The Autopsy

The body was wheeled into the room, the two guards positioning the body right next to the set of tools we would use to open up the corpse. My mentor, Sanders, was putting on his gloves, goggles already on his face. He reached out a hand toward me, as the two men left the room, their boots echoing down the dimly lit hallway.

“Scalpel.”

I picked up the scalpel, and passed it over to Sanders. He placed the blade against the chest of the man, slowly cutting open the skin. Once he was done, he placed the blade on a tray. Sanders pulled open the man’s chest. A metal plate was underneath the skin, covering the entire chest. It was dented, completely caved in right where his heart was.

“Fuck. Not again,” Sanders muttered.

He pointed at the wall of weapons positioned right behind him.

“We are going to need to cut open the plate.”

I picked up a weapon that required both hands to carry. It weighed about 30 pounds, and was built for just this type of situation. It was designed by people in the lab, located two floors above us. I’m not sure what the hell it was made out of, but it was the only weapon that can cut open metal like this. Metal that they created for this dead man.

I handed the weapon to Sanders, and it took several minutes as the weapon was dragged along the metal plate, destroying it. We both removed the pieces of the metal, placing it on another empty table meant for the metal. Sanders let out a heavy sigh when he saw that the organs were combusted, and the heart had been squished like a tomato.

“Damn it. I was hoping we could salvage this one, but there is no point. The heart and brain are required to keep the bodies functioning.”

“Wait, I thought the brain was the most important part of the body for these things? Dr. Krausser said that the brain is what controls the bodies -’’

“We need the damn heart to keep the blood pumping inside of these creations, kid. They’re like people, minus the robot bullshit.”

Sanders threw down his goggles.

“You would think those fools would keep the creations in line, but they have no control over them. This place is run so poorly. Ever since Dr. Krausser put his son in charge, everything has gone to hell. This is the fifth one in a week.”

“Where is Dr. Krausser? He’s been gone for months.”

Sanders scoffed.

“The doctor was called to the higher-ups. I’m not sure why they have been keeping him for so long, but they need him for something. He’s the only available one to them, unlike that of his children.”

“You shouldn’t be saying things like that. What if his son is listening?,” I whispered.

Sanders grinned.

“We’re too valuable to kill, kid.”

I shuddered.

“Help me clean up this mess. I want to get this over with, in case we get another body rolling in.”

Sanders picked up a tool to begin moving the rest of the metal parts to keep for later in future vessels.

I noticed the movement of the body before it was too late.

“SANDERS!”

The man grabbed Sanders’ throat. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and wide, his teeth biting into his lips, leaking a river of blood. Sanders eyes bulged, as the man ripped out his throat. Sanders gurgled, blood spurting out his neck as he collapsed to the floor, crashing into the tool tray.

The tools clattered all over the floor, some of them landing in the pool of blood forming beneath Sanders. I bolted for the door, barely missing the table the body had been wheeled in, crashing directly where I was standing. The man was now coming after me.

I ran down the hallway, crashing through the double doors that led to the security section. I waved my arms frantically, while screaming at the two guards to come to the autopsy room immediately. One of the guards pointed at me, his mouth open mid — scream.

I ran to the side, the man almost crashing into me. He had charged through the doors, attempting to run me over like a bull. The man came to a stop, saliva and blood flowing down his mouth. His entire body was covered in blood, the skin from his chest hanging open, exposing his metal plate and his insides.

His eyes landed on me. They were the eyes of madness.

The man was instantly shot in the chest, disposing of his heart. It exploded within the man’s chest, the pieces of the organ bursting out of his body like confetti. The man turned to look at the guard who had tried to warn me, a rifle positioned on his shoulder.

He had made the mistake of shooting his chest. He should have aimed for the head. I could only watch in horror as the man charged for the guard, taking hold of his head. It was quick. And I’m glad it was painless.

The head was ripped off in seconds. The man let out an inhuman shriek, throwing the head like a football. It crashed against the wall, becoming a flat, meat pancake. I threw up, my lunch from an hour ago splattering on my blue coat.

Then I heard another gunshot. This one would be the one to stop him.

The man fell to the ground, red spilling from a hole in his head. He fell to the floor, twitching, his eyes moving in every direction. The second guard who shot him ran over to the body, taking out a stun rod. He placed it against the man's head, right in the hole where he was shot.

The man was electrocuted, permanently shutting him down for good.

An alarm went off, signaling more guards to arrive. They showed up, rifles drawn. They all came to a stop when they saw the body. The head guard stepped forward, studying the carnage the man left behind.

The guard that had killed the man looked up at the head guard. I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

“Number 15 killed Jerry.”

The head guard shook his head in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck didn’t you idiots make sure he was dead? You’re supposed to aim for the brain, not the heart!,” he yelled at the guard that was mourning his friend.

The guard let out a sob. “I’m sorry, sir. Jerry and I thought he was dead. We thought -’’

I didn’t mean to scream when the head guard shot him in the head. It was always expected for failing to follow an order. His body landed on top of the man.

“You should have aimed for the brain,” the head guard muttered. He turned around to address his men.

“CLEAN UP THIS MESS! REPORT BACK TO THE BOSS THAT THE THREAT HAS BEEN TAKEN CARE OF!”

“YES SIR!”

The men got to work, dragging the bodies away, and several more left the room to call for the cleaners. The head guard walked over to me, putting out his hand. I clasped his arm, and he lifted me back on my feet.

“You look like shit, kid. What the hell happened in there?”

“Sanders is dead.”

“Fuck. I’ll send the cleaners to take care of that mess too. I’m sorry you lost your colleague.”

I did not bother to ask him why he was feeling sorry for the man we lost in the autopsy room, instead of the two men he lost. Even though my group was responsible taking care of dead bodies who shut down, we meant more to the program than the guards did. They were dispensable. Replaceable.

The head guard patted my shoulder in a comforting way, before he left to bark more orders to his men. I watched as the guards were placing the man’s body inside of a body bag, to be taken apart later. Even after all of that, his metal parts still mattered to the program.

I covered my mouth, not wanting anyone to hear my cries.

Thank you for reading!

Emy Quinn