(Warning! Implications of gruesomeness.)
“Hey, good! You’re here. Listen, I can’t find my favorite hunting knife, so do me a favor and prepare this. I got some special dinner plans.”
Last time Moony recalled, the ‘special dinner plans’ they had planned didn’t involve a huge burlap sack. He stared through the eye holes of his mask, wanting his superior’s smug grin to disappear.
“And while you’re at it, chop the head off and preserve it. I need that for…something. But otherwise, do what you usually do.”
Now Moony felt the need to point something out:
“Builder, you’re omnipotent! For all I know, you could do this with your bare hands!”
Clearly, The Builder didn’t like this hiccup in conversation. “Oh, suddenly you need to tell me how to do my job, Frankenstein’s Bastard Child? Just do as I say, lest that lover boy of yours finds himself missing a few inches!”
With that they turned to go, but not before throwing out one last piece of advice:
“Oh, and this time try to do it without getting hair in everything. Or an eyeball. I get it, you’re made of other people’s body parts. Quit rubbing it in my face.”
“So what’s the verdict?” Sinbad and Shark came back from the gift shop with some interesting purchases. Dennis now sat up on the table, mercifully averting any indecency.
“I’ve not got the results back just yet. But from what I’ve heard, things sound fine. I haven’t been made aware of any potential warning signs.”
He then adjusted himself to face them better. “Right now I’m simply worried about the costs. The recent damages seem to have once again compromised our funds.”
Hearing this cause Shark’s expression to darken, feeling bad for spending his father’s money now. He clutched his small bag of purchases closer to his chest.
“But for now you’re in the clear, right?” Sinbad didn’t forget about his fiance’s change in expression. “Like, money be damned, you’re free of ass cancer?”
“That I am. Now we wait for the go-ahead to leave.”
This job seemed unusually gruesome, even for him.
Moony held back vomit as he began to disjoint the carcass’ limbs. He could feel the eyes of the decapitated head looking at him.
It made him sick, what he was doing. Only halfway finished, and he recoiled to the other side of the room. He fell to his hands and knees, carefully removing his mask in case he retched.
He stayed there, trying to regain his composure. Coughing and groaning, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up revealed a welcome sight.
“Oh, hey.” He got to his feet, and wrapped his arms around his immense partner. “That’s, uh…That’s a tall order they’re making me work with.”
He then pointed towards the detached body part, now laying on a platter. “Can you find some liquid nitrogen, or formaldehyde, or something? And hurry, I’m getting sick just looking at that.”
Dennis inspected the end results of giving his son his remaining money.
“I never realized this hospital sold severely-discounted PS2 games. I don’t recall if we’ve ever gotten a PS2!” He tried to remember if he bought the system at some point in time.
“We did, back at the mansion. Remember? You complained about that one scene in Final Fantasy X? I figured buying these would give me an incentive to start saving money.”
Dennis snorted. “Well, unless you ask Mister Rotter for that, you’d need a job. And speaking of, have you been looking for one?”
“Not yet. I can’t seem to find anything that fits me, or interests me, or…you get the idea.”
It was clear this wasn’t the answer any of them wanted. Now Shark felt even worse.
“Well, as soon as we’re out of here, what say we try getting our hands on some applications?”
Moony waited patiently for his partner to come back. He leaned against the wall, not bothering to wipe any blood off.
In the floor above him, he could hear The Builder hollering at someone else about not having their laptop ready for them. Who it was, he couldn’t say for sure. He did feel bad for them regardless.
His instincts told him to hurry up and finish preparation. Something else told him not to worry about it right now. After all, The Builder was clearly occupied with something else.
Most days he wished they had just left him to die that day. At the least, death seemed more peaceful than being a walking patchwork project to him.
If nothing else, death would have prevented him from listening to the migrane-inducing screeching.