Manner of Death

Chapter 1

Christian stepped into the hospital; head in a book and paranoia creeping over him. His sister's voice repeated in his head like a mantra: "be anyone except yourself but don't be anyone for too long." He took the stairs two at a time, walking at a quick pace and slowing down with only enough time to slide through the closing elevator doors. 

"Oh. Good morning, Doctor Jenkins," Team, another pathologist, greets. 

"It was until I opened my eyes," Christian mumbles in response, glancing up from his medical binder to greet the other man with his eyes. 

The elevator dings, they have arrived at their shared floor. Christian is first out the doors. He ambles to his conjoined office, shared with the other pathologists and the nurses. He slouches into the chair at the end of the table, opening his medical binder once more and going through the analysis reports. 

~

Christian arrives at the club early, invited out by Team and Inspectors Malik Russel and Savini Midas. He steps inside, finding the decorations to be pleasantly surprising; from the exterior Christian had believed the place to be trashy and distasteful. The inside appears luxurious, like something from an episode of Lucifer. 

"Over here, Doc," Malik says by way of greeting, waving him over from a table in the center of the club. 

Christian shoves his hands into his pockets, steadying his breathing as he obliges. Four exits, two of which are probably locked, a third which will sound blaring alarms if it were to be pushed open, and a fourth that is blocked by bouncers, Christian thinks to himself. Catalina's voice echoes in his mind: "always have an escape route." Christian knows that he could run three miles without slowing, because he also knows the terrain is flat, stretching seven miles around the club's location. Christian studied the location on the map before agreeing to come. Christian walks on. 

"About time, you're playing catch-up," Savini says, handing Christian two full shot glasses. 

Christian arches an eyebrow, looking from each inspector to the next, then to his coworker. He remembers Catalina's warnings, her training, her techniques she beat into him from a young age. Christian knows he's a lightweight, he acknowledges his limits. Two shots per two hours, four is his max. Even so, Christian plucks a glass from the tray and shoots it. Half and hour goes by and the second shot is downed as well. 

By the two and a half hour mark, three shots have already been drunk. Christian feels the chilling effects of drunkenness immediately; his feet feel light on the ground, vision begins to slightly blur, his mind becomes muddied. Christian makes a mental note of this. He leaves the table, leaning against the wall and sipping from a water bottle. He tilts his head to the side and squints. Across the room, Christian eyes a certain, conventionally attractive, blonde has entered the club. 

He sways, tossing the water into the trash and moving after the blonde. He shoulders past people, getting shoved and knocked to the side as he attempts to reach him. Christian gets elbowed in the ribcage, groaning as he ducks to miss an arm flying into his throat. Ducking turns out to be the action to land Christian in the arms of the conventionally attractive blonde. 

The blonde catches Christian, sparing him a neutral glance as he grasps at the leather jacket he is wearing. Christian gazes up at his newfound companion; a muddied, disassociated, very non-sober kind of look. Before Christian can comprehend what he's doing, he captures the blonde's mouth within his own. The blonde startles, quickly growing still beneath the pathologist. Then, strangely enough, he returns the kiss. 

Within an instant, Christian's inside lurch. He grabs tighter onto the blonde's jacket, crumpling into a pained kneeling position on the floor. A few seconds later, the world goes black.