A story I will continue.

The camera follows a man placing stickers on the bodies of the recently deceased. Dust covers suit jackets, track pants, shoes and flip flops all the same. The victims have been quite obviously dragged to their position, with no intention of evidence preservation, but an emphasis instead on, basically, storage.

The stench alone was horrid. Corridor past corridor of bodies, lined, piled and stacked, in any manner, so as to keep them confined to this section of the hospital. Administrators of St. Pius’s General didn’t want such a sight on any floor accessible to the public, so they; the victims, were piled in the second floor basement.

This area was usually considered barren, amidst scattered waste management supplies, dust and the occasional rodent. Such conditions would not be accepted in more upper-regions of the city. Most were sure that although health inspection officers had passed through yearly, they were probably offered ‘executive gifts’ from their old-rich counterparts, to give extra check marks on their cork clipboards, that otherwise may not have warranted such a pen-stroke.

Each victim, as outlined by the CSU Lead’s filed report, had distinctive similarities between each injury, which, strangely, were lacking the ‘usual’ signs of both acute decomposition and rigor mortis.

“Victim sections A-3 through A-5, still flexible and glassy.” Whispers.

The CSU unit leader removes a sticky tag from a young man’s ripped denim knee. He replaces the label farther up this time, close to the victim’s chest. The label reads (A-3f) under ‘name’.

The man turns now, to the shaky cameraman. His badge reflects a sharp white briefly into the lens. The man holding the camera, a junior CSU, has been with the department for 3 weeks now, fresh out of university. His hands are quivering.

“Kid, breathe.” The Lead says, calmly looking past the lens.

“I’m good, I’m good.” The Junior says, his voice fading with suspended exhalation.

“Good. Now, let’s keep going.” The Lead turning now, away from the camera, bends down to the next grouping of bodies. In one motion, the Lead stumbles back onto his palms and kicks his feet away from the victim. He breathes heavily, almost masking the panting from his camera-wielding partner.

“W-what!” The Junior manages to let a word escape from between his clenched teeth.

The Lead continues breathing heavily. He stops. Looks back at the camera smiling.

“Gotcha.” The lead chuckles to himself as the cameras focus turns to the floor, with a soundtrack of sighs and sounds of relief.

“Not funny man, NOT funny.”

The camera stabilizes on the Lead CSU now standing still, head tilted down and to the left, almost puppy-like. He seems puzzled.

“What?” Asks the green Junior, not knowing to keep his questions silent when the Lead is doing his ‘thinking face’.

“You got a phone?” asks the Lead.

“Yeah.”

”Get Captain Gerget here.” The Junior, in the interest of job security, questions after the Lead’s request.

“Okay, but it’s like nine thir…”

Interrupted suddenly, violently.

“DO IT! NOW!” Shrieks the Lead, so unexpectedly it makes the Junior shake the camera wildly, making the focus go completely awry.

The camera swings from the floor, to behind, the floor, to behind. The Junior running for the elevator. He tosses the camera, with no concern for the state-purchased equipment, towards the Lead’s case. The focus swivels a complete two turns around before finally resting, focusing on the Lead’s coat, on the floor beside his case. In the distance, the Juniors running steps can be heard, while he speaks, almost yelling, frantically into his phone, trying to get a signal.

The background imagery is as disturbing as it is real. Barely visible, the Lead’s silhouette can be seen backing away slowly, into a standard standing firing position, his weapon drawn and pointed low.

Two shots echo through the corridors. Bodies. Victims. Dust.