Monday October 17th, 2050

  "How do I look?" Dez asks Zeke as he shuts the back doors of their gray van.

  "Like an idiot," Zeke responds, zipping up his own dark green jumpsuit.

  "So I look the part?" Dez asks before he picks up a hefty duffle bag off the parking lot asphalt. He pats down the front of his jumpsuit and flexes his pecs. "Maybe Marranen will let us keep the suits. I can rock this shit for Halloween," he remarks as the van's auto locks kick in.

  "After a job like this I'm going to be wearing a way more expensive Halloween costume than this crap," Zeke exclaims. "Now come on, it's time to bring on the rapture!"

  Dez and Zeke walk away from their Rodent Rapture van, and the muted colors they wear are immediately bathed in a bright pink from the neon sign hanging above them. Luminescent strips strobe their blushing shade, giving the world only brief flashes of a world bathed in its love. The two exterminators return to a dull gray as they reach the front door.

  "After you," Dez says, bowing his head just a bit.

  "Thanks, Derrick," Zeke says with a friendly smile before stepping into a lounge smelling like cigarettes and nights of paid-away loneliness.

  "No problem, Zeb," Dez returns the kindness before he steps inside, letting the glass door shut behind him.

  Despite the smell, The Four Flowers' lounge is actually tidy and well-kept. Two black couches are neighbors on the right side of the room, each against walls and awaiting anyone to test their purity. In between the couches is a glass coffee table, its white skeleton holding up the spotless glass top. The left side of the room is dedicated to waste; a trash can and a recycling bin stand at the ready, their maws prepared to swing open and swallow whatever evidence you'd like. All of these inanimate beings rest upon a fluffy pink carpet, its waves running from wall to wall, holding a plethora of secrets that should absolutely remain secrets forever.

  The only way forward is through the black double doors ahead; however, on their left, behind a cage of bulletproof glass, stands the guardian. He waits for anyone who dares enter his keep of mischief and debauchery, for it might just bring him something to obsess over other than his horde of gold stashed away.

  Dez and Zeke approach the pimply-faced teen behind the glass; his eyes come off his nudie mag just before Zeke can knock on the glass.

  "What kind of room do you want?" He asks, his eyes half-open and his voice slick and slimy with late-stage puberty.

  "Not looking for a room," Zeke responds. He pinches his jumpsuit underneath a round logo on his right breast. He pulls it forward and shows off the artistic rendition of a keeled-over rodent. "Rodent Rapture, owner contacted us about a potential infestation. Going to take a look around, do what we call a diagnosis," he explains to the teenage receptionist.

  "Didn't hear anything about hiring exterminators," the teen responds, scratching at his neck with one spindly finger.

  Dez scoffs, wearing a mask of camaraderie. "You know how bosses are, never telling employees like us shit," he remarks.

  "My dad is the owner," the teen says, still looking at the two of them with eyes that aren't plagued by exhaustion or even boredom but complete apathy. "Asshole never tells me anything," the teen sighs as he returns his attention to the magazine.

  "So we goo—" Dez begins to say before being dragged away by Zeke.

  Together they push through the double doors and are greeted by the same carpet at their feet but a different layout ahead of them. A slim hallway, four doors on each side with a staircase at the end of the hall. Your classic motel setup.

  "Just wanted to make sure with the kid; don't want him panicking," Dez says.

  "Kid doesn't get paid enough and is too busy being horny to worry about a couple of grown men. Now come on, we gotta find the utility closet, Derrick," Zeke says as he begins walking down the hallway, with Dez following right behind.

  First room on the right: 01.

  First room on the left: 02.

  Second room on the right: 03.

  Second room on the left: 04.

  Third room on the right: Mixed Bath.

  Third room on the left: Util.

  "Here we are," Zeke mutters as he opens the door for Dez. "Set the stuff down inside," he tells him before stepping inside and shutting the door.

  "Finally, shit is heavier than it looks," Dez exhales as he gently places the duffle bag down on the pink carpet.

  The exterminator duo stands in a square room whose dim lighting is thanks to an old tube light clinging to the ceiling. Its breath gives a hint of mint to the room, calming their eyes from the bright hallway and lounge. Other than a few poorly stocked shelves and a couple of vacuums that don't appear to have been turned on in years, the room is empty.

  "Alright, do we need to go over anything again before we do this?" Zeke asks Dez, who's currently unzipping the duffle bag and rummaging through it.

  "I'm as cool as I can be. You?" Dez returns the question.

  "I think I'm all set," Zeke responds, swiping the sweat off his brow with his sleeve while Dez still fiddles with the bag's contents.

  Dez stands up straight and turns to Zeke; in his right hand are two pairs of black gloves, and in the other are two gas masks. Zeke reaches for the gloves, but Dez pulls them away from him. "You think you're all set?" He asks with wide eyes and a condescending sneer.

  "I know I'm all set," Zeke groans. "Fucking dick, give me that," he grumbles as he rips the mask and gloves from Dez's hands. "If I'm lucky, your mask won't fit, and you'll pass out. Then I'll have thirty grand to spend on my Halloween costume," Zeke comments.

  "Shit, thirty grand, and you still won't look as good as me," Dez retorts as he slips his gloves on.

  Zeke tucks the gas mask under his armpit before slipping on the gloves. They hug his skin, guaranteeing the concealment of his fingerprints at the cost of scratchy irritation. He fastens the tightening strips, and the cheap gloves squeeze nice and snug. He moves on to the mask, pulling its straps back and moving it over his face. The round goggles press into his eyelashes, and the long respirator hangs out front, uncomfortably extending his face. "Holy shit, how does anyone see through these things?" Zeke questions as he fiddles with the straps.

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  "It's not that bad," Dez remarks, his words coming out deeper and muffled behind the gas mask.

  "Great that you think that because you're the one wearing it on Halloween," Zeke proclaims. He lets his arms come down to his sides, giving up the impossible endeavor of making the mask comfortable.

  "Whoa, whoa, I never said anything about the mask." Dez shakes his head, his respirator dangling back and forth. He bends back down over the duffle bag and pulls out a shiny metal cylinder; a thin nozzle sticks out of it, and sticking out of the nozzle is an even thinner clear tube.

  Zeke opens the utility closet door, and the two of them step back into the hallway. They make their way to the stairs as Zeke continues their conversation. "You're not going to be winning any costume contests with a gray jumpsuit and some gloves," he tells his partner.

  "Never said anything about gloves either," Dez declares as they begin ascending. Dez holds the nozzle and the tube with one hand and the cylinder itself with the other. He makes sure the nozzle and tube don't tap into the metal cylinder as he goes up the steps behind Zeke. "And what, all of a sudden you give a shit about costume contests? Weren't you the guy who wore a Dime-A-Dozen uniform for Halloween last year?" He asks mockingly.

  Zeke scoffs, trying hard to hide his annoyance. It's like trying to hide an elephant behind a lamppost. Nobody knows how to irritate him like Dez. He questions whether even to bother responding to that, but then again, silence is admission to defeat. "Came off of work and didn't have time to change; you were the one begging me to come over to Em's party anyway. You knew you couldn't get with her without me being your wingman," he exclaims as they reach the second floor and face an identical layout to the floor below.

  They begin passing rooms.

  First room on the left: 05.

  First room on the right: 06.

  Second room on the left: 07.

  Destination deliverance.

  Zeke stops in front of room 07 and nudges his head toward the door. Dez nods and gently places the cylinder on the pink carpet. He leans it against the wall and straightens the nozzle, then the clear tube. He gets on his knees but freezes upon hearing a door click and groan open in the hall. They both turn around and see an old man with gray hair wearing nothing but a white shirt and dark blue plaid boxers.

  "Fuck, this place got rats?" He asks the two exterminators.

  "Not for long, sir," Zeke responds. "You're going to want to stay in your room; gas is harmless to us, but it can reek pretty bad," he tells the man.

  "Eh, this place already smells like shit, but thanks anyway," the man says as he steps back into his room, shutting and locking his door.

  Dez looks up at Zeke, and a nod is all he needs to slide the clear tube underneath the doorframe and begin twisting the valve atop the cylinder. He twists and twists until a pale gas escapes through the tube. A minute passes until the cylinder hisses the last of its contents into room 07. For safe measure, Dez twists the valve again, sealing it off. He waits a few seconds before pulling the tube out and finds the end spewing nothing but an undesirable smell that comes through the filter of his mask as nothing but a faint sweetness.

  Dez shuffles to the side, pulling the cylinder with him as Zeke steps up to the door. Zeke presses his body to the door, leaving just enough space for him to slip a lockpick into the keyhole. It only takes him a few seconds to jimmy the lock, his success coming to life with a satisfying click. Zeke pushes the door open, and as the last of the vapors dissipate, they step into room 07, shutting and locking the door behind them.

  Unconscious on the plain, queen-sized bed, her legs dangling off the edge and her blonde hair splayed out on the sheets, is a young woman wearing a black hoodie and a plain pair of jeans. On their right, in the corner of the room, is a small desk with a backpack resting atop it. Dez pushes the bag off the side of the desk, letting it land on the floor, its contents rumbling around. He replaces the empty spot with the duffle bag and removes a folded-up square of thick canvas. He hands it to Zeke as he stuffs the cylinder and tubing back into the duffel bag.

  Zeke lays out the canvas on the carpet right in front of the bed. He unfolds it until it's nice and flat. It's roughly six feet long and three feet wide, its black, dry skin covering up the vibrant pink fluff the room was born with. Zeke pulls the zipper in the center of the canvas towards himself, and once it's open, he reaches inside to prepare it for its mission.

  He gently grabs the girl by the arm, her limp body rising off the bed slowly with her long blonde hair trailing behind. Dez grabs her other arm, and together they lift her. The two of them easily place her in the body bag, the zipper the only thing speaking in the room as it seals the canvas coffin shut.

  Zeke slides his hands under the bag, and Dez does the same. Zeke lifts from the girl's shoulders while Dez lifts from her ankles. Moving as a unit, all three of them playing their parts, they back up to the door. Dez holds her steady with one hand as he opens room 07's door. With coordinated steps, the two exterminators move to the stairs, Dez's duffel bag making more noise than the unmoving contents of the body bag.

  It isn't long before they reach the first floor. Zeke pushes his back against the black double doors, and the two of them step into the lobby with their bounty. The teenage receptionist glances up from his magazine only to bring his eyes back down to the smut that's far more interesting right now.

  The hot pink neon spotlights their sin, the wet asphalt welcomes their boots, and the gray van promises sanctuary. Having left the back door of the van unlocked, Dez pulls the handle, and both doors come open. He and Zeke place the woman in the back, but before Zeke can close the doors, Dez stops him with a hand on his chest.

  "I'm driving; you stay in the back with her," Dez says as cars roar on the roads around them.

  "What?" Zeke asks, not able to hear Dez through the gas mask.

  Dez rips his mask off and tosses it in the back by the body bag. "I'm driving; you stay in the back just in case she wakes up," he repeats.

  Zeke follows suit, loosening the straps of his mask before taking it off and tossing it into the back. "She ain't waking up, Dez," he says, his shoulders slumping forward.

  "Just in case," Dez asserts, his eyes and tone holding a focus Zeke hasn't ever seen. "We can't fuck this up, remember?" He asks, his tone brightening up a little.

  Zeke nods his head slowly. "Can't fuck this up," he echoes before climbing into the back of the van.

  Dez shuts the back doors and unlocks the driver-side door. He slips into the seat and brings the engine to life. He drives out of the vacant parking lot, and the Rodent Rapture exterminators find themselves on the busy Trolato streets.

  "Sash Storage Sanctuary #3319. I'll guide you; just keep going straight for now," Zeke tells Dez, his voice a soft whisper.

  "And the specific container when we get there?" Dez asks as their two right tires go through a puddle.

  "Isn't one, Marranen said to buy any one, and she'd reimburse," Zeke tells him as the glow of a green light washes over the gray innards of the van for a moment before they pass.

  "Fifteen grand each, holy shit," Dez mutters. "It's not life-changing money, but this is the start of something. I feel it," he proclaims.

  "Start of something fucking beautiful, Dez. Marranen will put in a good word for us. Expect a lot more jobs like this in the future," Zeke says, practically salivating at the thought of what the rest of the years ahead hold.

  "Hey, if we can make money like this without wasting anyone, count me in," Dez exclaims as they pass a couple of restaurants, a bar, and an art studio.

  Zeke looks at the motionless body bag beside him. It's nothing. There is no girl. There's just a black canvas and some weight. Or at least, that's what he tells himself. "Well, who knows what SS will do with her? I mean, I think I'd rather be wasted than kidnapped and taken to the shadiest of the shady," he comments, his eyes still on the bag.

  "Still straight?" Dez's question breaks Zeke's stare.

  Zeke looks forward past the seats and through the windshield, analyzing their location. "Left at the next light, going to be riding close to the canal," he informs his partner.

  "Gotcha," Dez nods. "And I don't know, man, you never know what a place like Sash Synergies wants from someone. Maybe she's a tech whiz, and they just want to offer her a job," Dez hypothesizes as he reaches the turn Zeke mentioned.

  "A job? She'd be lucky to get locked with indentured servitude. They're going to do some fucked-up shit to this chick," Zeke declares as the van rides near the edge of the canal on an empty, lone road.

  "Bad time to be growing morals, Z," Dez drags his words as he enjoys the view of the canal on their left and the empty road ahead.

  Zeke shakes his head, his eyes falling on the body bag again before he pulls them away and keeps his gaze forward. "Can't grow morals; soil's infertile in my head," he jokes, tapping a finger to his temple.

  "Please don't use the word infertile, at least not while I'm around," Dez jokes back, his voice wearing a suit and tie, but the colors are all over the place.

  "Fuck you, man," Zeke laughs as the two of them go off into ramblings that only childhood friends could get up to. The long road is almost hypnotizing, its constant, slim indents giving them a slight bump every other second.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Bump.

  Fantastic, they're idiots. You can kill them, Sam. You can get out of this. Dad needs you to get out of this. Time the bumps. Time it right, press your pocketknife up gently to the canvas, and cut down. When your nerves are ice, tear through and then keep on tearing.