Moan drove in silence, brow knit in consternation. Every so often he would drum his fingers to the random beat that was constantly going in the back of his mind.

Known’s breathing was strained. A bit shallow for Moan’s liking. But he was sure the big kid would pull through once he was patched up.

“You ever meet the Doc?” Moan asked, eyes darting around the cabin of the car as the lights flickered as they rolled over a pot-hole.

“Naw” Known muttered, shifting in the seat. His breathing quickened as he moved.

“You’ll like ‘em,” Moan said. “Dude ain’t really a doctor. We just call him that to piss him off. He hates titles, chief among them is the almighty Doctor.”

Moan wanted to fill the silence. For once, he wanted to talk to someone. At least it was Known, much easier to talk to than Shine or Dough.

“I asked him why he doesn’t like titles,” Moan continued, hoping that his prattle would give his injured companion something to focus on. “And dude went on some long-ass rant about patriarchy and stuff. It really didn’t make any sense.”

Known gave a grunt, half a laugh and half a pained wheeze. At least he was paying attention. An itch began along the back of Moan’s neck and he slapped at it, raking his fingers back and forth quickly.

“But, he’s good peoples. Never complains. Damn near a miracle worker. Shine ever show you his scar from taking one to the gut?”

Known grunted again. Moan wasn’t sure whether that was an affirmative or not but he took it as a sign to continue with his story.

“Well, Shine’s big ass took a shotgun blast to the gut during a job. Close range, so the spread wasn’t too bad. Big fucker got lucky the mark was a hunter and had pellets loaded instead of something that could do real damage.”

Moan shivered as a strange sensation ran up his back. Goosebumps bloomed up and down his back. Known whispered something and Moan took it as prodding to continue his story.

“We haul Shine’s ass to Doc and the first thing dude does is slap the injured area.” Moan snickered as he recalled the memory. “Shine damn near shot dude then and there. But quirky ass dude had already loaded him up with some good meds so he kept his dome.”

Moan reached around and raked his fingers along his back as a fierce itch flared to life. Right in the middle, the spot hardest to reach.

As Moan jabbed at the itch, he finally noticed the state of his companion. The young man was leaning back, eyes closed and brow lined with sweat. His lips moved incessantly as if in prayer.

“You aight bro?”

“Mmm,” Known grumbled, lips still moving.

Moan looked back and forth from the road to the young man. His gut felt heavy. He was sure something was wrong but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

“You look like shit.”

Known did look bad. The young man was pale and haggard. His skin seemed chalky despite the rivulets of sweat streaming down his face. His chapped lips seemed to split apart with each furtive movement.

He mumbled something incoherent, just under his breath.

“Wassup? Known?” Moan reached over and took hold of the younger man’s shoulder. He gave him a light nudge. “Hang on, listen to my voice. We almost there. Doc’ll get you right.”

Moan’s hand was quickly soaked in sweat. He noticed how hot the young man was.

“Shit!” He stepped down on the accelerator and picked up speed.

“Turn on the lights,” Known mumbled.

---

The stolen car swung into a screeching halt in front of a nondescript home. Well, nondescript for Vegas. It looked like every other house on the block. The only thing differentiating it from the rest was that it actually had a lively, healthy front lawn. The owner was going to lengths to make sure the rug was well-kept. Every other house had given up trying to have a lawn, most having converted to rocky patches.

Moan hopped out of the car, trudged across the well-manicured lawn, and knocked loudly on the front door.

“Doc! Open up!”

He pounded, closed fist making the frame of the door rattle with each connection.

“Doc! Get your fat ass up before I kick the door down!”

Moan knocked again then stepped away, back towards the car. He swung the passenger side door open and began gingerly pulling the feverish passenger out.

Known dripped with sweat despite the nippy night air.

The garage door rumbled to life, loudly announcing its opening as a voice drifted out.

“This way, you moron.”

Standing in the mostly empty garage, a portly man in his late forties fidgeted with a large bathrobe. He shivered, hopping back and forth on his comfortably slippered feet.

“Hurry up before you wake my neighbors!” he hissed, chubby fingers hovering over the button to lower the door once more.

Moan pulled Known along, mostly dragging the bigger man. As the garage door rumbled closed behind them, they followed the Doc into a lavishly furnished room.

“Lay him on that couch there,” the Doc motioned, shutting the door behind him and bustling toward a shelf. He pulled the doors apart and revealed gleaming instruments. “What’s his condition?”

“Laceration across the abdomen. Feverish and seems to be delirious.”

“Laceration from what?”

“Should be a gunshot wound. We got in a firefight not too long ago.”

The Doc scoffed. “You members and your constant need to prove your machismo.”

The plump man bumbled over, pair of shears in hand and ready to go. “Hold his shirt.”

With deft, practiced motions the man quickly cut Known’s shirt away, revealing the blood-stained and hastily assembled tourniquet that Moan had made.

“At least you did this much,” the Doc muttered, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he cut the makeshift bandage. “Grab more from over there.”

Moan turned to the shelf and plucked out a bundle of bandages and stuffing. He wiped the sweat off his brow as the now-familiar twinge ran up the back of his neck. Goosebumps broke out all over his body as he passed the items to the Doc.

“Good, now either help or get out of the way!”

Moan stepped back as a daze settled over him. Invisible tendrils snaked down his face as an odd cold crept along his body. His teeth began to chatter as he stumbled backward.

“What the hell’s the matter with you, boy?” the Doc bellowed over his shoulder, hands still deftly working on Known.

“Nothin’,” Moan mumbled as he collapsed into a deeply cushioned love seat.

The world dropped away as the couch swallowed him whole.

---

The rank wind blew past Moan as he fell, tumbling end over end. He felt as if he were moving at high speeds while remaining motionless. There was a small part of him that wanted to stop. A small part that wanted the world to cease its restless spinning. But the rest of him remained ambivalent.

“Help,” he attempted to croak, voice fading before it could form. “Stop…”

His tongue was heavy, curling in on itself and sticking to the roof of his mouth. He was sure that it was growing, taking up more space in his cotton-filled orifice than was necessary.

Something snaked its way into his mouth. It was cold and wet and definitely didn’t belong in there. He coughed. The thing sneezed.

Dread reared its ugly face deep in his gut as a hazy understanding descended. Or something closing in on it.

He knew where he was, what he was, when he was. He just couldn’t articulate it properly. Something about a pawn on a board that he couldn’t see.

The tendril in his mouth wiggled as he thought about his predicament. Falling headlong- at least he was convinced it was so- along a dark corridor into nothingness.

What corridor fell for so long?

The tendril squirmed as his pondering turned to serious consideration. He knew the why of it, but the how made no sense. Where had he been before the corridor had swallowed him whole and tossed him down into its depths?

Why did the wind taste so foul?

The howling winds, gusting back and forth, tasted like how dead, rotting bodies smelled. It reminded him of the marks they had let sit in the trunks for too long. Of their bloated faces and the rancid smell of days-old shit mingling with the smell of decay. He remembered how one had burst open as soon as they had grabbed it, skin soft and ripe.

Why was he thinking about things so far in the past?

The tendril fidgeted. Its pulses grew as its slimy exterior scraped against the soft interior of his cheeks. It felt like sandpaper was being occasionally dragged along the soft skin. Just like how he had used the sander to erase that one marks face after that one job. The way the machine had filed the man’s face down until it was little more than a thumb-looking appendage. The way the grinder had squealed when it sanded through the marks nose had been satisfying.

“Stupid human,” a voice whispered as the tendril vibrated. The voice moved strangely, always opposite of the howling, fetid wind.

A chill crept up his arms and all through his body. Moan spluttered, trying to breathe around his enlarged tongue and the rough tendril.

A thick, tasteless liquid trickled down his tongue and into his throat. He coughed as it nearly went down the wrong hole.

“Stupid, stupid human,” the voice whispered once more. The tone was familiar.

He could feel the thick liquid sliding down into his gut. In his mind’s eye, he could see it settling and expanding within his unhealthy stomach. He imagined it seeping into the intestines, breaking apart and permeating the rest of his innards.

His cheek stung.

---

“Wake up, boy!” the Doc’s voice rumbled as he shook Moan’s shoulder. “Wake the hell up!”

Moan snorted as he jumped up, cobwebs fighting to keep their hold over his senses. He licked his chapped lips, rough tongue scraping across them like one-grit sandpaper. He had fallen asleep with his mouth open and now paid the price.

“Your friend is all patched up. High time you ruffians scooted off and left me in peace.” The large man tottered about his garish living room, balancing a shot glass in either hand. “One for the road?”

Moan snatched the glass out of the fat man’s hand and downed it with little ceremony. Then he moved to stand up.

“Ah, don’t move so fast. You’ll regret doing that.”

Ignoring the Doc’s warning, Moan shot up out of the deeply cushioned seat and stood up straight. He wasn’t the tallest in their group but he wasn’t short either. He easily towered over the fat little man.

He swayed as the blood rushed to his head. Black spots filled his vision.

“Like I said, you’ll regret doing that.”

Moan’s legs gave out as the ground rose to meet him. The black spots grew.