- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Primarily Prefer Male
Disbelief and excitement warred on Andrew's face, stretching his face into a stupid grin, then horrified confusion, then to a mixture of both that looked neither like a smile or a frown but something more resembled crying.
"What the fuck?" He said in a high pitch tone not for the first time, only he hadn't said it aloud so it wouldn't have affected the phone call. It spoke volume that Andrew cursed the way he did, considering how he usually avoided swearing like the plague, and more so with the word "fuck" in fear of sounding like a basic bitch.
"What the fuuuuuck?" He repeated, this time sounding exactly like a basic bitch, not least because his voice incredibly rose so high-pitch it became a girly squeak. "You got away with the fucking P.I. line? Was she drunk or something?"
Even with his incredulity Andrew's elation couldn't be suppressed. The stupid grin came back and he gripped the steering wheel with agitated hands, tapping a random maddeningly catchy tune he couldn't remember the source of with trembling fingers, and practically danced in his seat.
"I can't believe it worked. I can't believe it fucking worked." Andrew fidgeted so much he almost bit his own tongue running over a bump on the road. "Fuuuuuuck. I love you so much dude. I can't believe that fucking worked." The words came tumbling out without much conscious thought or filter. "We just gotta take a look at that body. The answer is there. I just know it. I can feel it. I can fucking feel it. We're so close." He slapped Matt's shoulders hard repeatedly despite the other's protest. They were close. They were so close. He was going to make a breakthrough that'd put his name in the history book. The father of super human. He could see a million dollars, a billion dollars, a mountain of awards, headlines, interviews, hoards after hoards of girls. And his dad shaking his hands vigorously with an actual, genuine smile on his face.
Andrew swerved madly to one side nearly hitting a car coming the opposite direction. Somehow he managed to regain control and stayed on the road, his hands suddenly damp and trembling for a completely different reason. He laughed nervously at Matt trying to brush the issue off. Not yet, he told himself. They had to get there alive first.
Belvidere was the kind of town that every single television show depicted, a tiny community with a single school, a single hospital, a single everything that stayed clustered around the loosely called "center square" while every family household tucked themselves away in their own stretch of land that made little effort concealing the intention of being as far away from everyone else as possible so they can do whatever the hell they wanted untroubled by the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of neighbors which, ironically, were the very backbone of such communities. But Belvidere wasn't just any town, oh no, it was one of the many parasite towns that prided themselves on leeching off the scrap of the respectable and wealthy rather than the usual coal mine or factory other lowly peasant towns had to content with.
Belvidere was built around several estates and luxury spas and golf courses people with money from Chicago came out here to enjoy. They partied and lounged to their heart's content knowing everything within a 30 miles radius was built specifically to carter to their need, they probably fed off that single fact as much as they did derangedly expensive food from places nobody can even pronounce and champaign that cost more than people's house.
Brian Mondays was such a person. Andrew knew little about the man except that he was rich enough to make it to the front page of an online tabloid specifically dedicated to "news" about people richer than God. The article also mentioned that he was unmarried and without family member, so however stuffed he was in life, nobody gave a rat's ass about him after his death. Except the vulture journalists of the Belvidere Daily of course. His luck, that.
GPS led him straight into the town's center and through a couple of narrow side-streets until they came to a halt in front of a massive hospital. The building looked well-decorated, fully functional and above all, expensive. Its three wings took up an embarrassingly large amount of space, no doubt with every single departments common and uncommon included, capable of effectively quarantine and treat several thousand people in the case of a deadly biochemical outbreak, or thoroughly examine any white guy in polo shirts rolling up in a golf kart who had a weird-smelling cough. All in all, the exact thing he had expected to find. The morgue was in there somewhere.
Andrew eased the car into a spot in the expansive and mostly deserted parking lot next to the building. "What now?" He asked, bubbling with excitement. "What did she tell us to do now?"
"What the fuck?" He said in a high pitch tone not for the first time, only he hadn't said it aloud so it wouldn't have affected the phone call. It spoke volume that Andrew cursed the way he did, considering how he usually avoided swearing like the plague, and more so with the word "fuck" in fear of sounding like a basic bitch.
"What the fuuuuuck?" He repeated, this time sounding exactly like a basic bitch, not least because his voice incredibly rose so high-pitch it became a girly squeak. "You got away with the fucking P.I. line? Was she drunk or something?"
Even with his incredulity Andrew's elation couldn't be suppressed. The stupid grin came back and he gripped the steering wheel with agitated hands, tapping a random maddeningly catchy tune he couldn't remember the source of with trembling fingers, and practically danced in his seat.
"I can't believe it worked. I can't believe it fucking worked." Andrew fidgeted so much he almost bit his own tongue running over a bump on the road. "Fuuuuuuck. I love you so much dude. I can't believe that fucking worked." The words came tumbling out without much conscious thought or filter. "We just gotta take a look at that body. The answer is there. I just know it. I can feel it. I can fucking feel it. We're so close." He slapped Matt's shoulders hard repeatedly despite the other's protest. They were close. They were so close. He was going to make a breakthrough that'd put his name in the history book. The father of super human. He could see a million dollars, a billion dollars, a mountain of awards, headlines, interviews, hoards after hoards of girls. And his dad shaking his hands vigorously with an actual, genuine smile on his face.
Andrew swerved madly to one side nearly hitting a car coming the opposite direction. Somehow he managed to regain control and stayed on the road, his hands suddenly damp and trembling for a completely different reason. He laughed nervously at Matt trying to brush the issue off. Not yet, he told himself. They had to get there alive first.
Belvidere was the kind of town that every single television show depicted, a tiny community with a single school, a single hospital, a single everything that stayed clustered around the loosely called "center square" while every family household tucked themselves away in their own stretch of land that made little effort concealing the intention of being as far away from everyone else as possible so they can do whatever the hell they wanted untroubled by the prying eyes and gossiping tongues of neighbors which, ironically, were the very backbone of such communities. But Belvidere wasn't just any town, oh no, it was one of the many parasite towns that prided themselves on leeching off the scrap of the respectable and wealthy rather than the usual coal mine or factory other lowly peasant towns had to content with.
Belvidere was built around several estates and luxury spas and golf courses people with money from Chicago came out here to enjoy. They partied and lounged to their heart's content knowing everything within a 30 miles radius was built specifically to carter to their need, they probably fed off that single fact as much as they did derangedly expensive food from places nobody can even pronounce and champaign that cost more than people's house.
Brian Mondays was such a person. Andrew knew little about the man except that he was rich enough to make it to the front page of an online tabloid specifically dedicated to "news" about people richer than God. The article also mentioned that he was unmarried and without family member, so however stuffed he was in life, nobody gave a rat's ass about him after his death. Except the vulture journalists of the Belvidere Daily of course. His luck, that.
GPS led him straight into the town's center and through a couple of narrow side-streets until they came to a halt in front of a massive hospital. The building looked well-decorated, fully functional and above all, expensive. Its three wings took up an embarrassingly large amount of space, no doubt with every single departments common and uncommon included, capable of effectively quarantine and treat several thousand people in the case of a deadly biochemical outbreak, or thoroughly examine any white guy in polo shirts rolling up in a golf kart who had a weird-smelling cough. All in all, the exact thing he had expected to find. The morgue was in there somewhere.
Andrew eased the car into a spot in the expansive and mostly deserted parking lot next to the building. "What now?" He asked, bubbling with excitement. "What did she tell us to do now?"