Never mind which level of Hell they’re on…
Jack Kevorkian awoke to the sound of a monitor emanating a single, continuous tone. He thought it gone as he closed his eyes only a moment ago. But it was still there…and would be there until he was unhooked from the electrodes.
A tall, dark man stood at the foot of his bed. “Ah, I see you’ve arrived. Welcome, Dr. Kevorkian. I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you. Do you have any idea where you are?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I thought I would just fade away into…nothingness,” replied Kevorkian.
“Far from it. My name is…Simon O’Neill. I was a doctor in the Colonial Fleet a long, long time ago.”
“Colonial Fleet?” gasped the pathologist. “I’m not aware of such a thing.” He was even more confused.
“I didn’t think you would be.” Simon decided to unconfuse him. He went over to the window and flung the shades aside. Kevorkian beheld a crimson landscape and an even more churning boil of crimson and black clouds.
On the grounds of the gothic institute, he beheld a strange metallic guard disemboweling a middle-aged bicyclist, who screamed in agony as his punishment was carried out.
Kevorkian sighed. “I’m in Hell, aren’t I?”
“That is correct,” Simon replied. “And it is because of your sins against the dying. You were known as Doctor Death.”
“So why are you here?”
“I committed suicide,” the Toaster answered with a heavy heart, “because I cared so much for the human I married, I did not want to kill her and her kind as my superior wanted me to. Still, it is the most grievous sin against The Opposing One.”
“The Opposing One?”
“Sorry, we are not allowed to say the name in this realm. Besides, it is up to Him to determine when we are to die…and I crossed that line in defiance of that. And so did you.”
“And you mentioned…her kind? What, may I ask, is your kind?”
“I,” Simon paused, “am a Cylon. A CYbernetic LifefOrm Node. There is a lot for you to absorb as the eons pass.” He walked out the door and continued to talk to Doctor Death. “But for now, I have to take care of some business from my superior.” He wheeled in a familiar device on a gurney.
“Hey! That’s my Thanatron!” exclaimed Kevorkian, just as two Centurions appeared, ready to accost the euthanasia activist should he refuse to cooperate, their redeye scanners buzzing back and forth.
“Then you know how it works,” said Simon. “Please hook yourself up to it.”
There was no way for Doctor Death to escape, so he did as instructed. “i take it this is my Eternal Punishment?”
“Yes,” nodded the Cylon doctor. “Since you administered such a solution to your clients in life, My superior found it to be fitting.” He produced a syringe of a saline solution with sodium thiopental, potassium chloride, and pancuronium bromide. “And this works just as well here as it does up there.” He handed it to Kevorkian…
…who sighed and administered it to himself, so that the Centurions wouldn’t.
“See you tomorrow, Doctor Kevorkian.” Simon walked out and the bulletheads followed.
“Huh?” Jack Kevorkian muttered as he breathed deeply, and the deadly solution took effect….
Tags: Assisted Suicide, Charles Johnson, Cylons, Jack Kevorkian, Simon O'Neill
