There was an inevitability with dealing with the deceased in any medical profession – even, strange as it might seem, the sanitized realm of psychiatry. Granted, Vikram Kapoor’s chosen specialization was a special sort; neuropsychology would bring one to these cadaver halls, hoping to get a little ahead of the curve with a little hands-on learning. The few bodies that were spread out in front of the technicians preparing them for the freezers did not necessarily lend a comforting ambiance to the room, perhaps, but Vikram walked among the steel tables with the finesse of a practiced indifference. The bodies of science were ready to become the ultimate laboratory, courtesy of their living kindness, and there was a part of him that would always thank those bloated faces that would eventually give him the gentle brains within to dissect. Morbid? Perhaps, but it was a thought given with honest intentions, at the very least.
The dressing room in the middle of the laboratories served for the man’s holding place in the dimming hours of evening; despite claiming to be a wiser man that would usually replenish his energy reserves before plunging into work, Vikram’s stomach growled louder than the rush of water as he did the traditional scrub, shrugging it aside as easily as he shrugged on the standard laboratory gear and set to his work. The simple fact of the matter was that they were crowding bastards, these compatriots of his, and if he didn’t get there first, he’d get last pickings – even (heaven forbid!) the possibility of a half-dissected article. And with this fact fresh in his head, he pressed into the main laboratory with success (and empty room) in mind.
And, for a while, this was the case. Vikram was so utterly preoccupied with the mission that he didn’t notice any unusual circumstances. From the angle of the door, the taller man was obscured from his initial viewpoint, and it didn’t help that the refrigerators were positioned just so Vikram’s back would be facing away from him. But turn around and the man’s presence – and his corpse, which looked awfully worse for the wear but ready to salute nonetheless – was just enough for Vikram to make a startled shout. Indeed, the “Ah! I! Well, I say!” that managed to tumble from the Vikram’s mouth was probably enough to give his sudden companion something of a heart attack himself, but before he could do much other harm (like, say, drop his specimen), Vikram affected a rather awkward laugh and started to set up shop across the room as if the awkward moment just hadn’t happened. To punctuate this, a nervous, “Apologies! Just in here, doing my—”
Alas, for Vikram was always seduced by curiosities, and that body was in such a category – enough for him to halt that sentence of goodwill and promises of honorable ignorance to say, “I say, what a curious problem!” instead.