It's too early to guess the theme, I suppose, but the Machinist is a film isn't it? Is the theme going to be your Netflix schedule for the week? :) I wasn't expecting this, but I think I'm going to keep going with Dr. C and see how that pans out for the theme week.
The machinist The tannoy had fallen silent at last and Dr. C had reached Surgery 2 and addressed the bleed out. The patient, although she was mangled enough that the hospital cafeteria staff would probably have tried to serve her with spaghetti as bolognese sauce, had been in a fight with a Neobear cub. She'd won, according to the two ladies who'd brought her in. They were in a different room having broken bones set and lacerations treated, but this one had taken the full brunt of the first attack. Dr. C sutured tattered flesh together with the skill of a haute-couturiste in Paris in the early 2000's, his hands steady and practiced. On a table to one side was a manual of surgery open to internal organ removal, but this time he wouldn't need to worry about double-checking which was the hepatic artery: the Neobear had done a spirited job of trying to remove the organs for him. He finished pulled the flesh of her thorax together, and sighed softly. The only other person in the room, the machinist, looked up. "Dr. C?" he said, his voice scratchy. "Your turn, Zeb," said Dr. C. "I've done all the bits I can, now let's see what ancient technology can do for her." "Stand back then." The machinist adjusted the three flat-paneled, angled monitors on his work station and waited until Dr. C was stood far enough away from the operating table. Then he tapped a key on the keyboard -- the plastic worn enough to be sticky and the letters that used to be printed on the key-togs obliterated by use. A thrum started up, and quickly rose through a pentatonic scale into a high-pitched whine and then the room whited-out in a brilliant, lightning-like flash of light. "Sterilisation completed," said a tinny, mechanical voice that might have been intended to be female. It sounded soulless and hollow in Dr. C's ears. Long robotic arms, dripping flakes of orange rust and trailing heavy black cables coated with slime, descended from the ceiling like a spider approaching prey and converged on the prone body of the woman. The whine faded away and music replaced it. As light glittered around the room, brilliant shards thrown about as though from a disco ball at sunrise, Dr. C listened, and then stared at the machinist. "I don't choose it," he said. "The machines have presets, and we don't tamper with things we don't know about." "I wish I could say the same," said Dr. C. The machines completed their task and the arms withdrew, leaving sticky greenish trails on the floor and a dusting of rust like confetti from some ghastly wedding. "Organ repair complete," said the tinny voice. "Patient is recommended not to eat for six months." "You have to wonder about the ancients," said the machinist. "I don't think I can go without eating for six hours, personally." "What's the cafeteria serving today anyway?" "Mystery meat."
2 comments:
It's too early to guess the theme, I suppose, but the Machinist is a film isn't it? Is the theme going to be your Netflix schedule for the week? :)
I wasn't expecting this, but I think I'm going to keep going with Dr. C and see how that pans out for the theme week.
The machinist
The tannoy had fallen silent at last and Dr. C had reached Surgery 2 and addressed the bleed out. The patient, although she was mangled enough that the hospital cafeteria staff would probably have tried to serve her with spaghetti as bolognese sauce, had been in a fight with a Neobear cub. She'd won, according to the two ladies who'd brought her in. They were in a different room having broken bones set and lacerations treated, but this one had taken the full brunt of the first attack.
Dr. C sutured tattered flesh together with the skill of a haute-couturiste in Paris in the early 2000's, his hands steady and practiced. On a table to one side was a manual of surgery open to internal organ removal, but this time he wouldn't need to worry about double-checking which was the hepatic artery: the Neobear had done a spirited job of trying to remove the organs for him. He finished pulled the flesh of her thorax together, and sighed softly.
The only other person in the room, the machinist, looked up.
"Dr. C?" he said, his voice scratchy.
"Your turn, Zeb," said Dr. C. "I've done all the bits I can, now let's see what ancient technology can do for her."
"Stand back then."
The machinist adjusted the three flat-paneled, angled monitors on his work station and waited until Dr. C was stood far enough away from the operating table. Then he tapped a key on the keyboard -- the plastic worn enough to be sticky and the letters that used to be printed on the key-togs obliterated by use. A thrum started up, and quickly rose through a pentatonic scale into a high-pitched whine and then the room whited-out in a brilliant, lightning-like flash of light.
"Sterilisation completed," said a tinny, mechanical voice that might have been intended to be female. It sounded soulless and hollow in Dr. C's ears.
Long robotic arms, dripping flakes of orange rust and trailing heavy black cables coated with slime, descended from the ceiling like a spider approaching prey and converged on the prone body of the woman. The whine faded away and music replaced it. As light glittered around the room, brilliant shards thrown about as though from a disco ball at sunrise, Dr. C listened, and then stared at the machinist.
"I don't choose it," he said. "The machines have presets, and we don't tamper with things we don't know about."
"I wish I could say the same," said Dr. C.
The machines completed their task and the arms withdrew, leaving sticky greenish trails on the floor and a dusting of rust like confetti from some ghastly wedding.
"Organ repair complete," said the tinny voice. "Patient is recommended not to eat for six months."
"You have to wonder about the ancients," said the machinist. "I don't think I can go without eating for six hours, personally."
"What's the cafeteria serving today anyway?"
"Mystery meat."
Greg - hah, my Netflix schedule is 'watch something whenever I have time to watch something on My List'. It is... sporadic, to say the least.
I'm glad you've decided to go with this tale for the week. I hope the prompts allowed for it to continue, at any rate.
Inspired choice for the music, by the way :)
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