One Hour Speed Write IV

One hour! One Story! Quick thinking! Quick writing! No stopping! No escape! This story's playlist: Daft Punk This story's seed: Future Medicine Complete with two minutes left on the clock.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths you nervous b*****d.
I turn the handle and enter. How many are there? I try to count quickly but I lose place, so I start over, then I lose my place, so I start over, then I lo- they're staring at me. I can't count. I need to speak.
I nearly start trembling as I tell the unfortunate state of their loved one: deceased.
My best wishes are imparted upon them and I take my exit. There was at least seven.
I walk and it creates an echo through the hall. I sit behind my desk, or rather collapse into my chair. I grab my head. The task of telling a family the tale of death never gets easier, I think it gets harder, more stressful as you try to develop a system to do it right this time. The only problem with that glorious plan is all the ways are wrong.
"Computer coffee."
There's a rumble in the walls zipping conveyor belts and clunks. When I bother to look at my desk some minutes later a deep brown liquid stares at me in a green mug. I scratch the side of my face with one hand as I drink. I need to shave. I last shaved, three, four years ago? I keep telling myself to shave. I will, someday. Not today.
RING!
I shout and spill the liquid onto my crotch. The mug falls and shatters spraying a mix of porcelain and liquid caffeine along with whatever little dignity I had left.
I smash the button with my thumb.
"This is Dr. Ted Smith, how can I help you."
"Midnight on the dot, the subway station by the Subway restaurant three miles from your apartment, alone, no phone, no weapons."
Click.
"What in the f**k was tha- and why did they call me at my work?" I run my hands down my face. What time is it? Three hours till. I lean back. What could they want with me? Do I owe some sort of debt to the mafia? They'll probably kidnap me, maybe I should phone the police, what in the hell do I mean maybe? Of course I should phone the police. I won't, but I absolutely should. Who the f**k do they think they are?
I furiously click about with the device. But the mechanical voice says my call cannot be completed when I try to call back, why did I bother? At least I can say I tried.
What now? I look around the room, I remain silent. I open my drawer and look at the little device that managed to replace so many medical tools ten years prior. Blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, blood sugar, cholesterol levels, all at the click of a button, and it even scans for goddamn STDs. Talk about a f*****g catchall. I don't know how it works but I'm sure unobtanium is involved.
I should probably clean up the coffee.
I replace the magic device and go to get a mop. The height of technology and mops can't be improved, I guess they no longer look like a bad set of dreadlocks but that's about it.
My hands miraculously aren't cut whilst handling the broken mug because only living things bleed.
I sit back in the chair leaning forward rather than back this time. Two and ten minutes till.
I stand up and leave my office. The halls are fairly barren, we're a hospital so we're always staffed that being said most of the people don't work graveyard, and of those who do only a few of them are worth anything much.
These halls are a dizzying set of mirrors that stretches infinitely in all directions and I'm pretty sure it's what hell is like. Once in a while as I pass I see a family with hands outstretched to the mirrors and through the magic of science those mirrors become windows so they can see their dying father, or sister, or aunt, or whatever, but sometimes it's a doctor looking their patient, and if you're really lucky it's a nurse watching the man she just poisoned choke on his own vomit.
Shelly appears from somewhere amongst the unending halls of cleanliness and mirrors.
"Hey Ted. You headed out?"
I glance at my watch. One hour forty-eight minutes till.
"Not just yet."
"Well when you leaving?"
"I guess about an hour and a half."
"Well you wanna get some food?"
"I- uh, have prior arrangements."
"Well alright then. I guess another time. I'll see you tomorrow doctor."
"Of course doctor."
And in opposite directions we go.
How did I ever get to be a doctor? I'm not at all good at this job though everybody sure as hell insists I am so much so they made me the doctor that tells all the other doctors what to do yet I can't tell somebody to tell a family grandpa just croaked for me. I don't even know if there's a rule that says I have to do it I'm just too scared to f*****g look.
When I get back tomorrow after meeting this subway Subway a*****e I should do that. Then I should shave.
Wait a minute... I look down at my crotch.
Goddamnit. To an outside observer it appears as if I pissed myself.
One hour twenty minutes till.
I guess I have time to go home and get changed before my secret appointment with some jackass.
I shuffle out the door and into the dark, well it's not that dark honestly. Fifty billion little LED lights scattered over a hundred square miles take care of that problem.
I press my hand on my car.
"Scanning...Scanning...Scanning...Hand print not recognized please try again."
"Goddamnit! Stupid piece of s**t!"
I slam my hand.
"Scanning...Scanning.Scanning...Access granted. Welcome Ted."
"F*****g piece of s**t."
I should get a new car too.
"Take me home." I command.
It starts and sputters towards my house.
My door is better about scanning my hand and I quickly change into a pair of pants unstained by coffee.
Fifty-nine minutes till.
Well what should I do for an hour? I mean really? What does one do for an hour? Write some s****y story?
I guess I could shave...another time.
"Computer, wake my in forty minutes."
"Yes Ted."
I walk into the kitchen, milk check, pills check, sleep check.
A loud thunderous screech bursts me from sleeps orgasmic grasp. Snot runs down my nose and drips into my beard.
I lift myself up, then I fall. I may have taken more pills than I should have.
I focus on moving my legs until eventually after much deliberation and boredom I'm back in my car.
I reach the destined subway station near the Subway restaurant ten minutes early.
Before long a fat man with a fedora approaches me.
"Hello Ted."
"Do I know you?"
"No. But you should and now you will. "Does the name Lisa O'Brian ring a bell?"
"No." It truly doesn't I have no idea what this fat bloke is going on about.
"Bullshit you son of a b***h!" He points a gun at me.
"Jesus! Dude calm down! I don't know who that is! That your wife or something?"
"Ex wife. Thanks to you! Thanks to you and your f*****g dick!"
"Buddy I really don't know what you're talking about! I don't know anyone by that name!"
He steps closer. I hear something approaching from the distance.
"Don't lie Ted. I know you fucked my wife you son of a w***e! And now! Now you're going to get your just deserts!"
"Buddy I don't-" and as I'm half way into that sentence I find myself flying back and when I look to the side I see a very bright light.
Not the light of Heaven's gate. The light of the subway train.

Author's Note

Tell me your thoughts. You can point out grammar or spelling problems if you want but since going back to fix them kinda defeats the purpose of the exercise don't expect them to get fixed.