(no subject)

[benchilada]

EDIT: Most of this has been clipped for possible publication, but feel free to enjoy whatever excerpts I may have left behind.

"Bullet Proof": Revision 1
      I think it's 98% of where I want it to be.

Too big for LJ, so it's cut into PART ONE and PART TWO

Slim pickings at the morgue tonight.  I need a body that’s in relatively good shape.  I’d prefer one without visible wounds, and no autopsy scar would be nice, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.  They’ve ghosted Johnny and he floats, a sentient microchip in a protein solution, in what would best be described as a turkey baster with teeth.

As I unlatch door number seven, I hit the jackpot.  Looks about fifty, card on the front says heart attack, no visible sign of death, except that he’s 45 degrees Fahrenheit and the color and texture of White Out.  The tag says Hank Resnick.  I slide him out and onto a gurney, careful not to cause any post-mortem bruising.  A few minutes with my make-up kit and he looks a bit tarted-up, but he’ll pass for long enough to work out.

 I’d put clothes on him, but Jimmy hates waking up naked.  That’s why he always wakes up naked.  I pull a scalpel and a Swingline stapler out of my briefcase and make a deep incision an inch above his neckline

 “This won’t hurt a bit,” I assure Mr. Resnick.  Christ, I hate this part.

            Plunging the baster deep into the new wound, I squeeze the amber bulb at the end of the tube.  The fluid shoots in, thin streams leaking out down the poor bastard’s neck.  I wait until I see the chip embed itself in the sticky red flesh and then quickly slide the tube out and staple the flap of skin down.  A quick once-over with a handy-wipe and he’s looking better.

            I toss the baster into a biohazard box hanging from a wall and rummage through my pockets for a small metal box.  It’s only got one switch, covered by thick plastic, and a tiny keyhole.  I slip a key out from the sole of my shoe, turn it in the lock, and the thick plastic pops open.  After taking a good six steps back, I press the ominous red button, labeled “Do not, under any circumstances, press this red button, unless you want to die.”

            Hank’s body convulses wildly, a posthumous grand mal seizure, and his eyes arc blue electricity between them.  I am Frankenstein, and this is my creation.  Or rather, the United States government is Frankenstein, I’m Igor, and Hank is the monster.

            A few seconds of seizing and Hank settles back down, albeit a bit more awkwardly positioned than before.  His eyelids flicker open and shut, and his mouth moves, trying to form words.  I tip a bottle of Evian over his teeth.  He swallows like a fish gasping for air.

            “Innnnnng fffffnnnnggg nnnnnnnkkkd.”

            “Yes, you’re fucking naked.”

            “Mrrrrrrrrfffffgrrrr.”

            “That’s me.  C’mon, try sitting up.”

XXX
SNIP
XXX

“Where the hell are you, man?  C’mon, fill me in on last time so we can get moving,” he says, and unfolds the top of his turtleneck.  I get him tight clothes that cover as much of his skin as I can.  It helps hide the inevitable discoloration and the snug fit helps him maintain structural integrity for as long as he can.

            “It, uh…it wasn’t pretty, man,” I said, looking at him with empty eyes.

            His smile drops and he looks genuinely concerned.  I never really get used to that.  No matter what body he’s in, his body language remains the same, so it’s like I’m watching a dead stranger perfectly imitating my best friend.

            “You know how you’re always joking that this time is going to be the time that you turn into a zombie and start eating people?”  He nods quietly.  “Well, that’s what last time was.”

            “Shut up.”

            “I’m serious.  The guys at the lab figure that must have been the last thought going through your head when the chip went into hibernation, so that was what your body got locked into performing,”         He doesn’t speak, so I grimace and keep going, turning my head away again.

            “You started off screaming ‘Brains!” but that degenerated pretty quickly into just guttural moans.  The next thing I know you’ve grabbed one of the terrorists by the arm and started biting.  Not love bites, either; it was like you were eating a chicken leg.  You’d tear out a big chunk and it would fall out of your mouth, so you’d do it again.   Pretty soon he falls to the floor, his arm in tatters, and one of the other two shoots you in the back with his shotgun.  The force blew you straight into the third guy.  He…”  I stop for a second.

            “You chewed through his neck, Jimmy.  Rigor mortis hit your arms, so you were holding him so tight he couldn’t move.  You kept chewing and chewing until…until his goddamned head rolled right off his body.”

            I finally look at him again and he’s in some sort of shock.  If his tear ducts worked, I swear he’d be crying.  He’s always had an unnatural fear of zombies.  I guess his joking about becoming one is some kind of defense mechanism.  He starts walking forward, raising his arms like he’s gonna hug me.

            “Hey, man, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I tell him, backing slowly away.  He looks at his arms, raised zombie-like, and drops them to his side.

            “I…I’m…I’m sorry,” he stammers.

            “Don’t worry about it, James.  It’s not like it really happened or anything.”

XXX
SNIP
XXX