The floor was white, the walls were white, the lights were white, goddamn the air itself smelled white.

             “No offense, Doc, but if I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me, you can’t either. I came in for a checkup, not anal probing.”

            “Mr. Marshall,” said one of two doctors, both dressed in white. “All we ask is a bit of trust and a small amount of your time. If we don’t find out what’s wrong, you can go on your merry way. Okay?” He decided to ignore the last part of the other man’s statement.

            “Call me Jonathon. Did my granddaughter put you up to this?”

            “No, sir.”

            “Fine. Make it quick.”

            And so, Jonathon Marshall found himself slowly being wheeled over to a round, white machine. He had to put up some sort of fight or Skye would realize something was wrong.

            “Have you people ever heard of colors?” he asked to no one in particular. Someone in particular answered.

            “You’re one to talk, Gramps.” This was a woman’s voice. “You’re still in your own lab coat, and your hair isn’t exactly getting any more colorful these days.”

            “Darn. I was hoping to be probed by these poor doctors in peace, yet a wild Skye decided she needed to make it even worse with her poorly thought out jabs.”

            “Poorly thought out?” Skye shot back. “Did you expect a haiku upon my entrance. You think I’ve got time? I’m far to busy for that. You old, wheezing, fart.”

            “That was the most childish haiku I have ever heard. You could at least try to use that big brain of yours before spewing nonsense on us common folk.”

            The doctors were forced to just sit and watch as two adults sprayed childish blather all over their clean white floors.

            “Okay kiddo, let the doctors do their job.” The older man finally said as the doctors breathed a sigh of relief.

            “That sounds like you admitting defeat to me,” Skye responded.

            “Ew. Who said anything about feet? Creep.”

            “You did not seriously just make that joke. I refuse to believe it.”

            The second doctor, a woman, finally decided it was time to step in. “Okay Jonathon, it’s time to send you through the machine. We’ll have your results by tomorrow. Ms. Marshall, do you wish to remain here?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

            “Skye is fine. Ms. Marshall was my mom. And yes, I can’t exactly just leave this old man here to fend for himself.”

            “I’m right here.”

            “Oh, believe me, I know. The smell gives it away.”

            “ENOUGH! Ahem. Please Skye, please Jonathon, please just let us do our jobs.”

            “Oops, Skye, I think we made the doctors mad. Okay, I’m ready. Send me through the portal!”

            The two doctors shook their heads as they rolled the man into the white machine.

            “The tests will take about twenty minutes. Please minimize any movement.”

            And with that, the machine moved into action. Jonathon saw with pride that printed onto the side of the machine in black text were the words “Marshall Inc.” He remembered building the first prototype of this machine to figure out why he felt so much pain. Most people just figured he had hired a million researchers and inventors to do the dirty work for him, and while that was true to a point, he took pride in the many inventions he could claim to his name and his name alone.

            He wasn’t proud, however, of his elaborate plan to tell Skye that he had pancreatic cancer. It was going to work, of course. His plans always worked. But he was pushing a difficult conversation onto someone else because he was too scared to tell her himself. If only he was a bit younger, he probably could have come up with some fix, some cure.

            Maybe that was his ego talking.

            “Uh. Doctor? Is the machine supposed to be shaking?” Skye’s voice was worried.

            While Jonathon Marshall had been contemplating his successes and failures, the machine had begun shaking. He wasn’t even the first to notice it. He couldn’t help but think that he was losing his edge in his old age.

            The doctors were frantically pressing any button they could to turn the machine off. “We can’t take him out while the machine is on! The moving parts could leave serious damage, or worse.”

            “Then turn the machine off for God’s sake. There’s a kill switch in the back.” That voice was Jonathon’s from within the machine.

            “Looking.” One doctor said as they both rushed around to the back. “Found it!” Both doctors pressed the button at the same time, and the machine stopped shaking, stopped moving entirely.

            “Thank God. Mr. Marshall, are you okay?”

            “Didn’t I tell you to call me Jonathon?” Came a voice from inside the machine. “I know this is my machine and all, but can you two get me out of this death trap? Please, and thank you.”

            As the male doctor reached to roll the sarcastic man out of the machine, it suddenly turned back on and began shaking far stronger and faster.

            “Grandpa!” Skye said as she ran to the side of the machine. She quickly guessed what each button was for, but couldn’t do anything to stop the rattling, now rumbling white contraption. “Listen, Gramps, you need to hold on. We’ll get you out.”

            “I’m holding on, don’t you worry. But please feel free to figure out what the fork is going on. What the fork is going on. Fork. FORK. Oh, for fork's sake.”

            “I think he’s losing his mind. Can the two of you please get him out of here?” Skye said, turning to the two doctors. The two now nonexistent doctors.

            “Mother forker.” Skye got out before everything turned black.