Page 4 of One
“Rague, Sari needs the donor’s samples,” Gabe tells him through the intercom. We call them donors because before meeting their well-deserved death, they so generously gift us with DNA. Tissue samples, blood, or whatever my brother Sari needs for his research. He’s a medical and research scientist, specializing in various branches of medicine. What people refer to as a genius.
“Already took them. The snotty prick is all mine. And speaking of tiny dicks…” Rague looks down at the naked donor’s body. But the guy seems out, his head lolling on the back of the chair, eyes half-closed as beads of sweat roll down his face. Blood dripping from his sliced wrist makes a pool on the floor.
Predators like him are all the same. Feeling powerful and untouchable while crushing weaker people, and then turning into spineless crybabies in front of a bigger fish. Rague goes to get the water bucket to wake the donor up, and I’m out. Even the sight of a tormented dickhead doesn’t do it for me tonight.
“Don’t take too long, Hulky. We need to talk,” Rami tells Rague before walking to the lab.
“Party-pooper.” I hear Rague’s gruff reply while on my way to the lab as well.
Rami inserts the code into the panel, and the heavy glass door opens. Sari is at his desk, working on one of his blood experiments. Uri is sitting on the rolling chair near him, twirling a small, sharp-looking blade between his fingers. His dreads are tied on the back of his head, showing his strong jaw and many piercings. His hazel eyes on Sari.
Sari is the classic unsocial genius. Amazing at his job, but terrible at socializing. That’s why he doesn’t go anywhere unless it’s strictly related to his job. He’s also the most oblivious person I’ve ever met. But he uses his elevated IQ to help discover and improve healing solutions through the medical research and development company we established: Bear-Stone Labs. Hence us standing in the lab.
“It will be ten minutes more in the FUNS room,” I let them know.
“That name is still lame,” Gabe states.
“You’re lame,” Rami retorts.
“What does FUNS stand for again?” Uri asks him.
“Fucked Up Nasty Shitheads."
Uri chuckles. “Right. I dig it.”
“I should make a gold plate for the door,” Rami ponders out loud.
“It already has a name. Donor Room,” Gabe interjects.
“Thatis lame,” Rami quips.
“Did Rague go for the nose?" Uri interrupts them again.
“No,” Gabe replies, sitting on the sofa on the other side of the room.
The lab is spacious, divided into two big areas. One side has all the machinery and toys Sari needs for his research—plus Rami’s digital corner—and a smaller storage room with more of Sari’s stuff. And the other side is where the rest of us chill with two L-shaped leather couches and a big flat screen hanging on the wall. The open concept, state-of-the-art kitchen is in the back of the room with a dining table big enough to fit all of us. The privacy window on the right gives us a view of the large property, but prevents unfamiliar, inquisitive eyes from peeking inside.
“He went for the hand,” Sari states, looking through the microscope. A long lock of black hair escapes his low ponytail.
“How do you know?” Rami asks him, sitting at his desk. “You were here.” He starts moving his hands in the air, making a bunch of holograms appear.
“He’s wearing a red tank top. And the donor hurt children.” Sari says it like the reason is obvious.
I search through my episodic memories and, of course, Sari is right. Red tank top plus children in pain equals…hands gone. Both of them, before he focuses further south, usually. My brother may be a bit naive, but he’s great at finding connections.
Rami hums to himself, and Uri gives Sari an affectionate half-smile.
“Why are you bunching your eyebrows, Sari?” I say nonchalantly, grabbing a crystal globe with some kind of inscription from his desk and tossing it up in the air. Uri’s eyes are on the globe, while Sari lifts his head to look at me with confusion.
“I’m not bunching my eyebrows.” He touches between them. “Am I?” He turns to Uri.
But Rami answers without taking his eyes off whatever he’s doing, I can always count on him screwing with…well, everybody. “A bit.”
“What’s wrong?” Uri asks him, tucking away his knife.
“You’re squinting your eyes. Another migraine?” I casually slip the suggestion. Sari has strong ones from time to time. And that just works perfectly with my fucking around.
“Hmm, I…” He really frowns now, more with confusion, nervously tucking the escaped hair behind his ear.
