Hell's surgeon

Ollie Hurst was walking down a back alley, lit only by the fireworks overhead. 2050, January 1st. And all he could think about was her.

He hadn’t known at the time that she was the local Mafia Don’s girlfriend. He just wanted a good time. He was a trillionaire, they don’t think about that sort of stuff. And now… now he was a marked man. Life sucks.


Jack and Catherine walked into the morgue, a gloomy room filled with the semblance of operation tables, with a darker past. Various trays around the room were littered with scalpels and other utensils of disection. Standing in front of one table, which currently held an occupatn, covered by a sheet, was the precint’s prize pathologist; Alexandra Sunshine.

“Hey, Alex,” Jack greeted her, “What have you got for us?”
“Well, that Jane Doe you reeled in earlier? Turns out, she’s actually a John Doe.”
“What?” the news came as a shock to Catherine.

Alex pulled back the sheet. Shed of the cosmetic alterations, there was a man in his fourties. Olliver Hurst.

View this story's 3 comments.