Topic “Competitive Vivisection” as suggested by Garrett Cook.
Doctor James Vander scrubbed his hands vigorously, working the creamy pink soap into a rich lather over his skilled hands. Behind him, the door swung open, swooshing almost soundlessly on its oiled hinges. Jim glanced over his shoulder to see who had entered the clean room outside of the O.R. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, producing a sort of lopsided half grin on his thin face.
“How’re you, Kyle?” he asked, turning from the sink with his arms raised, hands held out in front of him as droplets of water gathered on his fingertips before falling to the green tiled floor. The newly entered doctor shrugged. “Same old, same old.” He said, stepping towards the great metal sink. “Marcy’s on my case about Kyle Junior’s behavior again. That kid has a bit of the devil in him, I swear!” Kyle shook his head, depressing the plastic pump on the bottle of soap with his wrist. Dr. Vander nodded sympathetically. “Kids’re tough.” He said. “Do you remember what you were like at that age?” Doctor Kyle Jennings snorted. “Heh, yeah. Marcy doesn’t know how good she’s got it! I was a hell raiser back then!” “Me, too!” Jim laughed heartily, fingers splayed like a shadow puppeteer getting ready for a show.
“How is Marcy?” James asked, holding his hands out as a nurse placed a surgical mask over his ears and nose, tying the ribbons in back into little white bows behind his head. Kyle finished lathering his hands. Streams of warm water cascaded over them, rinsing the suds into the sink and whisking them down the drain. “She’s well. She’s been volunteering over at the library the past few weeks. It’s good for her, I think. Gets her out of the house. Say, you and Robin should come over for drinks sometime. Maybe next week?”
Jim Vander shook his head. “Can’t do next week.” He said, “Taking the wife down to Cabo. Maybe when we get back.” Jim pulled on a pair of sterile blue latex gloves, snapping them as he released the stretchy material. Bits of white powder briefly clouded the air around his hands before dissipating. The nurse had finished tying Dr. Jennings’ mask on. He donned his own pair of gloves before he and Jim turned and pressed their backs into the large double doors, pushing them open while preserving the sanctity of their gloves and face masks.
Two wide eyed teenage girls were strapped to twin exam tables in the center of the spotless operating room, thick bands of plastic wrapped tightly over their mouths. At the doctors’ entrance, they began to struggle anew, straining at the leather bonds that bound them to their respective tables. Next to each of the girls stood an instrument tray displaying a variety of sharp looking surgical equipment, sparkling under the bright lights that had come on overhead. Jim looked sideways at Kyle, eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. “Race ya!” he said, picking up a scalpel.