarded the clipboard and headed to check the shelves.



Nothing. Nothing at all. So many bodies checked. Twice. She saw enough genitals that she would have issues looking at Miky without grimacing. Checking dead bodies just for that was a disturbing act. Something which would haunt her if she wasn't feeling just as dead as all of them were.
Fleur sighed, clasping her face in her hands. It must have been a cruel joke. The bodies weren't there. Maybe Ira wouldn't think it was her fault. If he decided to punish her... She just wouldn't be able to take it. She just wanted to sleep. Sleep for a few decades until everything she knew disappeared. Just start anew. Live for once. Be free from the burden which wasn't hers.

"Good evening." A voice came from behind her. Fleur wouldn't have guessed someone looking like that would be so quiet but she was clearly wrong. Especially not three of them.
The men wore black, leather coats which did little to hide their cybernetic arms and legs. She knew who they had to be. It was difficult to miss the Specialists appearing wherever the infamous Lazarus brand was mentioned.
"Oh..." Fleur looked as they spread in front of the door, one of them carrying some sort of a duffle bag. "Good evening." She bowed her head, a move she learned while living in Nevereign. Just pretend you never saw someone's face and they would let you go. "I was on my way out..." She took a step to the door but stopped when the man in the center spoke again. He was pretty handsome for a corporate thug. His voice was even calming.

"Fleur de Lorraine. Born in France." The man said with a faint smile on his face. A smile of pity.
Fleur felt a shiver pass through her body. "Please don't..." She muttered as tears flooded down her cheeks. She just couldn't hold back anymore. Especially not now. "I didn't do anything." She stared at the floor, trying to bury her head between her shoulders. Trying to make herself seem smaller than she was. "Please..." She sobbed even though she felt there was no use. She knew there was no use.
"Sit, Fleur." The man motioned at the metal table where Fleur went through countless corpses. "Fleur?" He asked, getting her attention. "Sit." He repeated, motioning at the table again now that she was looking at him.

"Please..." She sobbed, taking tiny steps to the table. "Please don't... I didn't do anything, I swear..." She sobbed, sitting on the cold metal, her hands on her knees as she visibly shivered. Two other men walked up to her but didn't do anything.
"You really didn't have luck in your life." The leading man sighed. "Getting that debt on you before you even got your first job. Stuck in the same job for years even though you clearly deserve more." The man continued talking through Fleur's mutterings of Please and Don't. "We know what you're doing here but we don't quite know why... Would you mind telling us?"

Fleur clenched her teeth, balled her fists... And cried. And she told them. She told them everything. The person she met in the elevator. The chess player. The job. The ultimatum. The bike. Everything. Even though it was as if she was listening to someone else speak, she never mentioned Miky. Not even made a slip to hint at her. One part of her mind wasn't completely broken. One part was painfully aware of what was going on. Of everything that would happen. And that part worked on making sure Miky would be fine.

The man scoffed, looking at his partners. He shook his head, closing his eyes. "You're in no way connected to anything. Just used. A tool." He sighed, his hands on his hips. "I don't mind that as an insult. You're a scalpel. An amazing scalpel but no matter how ridiculous it seems... We have to destroy a great scalpel just to send a message."
"Please!" Fleur looked at the leading man as another gently grabbed her forearm. "I told you everything! Please! I don't want to die!" She yelled through her tears. Where was that guard when she needed him? Where was he?
He is dead. That part of her mind answered what she was painfully aware of. He is dead.

"I know." The man nodded, his eyes closed as the other two laid Fleur down on the table without protest from her violently trembling body. "It's not fair. And it's not right." He said in a genuinely sympathetical tone. It meant nothing to Fleur, though. "But it's what we were ordered to do. No matter how much we disagree... It's us or you." The man explained as the two zip tied her hands and feet to the table. She had nothing to wipe her tears with. It wouldn't matter. They were plentiful and it was nothing to hide.

"I would love to make it easy at least." The man said, avoiding eye contact with Fleur. They all were. "But we're not allowed. The medical report on you has to show what we did. A message has to be sent. No matter how awful." He explained as one man pulled something out of the duffle bag. A hollow tube. Something like a garden hose. And... "No!" Fleur yelled as she saw the barbed wire in his hand. "Please, no!" She cried out, her yells ripping her throat. "Please! I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I didn't do anything! I don't want to die!" She begged but the men didn't do anything. Only their faces turned ever more somber.

"If it's worth anything... I'm sorry, Fleur. You do not deserve to live through this." The man walked up, giving her the dignity of eye contact. "Please... Open your mouth." He asked, knowing she wouldn't comply.
Of course she wouldn't. She wasn't about to let them win that fight so easy. She wasn't about to back down in her last moments. "No!" She clenched her teeth.
"We're so sorry, Fleur." The man sighed.