Wayyy back halfway through summer I was inspired by loveyswift and their coffee shop book ;-; that book goes so hard and I love it so much. I also adore workplace sitcoms and stuff like that and I could not resist trying to start my own and then I kind of hit a bump and couldn't figure out what to write anymore. It's a lot more difficult than it looks and it's so hard to come up with relevant and genuinely funny scenes/lines/etc. So I wrote 19,000 words and hit a brick wall<3
N e ways, if anyone wants to try to pick this up, you are certainly more than welcome to and I encourage it :) it's quarantine babey do whatever the hell u want

Chapter 1

Brendon stands in the bathroom of the hospital, staring in the mirror and analyzing every single blemish on his skin. The camera crew hasn't been hanging around for very long and they've asked him to do a side-anecdote already. He thought it was enough when they sat in and filmed his mandatory role call for the morning shift, but a short personal segment of any length was enough. It's not like he wasn't stressed enough already.

One of the girls on sound knocks on the door and slowly inches it open. Curse the lack of locks. "Pardon me, but we're ready whenever you are. It shouldn't take more than five minutes. We know you're busy."

"I'll be out in a minute." He waves her away, Claire if he remembers correctly. She administered the little microphones that clipped on to his collar and wired under his shirt to a complicated box strapped to the elastic band of his uniform pants. He was told they would usually call in a boom operator, but someone quickly pointed out that having yet another person in the back of an ambulance was impractical.

Brendon instead he could manage, and he could coach his team to adapt as well. They were smart, or at least he thought so. Maybe the television documentary would reveal the flaws in his leadership and expose the cracks in his team. He's not too sure he could handle that.

Nevertheless, he stands up straight and adjusts his microphone again. It fits just above the first shirt button. He fixes his hair and blows his nose in a paper towel before finally exiting the bathroom.

He walks with a purpose to the staircase and heads through the door that leads to the ground floor and the EMS wing of the hospital. Their designated area is kept at the very corner of the building, and directly down the hall leads to the emergency room. The EMS team has three rooms metaphorically roped off for them; the kitchen and dining room, the lounge which is split into two rooms itself, and the locker room that also holds a few twin sized beds. The door right outside all the rooms leads to the ambulances. It's not the greatest and it's certainly not ideal, but Brendon couldn't ask for anything better from a smaller town.

The camera crew stands outside the lounge, waiting for him. They follow Brendon inside and into the second part of the lounge. It's closed off and a single cushioned chair is set beside the one window. Two lights are positioned behind the camera, and the main videographer is already sitting behind his equipment.

He takes his seat and adjusts his shirt so his patches are visible. The lights are blinding and don't help the discomfort.

The main person in charge, Holly, pulls up a stool beside the videographer. She holds a sheet of paper in her hand and smiles. "We're filming already, if that's okay."

"It's fine." He says. It's certainly not fine.

"There's no need to be nervous — we aren't grilling you for controversy or gossip. You're the leader of the team, and we just want to get to know you. We want to introduce you to the audience in a practical manner."

There's not much drama within his team anyways. Of course some of them are dramatic, but there's never been something he couldn't handle. He deals with the public, and they're easily a dozen times worse.

"Okay," he sits up straighter, "what should I say?"

Holly glances at her sheet of paper but she quickly directs all of her attention back to Brendon. "Your name, age, and job for starters. Maybe you could tell us how you became a paramedic?"

He nods. "Can you tell me if I talk too fast? I'm worried about talking too fast."

"Of course," Holly says, "we'll let you know. Claire says you're ready to start."

Brendon clears his throat and looks into the camera. "My name is Brendon Urie. I'm twenty four years old and I've been a certified paramedic for six and a half years. When I turned eighteen I completed my EMT certifications and passed the National Registry of Emergency Medical Technician test. And, uh, I've been working here for my entire career. I kinda came at the right time because everyone quit and when they hired new people, I was the one that had been here the longest."

Holly gives him a thumbs up. "How do you like it here? Does everyone get along with the rest of the hospital staff?"

"I like it here. It's a small town so we don't get too many emergency calls per day, and we have other people that can do our job too. The hospital staff... the staff in any department is uncharted territory. We only speak with one or two of them even though the pre-hospital services are based with a lot of different departments. But we do get along well with emergency dispatch. They're all real nice over there." 

"Can you explain what you mean by pre-hospital services?"

"It's a specialty that focuses on care before reaching the hospital. The town's system is based in the fire department and the hospital, so firefighters can also administer first aid before reaching the hospital. Basing pre-hospital systems in the hospital enables the EMT's and paramedics to do our jobs."

She nods. Claire starts fidgeting with the sound system in her hands. "Can you tell us a little bit more about yourself?"

Brendon pauses, not because he's prioritizing his characteristics, but because his whole personality is built around his job. "Uh... I live alone. I have two dogs, my favorite food is enchiladas, and... um... I used to wear contact lenses. I read sometimes. Not all the time though."

Holly and the videographer share an uneasy glance. She turns to Brendon and back to the camera. Then she gently pats the side of the camera and stands. "That was good. Now do you think you could give us a quick tour of your little wing of the hospital?"

Brendon nods. He stands as well and waits at the door for the three team members to mobilize. There are supposed to be more people arriving soon, but it's the first day and things are still rolling into motion.

The videographer hoists the camera onto his shoulder and signals for him to go ahead. He swings the door open and holds it for everyone to enter the main lounge.

"This is the lounge." He points to the sad setup. "We have slightly overpriced vending machines, a microwave, mini fridge, sink, a few garbage cans. It's really a kitchenette but we use it more than the actual kitchen. The coffee machine doesn't really work anymore but that's our fault. The water bottle station is in the corner."

One of Brendon's coworkers presses his face against the glass window of the hallway, out of sight of the camera crew. They make direct eye contact and the tension grows. The chance of the documentary spiraling into insanity just increased tenfold.

Brendon directs them further away from the window before Ryan Ross can grab their attention. "This is the couch. We used to have a real nice leather one before it was ruined. There's a few bean bags in storage and some bungee cord chairs around here somewhere."

"What happened to the leather couch?" Claire whispers.

Brendon starts sweating. "What happened to the leather couch? Uh, raccoons. Baby raccoons, that's not important right now, it's a story for another time." He glances around the room for anything else that's interesting. The panic in his tone is palpable. His left eye twitches violently.

Ryan presses his face against the glass harder. His other coworkers stand far behind, silently cheering him on.

Brendon panics. He can't let the crew know that they're evil and stupid yet. "Actually, let me give you a tour of the storage cabinets we keep in here."

Holly frowns. She points over her shoulder to the door that leads to the actual kitchen. "T-There's not much else to see in here. Why don't we go see—"

Brendon yanks the cabinet open and pulls out a laundry basket of coffee mugs. They clink and clatter together as he struggles to set it down on the countertop. "Josh collects coffee mugs but he can't keep them at his apartment because his cat goes out of its way to shit in them."

Claire freezes. She pulls the headphones away in disbelief. "His cat does what?"

"Shits in them," he can see Ryan licking the window, "all the time. Don't drink out of his coffee cups. In fact, don't even touch them. They may be a health hazard."

Brendon lifts the basket up again and stares Ryan down. He shakes it before setting it back in the cabinet, teetering on the edge. He keeps a firm grip on it, threatening to send it over the edge.

A hand yanks Ryan away by his neck. Josh peeks into the room once before disappearing again.

"Okay. The kitchen is through that door. Let's go." Brendon leads them over into the actual kitchen, once again allowing everyone to enter first.

The kitchen is the size as both of the lounge rooms combined. The circular tables occupy a quarter of the room and the kitchen takes up the opposite end of the room, with a weird open space between them. A thick shelf runs waist high along every wall and is only disrupted by the permanently placed appliances. It's alright, but it could be better. There's another coffee machine plants on the edge of the counter

The camera follows Brendon to the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, he sees Ryan poke his head through the door. Fear runs it's course down his spine.

"This is the actual kitchen," he forces a smile, "and it's a lot better than the kitchenette. We have a real fridge, a stove, an island, and cabinets to store the rest of our non-perishables and a few more appliances."

"What's with the shelving?" Holly gestures for the camera to film the weird and arguably unnecessary addition to the room.

A million excuses run through Brendon's brain. He knows the real reason they're there, but that's also embarrassing. "The... the interior designer was on painkillers."

"In a hospital? That's wildly irresponsible."

"I mean where else were they supposed to get them?" Brendon purses his lips and goes quiet when nobody laughs but himself.

He takes the loss and moves on to the dining area. "These are the tables, obviously. We use them more for board games than eating or having a break. The one in the back corner is superglued together because some of us take games too far."

Ryan peeks around the corner again. Mischief gleams in his dark eyes.

As he disappears yet again, Brendon launches himself away from the tables and marches out the door. The crew follows him as he storms out and into the storage room. Blank walls are lined with metal blue lockers and a few file cabinets on the side, marked with names in sharpie. The only light in the room is cast from a few lightbulbs flickering in tandem on a cheap ceiling fixture.

"This is the storage room. We have assigned lockers to keep our belongings. All of us keep our own personal locks because someone likes to pull practical jokes." Brendon crosses his arms and goes to exit the room until Holly pulls him back.

"Hold on, could you show us what's inside the lockers? Yours, for example?"

The camera zooms in on the annoyance in Brendon's eyes. "Sure."

He crouched to squint at his lock in the absence of good lighting. As soon as the combination is entered and the lock is pulled away, the door bursts open and dozens upon dozens of colorful plastic balls flood the room. As soon as the tsunami stops, the camera focuses in on Brendon's belongings scattered across the room. His flip flops, backpack, sunglasses, phone chargers, everything. Everything but the cheesy 'hang in there' cat poster taped to the back of the locker.

Brendon closes his eyes and counts to ten under his breath. As he reaches four, he hears the unmistakable wheeze of laughter from the doorway. It's Ryan. He opens one eye and he sees the videographer turn to capture his whole team standing in the doorway, suppressing laughter.

"Happy first day of filming." Josh whispers. Brendon's left eye twitches.

🚑💨

Ryan slumps back in the chair underneath the window, chewing on his fingernail and grinning. His shirt is wrinkled and the buttons don't match up. The bags under his eyes could hold groceries.

"I dunno," he shrugs, "Brendon's a great guy. Just a little... uptight. I mean, he can't really be taking this seriously, right? You guys are gonna get bored with everyone and dip halfway through the season."

"Why would you say that?"

"You're filming a group of EMT's and paramedics in a small town in the middle of fuck-all. There's absolutely nothing interesting here. I guarantee it."

Chapter 2

Brendon shuts the ambulance door behind the videographer with a grin on his face that won't go away. It's the second official day of filming and the first time the camera will capture his team in action.

The back of the vehicle is set up and ready to go, as always. Everything is clean and in its place. The driver has the directions, the siren is blaring, and everyone is prepared for the situation at hand.

Brendon turns to the camera. "Easy call today. An elderly woman called and said she slipped and fell and can't get up."

A woman scoffs out of view. The camera quickly turns to film a blonde EMT, sitting on the floor and wearing sunglasses. She leans down to the microphone clipped to her shirt. "It's this bitch again. We know who she is."

Brendon's eyes widen significantly. They're filming. This will probably make it to the final cuts. "Taylor—"

"Listen, listen, mister cameraman. This grandma, every other week she calls the emergency dispatchers and says she slipped, and oh, she can't get up," she brings her hand to her cheek and breathlessly mocks the old woman's tone, "but she's lying. She does this shit all the time and we can't deny help in case she's being serious for once."

"She's a nice woman, Taylor. I think she just wants a little company." Brendon forced a laugh and reaches his foot over to nudge her harshly. She doesn't even flinch.

"No. She's in love with you and Ryan, and she likes my butt. Someone get Bertha a pet. A hamster for all I care, get her a hamster so she'll stop calling and give us a break. I'm tired of her feeling us up all the time. The operators hate her too."

Brendon starts sweating again. This is not what he had planned. "She doesn't feel us up. She's... she just a touchy person."

The camera focuses on his uncomfortable smile.

🚑💨

Taylor adjusts in the chair to scoot closer to the camera. She eases her sunglasses down her nose to stare into the lens with bloodshot eyes. "I may be hungover, but I know what it feels like to have an old woman named Bertha grab your ass while you pick her up off the bathroom floor."

Holly tenses. "Uh, maybe you should file a—"

"I'm not filing shit. Next time she touches where she shouldn't, I'm gonna—"

🚑💨

The videographer backs out of the ambulance first and follows Brendon and Taylor as they grab their equipment bags and march up the front steps of an offensively extravagant mansion. The garage could hold six cars, the exterior is modeled after a castle, and the intricate backyard fencing stretches all the way to a small horse stable.

Taylor eyes the camera as Brendon knocks on the door. She mimes a swift uppercut before he slaps her hands down.

"Don't joke about that." He hisses.

"I'm not joking."

"Don't do it."

They knock on the door twice but receive no answer. "She gave us permission to enter on arrival when she called, but I just like to make sure."

"What if she's bleeding out on the bathroom floor?" Taylor asks. It's less of a question and more of a cruel taunt as he turns the doorknob. "She could be dead."

"She's not dead." He insists as they enter the house. It's open but somehow very congested. The paintings on the wall condense the rooms along with the help of frivolous trinkets and expensive decor. There isn't a necessary item in sight. Not to mention the suffocating smell of 'old'.

"Miss Smith? Paramedics." Brendon's voice echoes through the room. They make their way to the kitchen and that's where they find her.

The camera stays back and films the kitchen island while Brendon and Taylor get to work.

"How are you?" Brendon asks. His uniform shuffles and overwhelms the microphone as he leans down to the floor.

A low sultry voice is picked up by the microphones. "Much better now that you're here."

Taylor lets out a deep sigh. "Miss Smith, are you injured? Can you describe the pain?"

"In my hip and lower back. I must've spilled water on the floor earlier and I guess I forgot to clean it up. I think something cracked."

The mood changes. Could it be first serious call she's made? "Does anywhere else hurt? We need to know before we try to move you to the stretcher."

"Oh, I think I could sit up, dear. Just help me a bit."

"Ma'am, I would advise you stay in your current position. We don't want to cause any further harm—"

"I've been awful sick lately," Miss Smith moans, "I fear that I'll get sick and choke."

The exasperation in Brendon's tone is clear. "Alright. Um, Taylor, if you help her up and I'll go get the stretcher?"

"Sure," her uniform shifts again as she moves to help support the old woman, "if you want to call the hospital and let them—"

The party falls silent — uncomfortably silent. There's not a single sound in the entire mansion.

Taylor stalks through the arch to the kitchen. Her face is twisted in annoyance as she continues out the door and into the passenger seat of the ambulance. The camera follows her and sits at the window until she rolls it down.

She lowers her head to stare into the lens over the top of her sunglasses. "I hate Bertha. I hate my parents for combining their genes to give me the greatest butt the world has ever seen. I hate my job."

The driver leans into view and nods. He's also wearing sunglasses and the roots of his dark hair disrupt the bleach at the ends.

She sees the camera tilt to capture him in the frame better and points to him over her shoulder. "Pete and I both hate it here. We're gonna quit together and then we're gonna open a paint-your-own-pottery studio that also serves hard liquor."

🚑💨

"We're gonna call it 'Painted and Wasted'." Pete says.

🚑💨

Ryan and Josh both frown when Holly tells them the name of Pete and Taylor's business idea.

"I can't believe they wouldn't include us in such a groundbreaking concept. Booze and pottery?" Ryan clenches his jaw and sits back in his chair in defeat and anger. "I would fund the shit out of that."

Josh looks to the microphone on his shirt. "I think it's a good idea."

🚑💨

In the back of the ambulance, Brendon lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. It's not a long journey back to the hospital, but it's a chore to re-sanitize everything. Nobody ever wants to do it, especially not in the heat of late July. If only the uniforms had a summer style.

Brendon sits up and slumps over himself. He looks defeated, like someone punched him in the gut and jacked his wallet. "That was boring, wasn't it?"

The camera shakes as the videographer disagrees. "It was interesting."

"Interesting means boring. That's what you say when you don't want to be mean."

"That's not at all what I meant. Maybe she didn't need help and this wasn't a real emergency, but you still treated Miss Smith with respect and care even though she kinda groped you and your teammate. And I can say this because we wouldn't put it into the video, we would probably cut when you sit up, but this scenario speaks volumes about who you are."

A slight smile tugs at Brendon's lips. "That's really nice of you to say. It means a lot. I feel a little better."

Taylor leans over the back of the passenger seat and snaps to grab Brendon's attention. "Aye. Brendon."

He swings his legs over the bed to look at her. "What?"

"Pete and I want McDonald's. Can we go? We'll pay for your order."

He turns to the cameraman and then back to Taylor and Pete. "A large sweet tea and two large orders of fries, please."

"Mister cameraman," Pete yells, "can we get you some lunch?"

"No thank you."

Taylor glares at the cameraman. "We'll get you... we'll get you a cheeseburger. And if you don't eat it the rest of your squad can."

"I'm lactose intolerant," the camera shifts down as he pleads his case, "if you're forcing it, no cheese."

"Got it. Cheeseburger with no cheese."

Brendon bites his cheek. "So a regular burger?"

"No. A cheeseburger with no cheese." She insists.

"Are we getting anyone else anything?"

"No." Pete says.

🚑💨

As Brendon sits in the back of the ambulance and sterilizes every piece of equipment again, Josh peers through the window and stares at him and the large McDonald's cup.

He puts his head down as he sits in the chair below the window. Holly clears her throat and points to the camera, practically begging Josh to comment.

"I can't believe they went to McDonald's without me." He sniffles.

Chapter 3

Brendon sits in front of the camera setup in the lounge. His stare is blank and his foot won't stop tapping. Taylor sits beside him, leaning on his shoulder as she sleeps.

"Could you fill us in on what we missed yesterday? And if you could include the question in the answer, that would be fantastic." Holly says gently. She knows he's tired, but filming doesn't stop.

He nods slowly, gaze still unfocused. "As, uh, as soon as the camera crew left, we got a call. It was two in the morning. Crazy house fire. We took two ambulances and the whole crew to administer emergency care to the family of six. Nobody died but there were a lot of severe burns and injuries."

"We should've sedated one or two of them or given them painkillers but we don't have the credentials or ability to do it. Only registered nurses can." Taylor mutters. Her eyes are still shut. "Blows, doesn't it? Felt really bad about it."

Brendon nods. "We explained our predicament to a few folks upstairs and they responded quickly. I guess someone was reviewing the patients we'd treated recently and there were a handful of scenarios where pain-relieving drugs should have been used. But like Taylor said, we aren't allowed to do that."

Silence follows. Holly clears her throat and glances back nervously to Claire and the cameraman. "So... what's the solution to this problem?"

Brendon's eyes focus again and he pinches the bridge of his nose. He can't deal with this. He's secure in the environment he has created and this solution would jeopardize it.

Holly pushes the question again.

"The solution to this problem," Brendon mumbles, "is the introduction of two registered nurses to our team."

🚑💨

"Brendon is taking some time to himself to cool down," Ryan says as he climbs to the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, "so we have to go on the call ourselves. Someone stepped on the sharp end of a paper clip."

Josh zips up his equipment bag and pulls out a chilled Red Bull. "For the record, I'm excited for new people. The more the merrier, right?"

Ryan stares at the energy drink, then at the camera, and then at Josh. "Oh shit. Where the hell did you get that?"

"I have a lot of things in my equipment bag." He pulls out a blu-ray edition of Die Hard, a Jesus candle, and a cup of instant ramen noodles.

"Nice. What else you got in there?"

Josh pulls the zipper open further and squints into it. "I have a bird in here somewhere that I use for magic... hold on..."

"That's actually kind of cool, man. Is it like, a dove?"

"...No. Uh, never mind, actually. Disregard the bird. Disregard the bird." Josh zips up his bag quickly and pushes it aside. He purses his lips and shoots Ryan a look.

"I see." Ryan mutters. He reciprocates the look and they both fall silent for a moment.

Josh leans over to see Pete, who's focused on driving for once. "Hey, Pete?"

"What's up?" He calls back.

"Where is the nearest cemetery? Or trash can?"

🚑💨

After having an hour to himself, Brendon finally sits down in the lounge in front of the camera. Torn between anger and anxiety, he's absolutely terrified.

"We live in a small town. We get very few calls a day, and it's very rare that we actually have emergencies. Of course they happen, but there's no reason why we have to include a registered nurse on every call. They could be working in the emergency room or something. We don't need them when Karen comes crying because she's racist and offended someone in a sandwich shop."

Claire raises her hand. "Did... did that really happen?"

"Yes," Brendon says, "and it took over an hour to resolve the situation. That's not the point, though. Why can't we just bring a registered nurse when we have the serious call?"

"How can you tell when a common call from a Karen could escalate and require intensive care?" The cameraman asks. "Isn't there always that possibility?"

"Yes, but this is also another pair of people we have to train and assimilate to the work environment. Being a paramedic or an EMT is not easy work. It's difficult and really stressful and I don't think I can handle directing even more people. And how is two people enough to cover day after day? Calls don't stop at two in the morning. And how old will they be? Do I have to deal with stubborn forty-year-old people? I'm twenty four. Older people don't respond well to anyone that's in a higher position and is younger than they are. This will throw off the whole dynamic."

"So going back to the shift thing, you think they should bring in more registered nurses?"

Brendon holds his breath. They've got him there. He sits for a minute, trying to find an adequate and educated response, but he can't. "Do... do you guys hate me?"

🚑💨

Josh and Pete high-five each other, grinning widely.

"I'm excited. More people to hang out with." Pete says.

"Yeah! It'll be so fun." Josh nods. "I hope one of them can cook. Like, cook real food. I'm really tired of eating Cheerios for every meal."

"We... we don't have Cheerios." Pete whispers. 

🚑💨

With the sunglasses off, Taylor's sparkling blue eyes convey her opinion on the situation perfectly. She rests her jaw on the curve of her fingers and smirks.

"I think it's a great idea. Nurses are hot. One of the guys I scammed for money used to be a RN." She says.

Holly squints at her, tongue in cheek. "You what?"

"Scammed him for money."

"You scammed an old man for his money?"

"I see an old privileged white man with money to burn and he sends me money in exchange for pictures of my elbows. What is so hard to understand about that?"

Claire steps forward to interrupt. "Sorry, I just have a quick question. Like the crook of your elbow or the outside of it? Or is it the whole elbow?"

"Depends on the day. I'll give you the website I use to find these schmucks." Taylor stands to go grab a piece of paper.

Holly and the cameraman stare at Claire in disbelief. She just shrugs and takes the paper when Taylor returns.

She looks into the lens and glances around to the disapproving looks. "I also sing and paint in my free time. But mostly I scam people. I think it's my special talent." 

Chapter 4

Everyone crowds on the couch as Brendon officially delivers the news. The camera crew stands away, beginning to distance themselves and try to disconnect from the natural flow of the workplace.

Brendon rocks back and forth on his heels, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. "Some of you have heard of our current predicament. Following the events last night, this is all moving really fast and it's okay to be nervous—"

"I'm good." Josh says. "I think we're all ready for some new people."

Ryan nods. He has Taylor's sunglasses and Pete's snapback hat. "It's boring when you have to pull pranks on the same group of people for two years. It's not even unexpected anymore."

Taylor rolls back against the couch to glare at Ryan from the opposite end. "The fake spiders aren't funny anymore."

"Are they still scary?"

"No."

"Can we stay on track please?" Brendon glances at the camera crew. He does not want to look like an unskilled fool on television. "They're actually arriving tomorrow morning. Everything was fast tracked because of the house fire."

Josh raises his hand even though he certainly doesn't need to. This is a democracy, dammit. "How are those people doing by the way? They were all stable when we passed them on to the emergency room folks."

"They're all going to make a full recovery with minimal injuries." He says. This earns a burst of pleased murmurs. Their first serious emergency call in over a week and they succeeded.

Brendon lets them celebrate amongst themselves for a minute while he cheers inwardly. The pride for his team is exhilarating and it shows in the sparkle of his dark brown eyes. This is the feeling he loves.

Ryan is the first to ask to move on. Brendon happily obliges. "Well, the two that will be joining us are registered nurses, but I don't know much else. Our issue was our inability to administer drugs and other substances, and they'll be joining us on the majority of our calls to make sure the proper procedures are followed and care is provided to the best of our ability."

"I have a question," Taylor fusses with her hair and twirls strands around her index finger, "do you know how old they are? Because, um, if I have to go on calls with people that are like twenty years older than I am, I will quit."

"So will I." Pete says. He meets Taylor's gaze and they wink at each other. Deep down, they'd both quit whether or not the RN's are older.

Brendon throws his hands up, exasperated. "I just said I don't know. Please don't quit over something as trivial as that."

Josh raises his hand again. "If we don't get Cheerios, I will also quit."

Pete turns to stare into the camera. He doesn't know what Josh has been eating and he never will.

Ryan follows suit with his own weird and irrelevant request. "I would like a dog in the lounge. Or a cat. Any animal except for snakes and fish."

"What about lizards or something equally scaly and gross?" Pete shudders at the mere thought of it. Not only are they terrifying, but their diet includes bugs and nobody wants to sprinkle those into a glass container. It's disgusting and the risk of spilling the cup of bugs is way too high.

"No snakes." Taylor grunts. "Only cats. Maybe dogs."

"We aren't getting any pets. How did we even get to this topic?" Brendon runs a hand through his hair. Their ability to draw away from an important matter will always impress him.

"We're really great at procrastinating."

"No, you guys are not. Regardless, I said they'll be here tomorrow morning. This place is a dump. We need a better couch, more furniture, and food. Good food. And a lamp for the storage room or something." Brendon continues listing items on his hands until he runs out of fingers.

The team knows what this means. Whoever goes to retrieve the new furniture and food will be exempt from deep cleaning every room.

Taylor and Ryan stand up immediately. "We'll go shopping," Taylor blurts, "you can clock us out if you want. We'll go shopping off the clock."

Ryan nods. Anything to get out of cleaning is worth it. The last time he got stuck with a vacuum, they had to get rid of the curtains. "Yep. We'll go. Whatever you need, we'll get it."

Brendon is absolutely oblivious to the desire to skip cleaning day amongst his team. He's never had a vendetta against cleaning before; in fact, he almost finds it therapeutic. Nobody else does. "Okay. That works. I'll write out a list and you guys can go."

🚑💨

The camera focuses on Brendon writing a list on the shelving in the lounge, then swings to Taylor and Ryan sharing the chair below the window in the second room.

"I got stuck doing cleaning once." Taylor high-fives her shopping partner. "Josh spilled half a bottle of bleach on the floor and I stepped in it and ruined my shoes."

"And I ruined the curtains." Ryan adds.

Claire glances into the lounge. "There aren't any curtains."

"Yeah."

🚑💨

In the middle of GoodWill, Taylor spots the camera crew filming her and Ryan from a few aisles over. She grins and waves them over to her cart.

The cart is filled with weird furniture marked with drastically discounted price tags. The one exception is a set of little bean bag chairs.

"Ryan and I can't shop to save our lives. I know we shouldn't have volunteered to spruce up the lounge, but we couldn't help ourselves." She explains and gestures wildly to the chaos of the store.

The camera moves to the cart again, begging for the contents to be put into context.

She digs into the basket and pulls out a thick chess board. The board slides off to reveal the storage compartment for the pieces. "Take this, for example. The pieces are the gold and silver people snapped off the tops of sports participation trophies. The king is a broken earbud wrapped in tinfoil. Art."

The cameraman frowns. He lets the camera off his shoulder to zoom into the rest of the garbage in the cart. There's so much shit, the lens can't decide what to focus on.

Ryan comes jogging into frame with a painting in his grip. It's slightly larger than a piece of paper. "This painting is two dollars and it was painted by two rats." He turns it around to showcase the description sticker glued to the canvas. "Very modern."

"I like that. Add it to the cart." She says as he tosses it into the pile of junk. "Now we need lamps or light fixtures."

Ryan scans the store quickly, searching the tops of the shelves for anything appealing. Suddenly, his eyes light up and he points to the very back corner of the store, to the highest shelf in the store.

The camera zeroes in on a hot pink lamp modeled after a curvy pole dancer.

Taylor audibly gasps. Her ocean blue eyes fill with tears as soon as she spots it. It must be hers. It must be displayed in the lounge for all to see and appreciate. "It's perfect."

Ryan turns around just in time to grab the attention of an unlucky employee. "Excuse me," he points to the cursed lamp, "do you think you could get that down for us? We'd like to buy it."

The employee follows his arm and then stares at his uniform shirt, absolutions disgusted at his desire to own such an atrocity. "Sorry," she says, "it's not for sale. I can point you in the direction of our other light fixtures if you'd like."

"How sure are you that it isn't for sale?" Taylor asks. The need to hold it in her hands is consuming her.

The employee shrugs. "It's on the high shelves. The items up there are for decoration, not for purchase."

"You put up a stripper lamp for decoration?"

"Well, what else would you use it for?"

"A table centerpiece or religious figure." Taylor growls. "Mind your business. Can you get it for us or not? I'll give you twenty bucks."

"It's not for sale, ma'am. I'm sorry." The employee is not sorry, no matter how many times she says it. She hides one last look of disgust as she pushes past the cameraman and on to her previous tasks. She leaves disappointment in her absence.

Taylor and Ryan stare at the stripper lamp. They need it. They have to have it. It's the only decoration any space could ever need.

They disperse at the speed of light and get lost in the shelves and racks of clothes like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.

The camera can't keep up with each of them. Ryan slithers into the toy section while Taylor infiltrates the light fixtures. Taylor is finished the fastest and she's the one to sprint to the crafts section and waits by the registers after snatching her final item. Ryan joins her soon after with the cart and a blonde Barbie doll.

Neither of them so much as glance at the camera while they check out and pay, then promptly leave GoodWill.

🚑💨

The camera zooms in on the passenger side of Ryan's car. He holds the lamp while Taylor tapes the provocatively posed Barbie onto the base.

Ryan sees the camera and waves. He pushes a button on his door and the passenger window rolls down. They both hold up the lamp triumphantly.

"I think it's cheaper than the actual lamp. And it's made with love."

🚑💨

Taylor knocks on the door to the storage room with the box of Cheerios in her hand. She slowly opens the door to find Josh scrubbing down the front of the lockers.

"Hey," she kicks the door open wider to let in more light, "I brought you the cereal you wanted."

Josh's eyes light up instantly. He sets down his scrubber brush and peels off the gloves to take the box from her. "Oh shit. Thanks, Taylor!"

He rips it open immediately and both Taylor and the camera crew stick around to hear his final thoughts.

Josh scoops up a small handful and dumps it in his mouth. He has absolutely no emotion on his face as he chews and swallows. He doesn't say a word or move a muscle as he processes the taste. If Holly didn't know better, she'd think they were filming a horror movie.

"He's buffering." Taylor whispers. "Give him a second."

When Josh finally moves again, disappointment reigns his expression. "It's good. It doesn't taste as good as the thing I was eating before, though."

"Huh. Well, that sucks. Sorry, man. I hope these are a decent replacement."

He shrugs and munches another handful. "It's alright. These are okay."

🚑💨

Taylor watches the doorway to the kitchen as Ryan shuffles around in the cabinets. She doesn't do a very good job at keeping watch for the crew.

The camera films Ryan sprinkling bits of dog food the size of Cheerios into the fresh bag of cereal.

🚑💨

Taylor shrugs. "I said Ryan's fake spiders weren't funny. Never said a word about the dog food in the Cheerios."

Chapter 5

Pete sits on the curb where one of the ambulances is missing. A cigarette dusts ash on the floor as it burns between his fingertips.

He looks up to the camera watching him from across the lot and brings the microphone on his shirt closer to his face.

"I don't know how they left without their driver but they did. I don't know who the fuck is driving either."

Holly makes a note to find more people to operate cameras, and to get go-pros to stick in the ambulances and around their lounge spaces.

🚑💨

"Taylor, Josh, and Ryan are out on a call." Brendon picks at the rubber soles of his shoes while he sits in the chair below the window. He's nervous and slightly sweaty. "Pete is hanging out outside. They forgot him again. I don't know who's driving but I hope I don't have to file a report."

The crew stays silent. They know he's stressed out and could probably talk for hours about his concerns. They choose to let his thought process flow naturally to the camera.

"I think... I think if I had more control over the actions of my coworkers, I'd be more secure in the change. They're wonderful people and they do their job well, but they act like kids sometimes. I feel like an adult all the time. I don't know if I could handle having two more chaotic children bickering and pulling stupid pranks."

He looks to the camera like it could solve all his problems. He knows the cameraman can't reassure him again. They're not supposed to interact and disrupt the work environment unless there's a dire emergency.

"I... I got an invitation to a wedding yesterday. My two friends from high school are getting married. I have two weeks to RSVP. I know I could just go on my own, but that would suck. I think if I was romantically interested in anybody I would ask them, but the last time that happened was when I was a sophomore in high school. And now I have to deal with feeling like shit because I'm single and dealing with two RN's."

Pete knocks on the door to the second lounge. Without any invite, he enters and puts his hands on his hips. "It's my turn for therapy. Go wait for the RN's."

Brendon goes slack-jawed. "I'm... I'm not treating this like therapy?"

"Yeah you are," Pete walks over and tries to scoot him off the chair. "I was reading your lips in the window. I'll go to the wedding with you, man."

"Please don't." Brendon sighs and forfeits his seat. It's barely nine in the morning, and the RN's shouldn't be around until ten. He has plenty of time.

Pete waves to him as he leaves the room. He sits down like he's been walking for days. "Do you guys have any idea how dating apps work? I need some serious help." He says.

🚑💨

At ten, Brendon stands anxiously by the door to the lounge. From his position, it's a straight shot and a turn to the emergency room, which is where the RN's are supposed to be coming from.

The cameraman stands a few feet away from Brendon, at the right angle to catch his face and the new faces. It's also the right angle to see the fear in his eyes and the nervous sweat.

"I think I'm gonna shit my pants." Brendon whispers. The cameraman knows he can't do much to ease his anxiety but he gives him a thumbs up.

They wait for what feels like hours, but barely five more minutes pass until the door at the other end of the hall opens and shuts and two voices echo around the blank walls. It's a man and a woman, thank goodness. Taylor won't be alone anymore.

The exact second they turn the corner, Brendon is absolutely, inexplicably, overwhelmingly, incomprehensibly, star struck.

With one hand in the pocket of his spotless blue scrubs, the other animatedly tells his story to the woman. He walks with such an overwhelming confidence that Brendon buckles at the knees and all the bones in his body melt like he's submerged in lava. Every perfectly messy strand of dark hair and every streak of sparkling pigment in his blue eyes kicks off the alarms in Brendon's brain. This is what angels look like. He wants to frame the piece of gum in that man's mouth and hang it beside the Mona Lisa in the Louvre.

Not a single breath escapes Brendon's lungs when they stand in front of him. Maybe the words will never come out. He'll be speechless forever.

The woman glances to the camera and smiles warmly, then turns to Brendon and holds out her hand. Her nails are perfectly manicured. "I'm Hayley Williams, one of the two RN's that'll be joining you and your team of EMT's. You must be Brendon?"

He nods. The neurons in his head fire nothing but television static and hearts. Somehow, he convinced him to shake her hand and then hold it out to the god standing beside her.

"Dallon Weekes," he says, "the other RN. It's real nice to meet you."

The words barely come out of Brendon's mouth. "Nice to meet you too." He glances into the camera with wide eyes and then steps aside to gesture to the door. "Let's get started with the... the training."

Dallon takes a step back to allow Hayley to go first. "Sounds good." He says.

As they enter, Brendon picks up his mic to whisper into it. "I'll give you twenty bucks to get rid of that stupid fucking lamp in the next five minutes."

🚑💨

"I would've allowed the lamp to stay if I didn't risk looking like an immature idiot." Brendon says.

🚑💨

Taylor jumps out the back of the ambulance, slinging her bag over her shoulder and chugging a cold Red Bull from Josh's equipment bag. As soon as she nears the camera, she stops and crunches the empty can in her bare hands. "I'm five minutes away from quitting. If the RN's aren't hot, I'm out."

Ryan and Josh hop out one after the other. They're covered in splotches and chunks of colorful paint. Their uniforms are spotted and the skin dotted with paint is also beginning to bruise.

Ryan takes one look at the camera and stalks inside. He's pissed. Nobody even tries to follow after him.

Josh sees the camera and stops for the cameraman, less pissed but still annoyed. "We were called out to a retail store because someone cut themselves on a broken window. Turns out the window had shattered because some punk kids had paint ball guns and an intention to vandalize."

Holly and Claire gasp. "Oh my god. Are you guys okay?"

Josh shrugs. "Some are better than others. I really think you guys should invest in another cameraman. That would've been a good scene in the documentary."

Holly nods. "I agree. Got any recommendations?"

She asked as a joke, but Josh digs in his magic bag and pulls out a small stack of business cards. He passes one to each of the crew. "He's at the small college a town over, studying film and photography. He's actually really good at what he does.  You should check him out."

Holly takes the card. She's intrigued and curious as to whether or not this guy is good. Experience was all she could've asked for during her time at college.

She glances to Claire and the cameraman. They both shrug, an invitation to look into it better.

"Thanks Josh. I think I will check out..." she squints to read the name on the card again from a distance, "...Patrick Stump."

🚑💨

The second Taylor steps into the lounge, her jaw drops. Not only are the two new RN's not old and weird, but the lamp she made with Ryan is gone. It's not on the table beside the couch.

She turns to Brendon and points an accusatory finger at him. He's stunned, but also knows what's coming. Not here, kit now, now while the towers of respect are still in construction.

"You," she hisses, "I'll address you in a second."

She turns to Dallon and Hayley, who are both confused and slightly in shock. "First of all, I hate you both for making me stay."

She turns back to Brendon. "Second of all, where's my fucking homemade Barbie stripper lamp?!"

Ryan pushes in behind her just as he hears the title of their creation. He looks to the side table and gasps. "Where's the lamp?"

Brendon's hand clenches the pen hovering above some of the legal papers. "I think we should talk about it later."

"I want to talk about this now," Taylor growls as Josh jogs into the lounge as well, "where the fuck did you put the lamp?"

"Nowhere. I didn't touch your stupid lamp."

"Yes you did! You've been trying to toss it ever since Ryan and I brought it back."

Hayley can't help but smile. "Well, now I've gotta see this homemade Barbie stripper lamp." She pushes herself out of the chair and walks with her hands on her hips towards the other EMT's. "Where'd you put it?"

Brendon clenches his jaw. The whole respectful hierarchy he'd created was about to come crashing down. "I didn't touch it."

"Did you burn it? Did you roast marshmallows over it in the parking lot?!" Taylor raises her voice as the whereabouts of the lamp become hazier. "Where is it?"

"I didn't touch it."

"Where is it?!"

Brendon looks into the camera, frustrated beyond explanation. He lets out a deep sigh. "Dumpster."

Everyone turns and bolts after Taylor and Ryan until it's just Brendon and Dallon left. The crew stays behind and films quietly through the window.

"I'm really sorry about that." Brendon mutters. "It's really unprofessional."

"You're right, it is." Dallon says. He hadn't smiled even once throughout the whole exchange and he didn't show any signs of freely enjoying the scene when everyone was had left. "A homemade Barbie stripper lamp?"

He shrugs. "I let them go out for supplies and that's one of the things they brought back. Bought it with their own money. I tried to ask them to keep it somewhere else, but everyone refused."

The new RN grunts in disapproval. "I think you should've stood up for yourself. You are in control after all."

"Yeah, I know. The job is tough sometimes so I guess whatever makes them happy—"

"What makes them happy is a direct and negative factor in a professional work environment. In my opinion, an inappropriate lamp wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the premises."

Brendon shuts his mouth and nods politely. He points to the bottom of one of the documents. "Sign here, please."

🚑💨

Brendon puts his head in his hands and relaxes back against the windowsill in the second lounge. "He's definitely the most attractive person I've ever seen with my own two eyes, but he probably already thinks I'm stupid, lazy, and an absolute pushover."

Holly and Claire share sympathetic looks. They aren't really allowed to intervene anymore, and that includes consoling people. They stay silent and hope their expressions can ease his conscience.

He lets his hands drop to his side. "I am such a fool."

🚑💨

Dallon and Hayley stare at the camera setup together. He points to the curtain-less window behind them. "Doesn't this skew the exposure?"

The cameraman shakes his head. "We focus on the folks in the chairs, not what's outside. Not that there's much to see anyways."

Holly shuffles the papers on her lap. Of course intervening with the natural flow of the workspace was specifically not allowed, but the new RN's knew very little about what they were doing and probably needed a bit of guidance and reassurance. "Just tell us a bit about yourselves, okay? No pressure."

Dallon turns to Hayley and lets her speak first.

She sits up a little straighter and fixes her scrubs. "I'm Hayley Williams. I'm twenty-six, and I've been a registered nurse for about three years. I have two cats and a dog, I dye my hair temporarily every time I'm off of work, and I want to make more money. My dream is to live on a beachfront property in the Bahamas." She nudges her friend.

He sighs and seems to slump back, like he doesn't want to be there. "I'm Dallon Weekes. I'm twenty-seven and I've been a registered nurse for about five years."

Holly motions for him to elaborate.

"That's all." He says. "This a workplace documentary, not a personal anecdote movie."

Claire and Holly share another look. Despite his award-winning features, he's cold and appears to be unlikable. It'll be hard to convince him to open up so the documentary doesn't fall cold at the hands of one emotionally distant person. "Alright. You can go. Miss Williams, if you could stay?"

"Sure thing," she says and fist-bumps Dallon as he goes to relax in the lounge, "what's up?"

Holly points to the camera lens. "Could you tell us a little more about your friend?"

She nods. "Just as long as you don't tell him I'm doing this. I think he'd kill me."

The crew swears on it. The documentary wouldn't be released for months, maybe even a year from then.

Hayley clears her throat and adjusts her clothes again. "Dallon's really cold. Like, emotionally, if you couldn't tell, and also physically. Like his body temperature is barely higher than ninety-six degrees."

The crew frowns. They have no idea if that's good or bad.

"Hypothermia starts to kick in after your body temperature goes below ninety-five degrees."

"It's a good thing it doesn't get too cold here." Claire laughs uncomfortably but nobody else does.

"Anyways, he takes his job seriously and does not like to mess around. Once you get to know him, he's alright. It just takes a long time for him to warm up to anybody, literally. We've been pals for three years and I've barely seen his apartment. House? Rental? I don't know."

Holly nods. It's going to be difficult to stop him from ruining the chaos that makes the work environment fun and entertaining. "Alright, thank you very much. You can go as well."

🚑💨

Taylor and Ryan sit together with the lamp in between them. The lamp shade is slightly stained with leftovers and Barbie looks like she was hit by a truck.

"What do I think of the new people?" Taylor asks. "I think Hayley is cool. The other guy is intimidating. I bet we could scare him away."

Ryan nods. "I'm already planning what we're gonna do to him. It'll be an Armageddon."

🚑💨

Brendon sits on the floor and screams his frustrations out into a pillow from the storage room.

Chapter 6

Ryan squints at the camera, explicitly trying not to look at Dallon as he inspects the contents of the ambulance. It hasn't been very long since they met, but he's terrifying and overly professional. Josh doesn't like him either, and he watches from the very back of the vehicle, hanging out near the door.

The ride is awkward and jaded in silence. Nobody is comfortable enough to speak. Normally, Ryan would be playing a game with Josh's bottomless equipment bag.

Ryan and Josh keep steady eye contact when Dallon turns around to face them both. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he watches them.

As the ambulance mows over a speed bump, Ryan notices that Josh doesn't move. He stays in the exact same spot despite being jostled by the road. When he cranes his neck to see what Josh is hanging on to, he's shocked. "Dude. Your hand."

Dallon's attention is piqued. He leans over to see what Josh is doing and his eyes widen at the site. "Are you okay?"

Josh nods. His cheeks flush red.

"Your fingers are stuck in the door!" Ryan gets up to help him but he's held an arms length away.

"It's fine," Josh says, void of all emotion, "I can't even feel it anymore."

"Why wouldn't you say something?! We would've stopped to help ten minutes ago—"

"I was too nervous to say anything, okay? Don't worry about it."

🚑💨

Josh shrugs as he holds the ice pack to his fingers. Their call wasn't dire, just a possible concussion. "He's just scary. I don't know what to tell you. I feel like he'd beat me up if I looked at him funny. Like high school. This is like high school all over again."

🚑💨

"What do I think of Josh and Ryan?" Dallon scoffs. He kicks his shoe up to the edge of the chair to tie it. "This is... this is inconsequential, don't you think? Shouldn't you be focused on the calls and actual medical business rather than personal lives and opinions?"

Holly is beyond frustrated with him. The audience will hate him, no doubt about it. "We want the viewers to like the people they see on screen and feel like they know them. That way they'll keep watching and become invested."

He smirks. What a cheesy money-grab. "Alright. I'll tell you what I think about Josh and Ryan. I think if they applied themselves and took this job seriously, they might go somewhere. The same goes for everyone but that Brendon guy."

"What do you think about Brendon then?"

"I think he should quit. He clearly isn't fit to lead a team. For gods sake, he's only twenty-four."

🚑💨

Taylor stands at the kitchen counter, trying to speak to the camera in between bites of spaghetti. "While I was passing my exams to become an EMT, I actually worked at a dive bar on the east side. How did I do it, you ask?"

She sets her plate down and walks over to showcase the coffee machine on the edge of the counter. "An endless stream of alcohol. I'm an expert in all types of alcohol. You name it, I can make it."

Josh sits in the corner of the kitchen, hovering over a box of Chinese takeout. "All types of alcohol?"

"All types." She repeats. "If we were legally allowed to have some on the clock, I'd make something."

Josh checks his watch. Then he glances above the refrigerator to stare at the clock. "My shift is over at six o'clock."

"In the morning or evening?"

"Morning. Tomorrow morning. I'll bring whatever you need for you to make me the best drink of all time."

Taylor stares down the camera crew. Would they risk ratting her out for a gold segment on an otherwise boring documentary? "Alright Josh." She says. "I'll make you a list. You can't cut corners on the brands either. It won't taste as good."

"Is it expensive?"

"Everything is expensive. Our society runs on capitalism. Whatever is on the list will ease the pain of existence."

🚑💨

Hayley stays quiet while Pete passes out on her shoulder. There's something soothing in the rise and fall of her shoulders as she knits little sweaters with metal rods. She looks at the camera every now and then, hoping they'd lose interest.

She gives up on acting disinterested about fifteen minutes in. She lifts her shoulder while continuing to knit and speaks into the mic. "Is there really nothing better to film around here?"

The cameraman shakes his head. Everyone is sterilizing the ambulances, per Brendon's orders. The only people exempt are Pete, Hayley, and Dallon. The latter is nowhere to be found.

"Hm." She purses her lips and continues. "I guess that's what you get for choosing the film at probably the smallest hospital in the world."

"Do tell why you and the scariest person in the world both chose to be employed here of all places." Pete mutters. He's also not a fan of the other RN.

Hayley stops knitting. Her work stays suspended in front of her as she thinks. "Well, I grew up here. There's not much that happens around these parts anyways, so it's a moderately easy job. Challenges tend to present themselves in an easily-approachable and fixable manner."

"I don't remember asking for a college essay."

"Smaller stream of challenging and overwhelming work near hometown." She smacks him on the forehead with her craft. "I don't know about Dallon. Ask him yourself."

Pete grunts. "He's not exactly an approachable person."

The door the lounge hits the wall and speak of the devil, it's the least approachable person in the world. He looks less than thrilled to be alive and hanging out in a musty lounge with EMT's instead of with other qualified and registered nurses. Any glimmer of emotion on his face falls as soon as he enters.

"I thought everyone was outside." His hand lingers on the door in case he needs to make a quick getaway.

Hayley picks up her knitting again. "Everyone that used the back of the ambulance is outside. Pete just drives, and neither of us contaminated anything."

"They've been out there for an hour."

Through the blinds on the window, Ryan peels a dozen bandages off his face and Josh climbs to the roof of the vehicle. It'll be another hour before they're done with the first vehicle.

"You underestimate their ability to screw around." Pete says.

Dallon lets go of the door to cross his arms and lean against it. "Is that all you do around here then? That shit would get somebody killed in the emergency room."

"This isn't the emergency room. You see that lamp?" Pete vaguely gestures to the homemade Barbie stripper lamp that had been glued to the table. "That shit would not fly in the emergency room."

"You're right. It wouldn't. I don't understand why it does here."

Hayley doesn't even look up from her project. "Dallon, you've seen our break room. It's a mess. We have banners up from last Halloween. It's the same thing, they just have a bigger space and more time to relax. Stop being such a... such a sour puss."

"I think the bowl of Halloween candy is a health hazard."

Pete sits up immediately, wide awake. "You still have Halloween candy in the E.R. break room?"

Dallon takes a step forward and allows his escape route to slam shut. Pete's interest was not piqued out of disgust. "It's a health hazard."

"I work with two registered nurses and a whole crew of paramedics and EMT's. I think I'd survive if I were to almost die." Pete jumps off the couch and pulls Hayley along with him to the door. "Don't go anywhere. We'll be right back."

Before he can catch the door to stop them from leaving, they're already racing down the hallway and rounding the corner. The cameraman uncomfortably turns to the only person left in the room.

Dallon shrugs and spins on his heels to go kick back on the couch. "I'll leave when they get back." He says.

🚑💨

Taylor expertly feigns a stomachache when a lone call comes in and the majority of the team answers. Dallon stays behind, twiddling his thumbs in the lounge while Ryan fucks around in the storage room.

Josh waits until the RN's back is turned away from the window before he sneaks into the kitchen with a plastic bag of various snacks and drinks. As soon as he's hidden and out of sight, Taylor speeds down the hall and follows him. Dallon barely notices the crew sneaking in as well.

Taylor pulls a pitcher out from one of the cabinets as Josh unloads his poison. In total, he slides her five bottles and a small stack of lidded plastic cups.

"It's called a brain hemorrhage." She says. Two bottles of straight peach vodka settle into the pitcher and she grabs a spoon to slowly drip in a bottle of Irish cream. As the two layers remain separated, she drizzles in blue curaçao and cherry grenadine. The liquids mixing through the Irish cream and and settling in the vodka eerily mimics the appearance of clumped veins and arteries.

Josh's face pales. "I know I'm an EMT, but if I drink that I will puke."

She swirls the spoon around until the drink is one homogeneous sickly brown. "It's, like, two-thirds vodka so you have to be cautious."

"Does it taste like alcohol?"

"Not unless you know it's there."

"What does it taste like?"

She grabs one of the cups and hands another to Josh. "Like a racist and unseasoned white person tried to make horchata based off visuals and racist prejudices." She pauses. "But it's still kinda good."

The door eases open and in walks the devil himself, Dallon. Taylor and Josh duck behind the counter instinctively, out of sight and out of mind.

Dallon waves to the cameraman. "Hey. Just looking for something to eat."

The cameraman steps back and stays absolutely silent while he grabs a cup and dunks it right into the brain hemorrhage. He takes a full cup, snaps on the lid, and heads back to the lounge.

Slowly, Taylor and Josh stand up. The look of sheer unfiltered horror on their faces is unmatched.

🚑💨

Dallon marches outside and hands the cup directly to Ryan.

🚑💨

"I saw them make it. I'm not stupid." Dallon says. He leans back against the windowsill in the second lounge room. "I think Ryan is though."

Chapter 7

Josh lights up when a second camera walks into the lounge. He waves at his friend, Patrick, and smiles widely. "Oh shit, look who got the job!"

A thumbs up enters the frame and Josh reciprocates. He may be tired and absolutely exhausted, but he can be happy for his friend.

🚑💨

Patrick sits in the second lounge in front of the camera for what will probably be his last segment in the documentary. He fidgets with the buttons on the camera and shrugs. "I met Josh a few years ago when I had a part time job at a coffee shop. He's really talkative."

Holly nods. Sounds like Josh. "Are you guys close?"

"Oh, not really," he frowns, "we exchanged phone numbers and we follow each other on Twitter. That's about it. I was actually really surprised when he called me to tell me about this job. We hadn't really talked for a while. It's nice that I was one of the first people he thought of."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I didn't think he remembered who I was much less my interests and my name. I'm also shocked he kept my business cards. That thing is so old. I got rid of them years ago." He smiles. "Josh is a nice guy."

🚑💨

Taylor and Ryan lean over his cellphone in the back of the ambulance while Hayley watches from the seat in the corner. Not a single swerve Pete hits has any effect on their Tik-Tok viewing.

Hayley shrugs at the camera. "What're you two watching?"

"Tik-Tok." Taylor mumbles. She's entranced. "The renegade dance looks so difficult to learn."

"It does not." Ryan says. He sets his phone down and tries to replicate part of the sequence, but it just looks like he's having a muscle spasm.

"Oh really?" Taylor raises an eyebrow.

"I take it back."

Hayley clenches her jaw and folds her arms over her lap as Pete hangs around a corner way too quickly again. This is not definitely where she expected to be at this point in her career.

🚑💨

Brendon proudly stands in front of a small team of mechanics drilling into the wall of the lounge. They're huddled around so close near the couch, someone's sure to get drilled through sooner than later.

He picks up his microphone so they can hear him over the tools. "They're putting in a landline-style phone so we can have direct contact to the emergency operators."

The cameraman focuses the lens on Brendon's belt, where a walkie-talkie sits on his belt for that exact purpose. Maybe he should have a cellphone instead, but that sounds more like a funding issue.

"The landline phones will make it easier to contact us. They already installed one in the storage room and the kitchen." He points out the window to the other clusters of workers huddled near the windows. The door to the storage room swings open and a man steps out backwards, juggling at least ten feet of wires and cables that had been accidentally pulled from the wall. The room is ruined, no doubt.

Dallon walks past the mess, hands in his pocket, and nudges through the door into the lounge. His indifferent expression falls to irritation when he realizes the work doesn't stop in the hall. "Tell me what's going on."

"Direct phone lines to the emergency operators."

"That's stupid and a waste of money. Your team functions fine with your phone." Dallon points to Brendon's belt. "You're just going to give everybody here the ability to contact emergency operators whenever they choose?"

"Yes."

"Abuse of power much?"

Brendon purses his lips and stands a little straighter, shoving his hands into his pockets to size up against the stick-in-the-mud in front of him. "Well, first of all, it wasn't my decision. Second of all, what's wrong with having direct contact to the operators? What happens if my phone breaks and nobody can reach us? We just sit around and wait?"

"One cellphone for you, one landline phone for your office."

"I... I don't have an office." Brendon shuffles his feet.

"Yep. You don't have an office. Don't you think it's interesting that you lead this team day in and day out, but you don't have a personal space?" Dallon is excruciatingly tall and overwhelming to speak to when he's teetering on the brink of anger. He clasps his hands behind his back and looms over Brendon. "You're on top, but you choose to be treated like you're not."

"I don't need a personal office space. I may lead the team but an office would imply that I'm above them and I assure you, our strengths and weaknesses do not insinuate a hierarchy. There are no levels in my department."

"What's a team without a little hierarchy? A sad little tag team that can't get the job done because they lack a coherent leader? A bunch of rug rats trying to figure it out as they go?"

Brendon so desperately wants the argument to end. Standing your ground is exhausting. "Clearly you've never been part of a team that doesn't rely on a complex of fear and superiority."

The drilling and wire-pulling stops. The workers in the lounge pause their jobs to quietly listen in. Their argument is so loud, the even people in the hallway pause.

Dallon grits his teeth. "Clearly you've never been part of a team with structure."

"My team does have structure. You're so against it, you just can't see it."

"A structure that can and will crumble in the slightest fucking breeze."

Neither of them can find another word to spit at each other. They stand inches apart, fuming and spilling smoke from their ears. It feels like the whole floor stopped to witness their disagreement. Josh and Hayley peer out from the kitchen, muddy cups of Taylor's brain hemorrhage drink in hand.

"Why don't you just quit?" Brendon mutters.

"Maybe I should." Dallon takes overly confident steps back, unclasping his hands from behind him and gesturing to the mess of a lounge.

He turns around and sees the audience they've gathered. Everyone is so caught up, nobody looks away.

"Maybe I will." Dallon slams the door open and sticks his hands in his pockets as it rattles shut behind him. He turns the corner out to the emergency room and doesn't even look back.

As business resumes, Brendon lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He bites his lip and zones out for a second. He can't believe that conversation actually happened.

"Well," he drawls, "he's still hot."

🚑💨

Taylor and Ryan stand beside Josh in the lounge as they try to catch a glimpse of Brendon hanging around the last of the workers in the storage room. They'd only heard about the final bit of the argument, the part that Hayley and Josh had listened in for.

"He might snap," Ryan whispers, face pressed against the window, "I'm sure he will."

"Maybe he's teetering on the edge of sanity. Like he's hanging on by a thread and someone needs to snip it." Taylor glares at his visible absence. She wants to see him and make fun of him more than anything.

Ryan's mental list of his pranks fails. He can't remember what he had already set up and what is still pending. Taylor smushes her face against the glass and watches the dusty cogs turn in his spiderweb-ridden brain.

She glances at the camera out of her peripheral vision. "He's buffering."

After a minute of silence, Ryan speaks. "I've been too busy to set any booby traps."

"Haha," Josh grins, "booby."

"Shut up." Taylor snaps. "Someone needs to fuck with him to send him over the edge."

All eyes turn to Josh. He doesn't notice until he sees the camera tilt in his direction. His cheeks flush red instantly. "I'm not the smart one! Choose Ryan! He's the annoying one."

"I'm the annoying one? At least I can tell the difference between a toad and a frog."

"Why would anyone ever need to know the difference?!"

"Why wouldn't they? I think—"

"Girls, please," Taylor shakes both of them out of the argument and directs their attention to Brendon. "You're both pretty. We have ulterior motives here that are much more important than arguing about who's more annoying."

Ryan frowns. "I don't think you know what 'ulterior' means and what context it should be used in."

"Yes I do."

"An ulterior motive is a secondary motive. We only have one—"

"Whatever. That doesn't matter." She points to Brendon through the glass. "I have an idea."

Josh's eyes light up. "I have an idea too! Let's share ideas. I'll go first. We superglue your lamp to the table."

Taylor and Ryan share a confused look. Of course that's a good idea, but Brendon would know it was them right away. They'd be busted immediately. The perfect way to screw around with him is to do it subtly and slowly, in a way that will drive him to insanity.

"We'll consider it." She says. "Now, consider this..."

🚑💨

Brendon doesn't see Taylor and Ryan escape through the window in the lounge when the phone installation crew leaves and he's able to test the new devices for the camera. He holds the door to the kitchen open and picks the phone off the receiver, placed conveniently beside the door frame.

"All the phones in our rooms will ring when the dispatchers call. They dial us and we can dial them, but I'm not going to tell anyone we can." He smiles like a gun is being held to his head. "They will use it for chaos if they know."

He nods to himself and taps in the number for the dispatcher. It rings off key two times before someone picks up. It's silent until Brendon mutters "hello?"

"911, what's your emergency?"

His face pales. "Oh, no, no. There's no emergency, I just—"

"Sir, this line is for emergencies only. I'm going to disconnect."

"No, hold on! This is Brendon, the paramedic from earlier. This is Tyler, right?"

"...Yes." Tyler sighs. "I thought your phones were unable to dial us." 

"Haha, I did too. Just testing them out. Crazy, right? Crazy how they can do that." He forces a laugh but it's not reciprocated.

"...Yeah, okay." Quick taps on a keyboard zip through the speaker. "I must ask that you don't call again unless there's an emergency. However, this line and the others will be filed with caller identification. If any emergency does come up, we'll know it's you."

"Okay. That sounds good. I, uh, I'm really sorry to bother you."

"Mhm. You shouldn't be apologizing to me. Apologize to the person that called seconds after you and had to be transferred to someone else."

Silence ensues. A very awkward and long-standing silence.

Brendon clears his throat and stares at his shoes to avoid the glare of the camera. "Okay Tyler. Have a nice day."

The line cuts off immediately, leaving Brendon to bite his lip and hang the phone back up in shame. He wipes the sweaty palms of his hands on his pants and leans against the door frame like that didn't just happen.

"I know Tyler. Usually he's in a better mood." He purses his lips. "Not today, I guess."

🚑💨

"I'm the only person that knows the phones can do that?"

"Yep." Holly says. "Please use it responsibly." She can't interfere and tell Brendon that someone knows. In fact, she shouldn't be encouraging him to be responsible in the first place. Whatever happens, happens.

"I will, I will. Do you think I'm dumb?"

"We think you're irresponsible."

"...How irresponsible?"

"Wildly irresponsible. Please don't call the 911 operators."

He holds his hands up like he's surrendering. "Okay, okay, I won't."

The crew sighs in relief. Patrick visibly relaxes and Claire has to sit down.

"You guys can't interfere though, right? Like if I put a burrito in the microwave for too long and it catches on fire, you guys can't tell me it's burning?"

Holly pauses her relief. "...That's correct. Why?"

"No reason," Josh says, "no reason at all."

🚑💨

Taylor keeps watch as Ryan squeezes a whole tube of superglue onto the table and sticks the base of the Barbie stripper lamp right into it.

She holds up a bag of firework poppers to the camera and smiles. "We told everyone where we're going to put these so only Brendon will pop 'em."

The crew stays silent, a question all on its own.

She understands immediately. "Everyone but Dallon and Brendon. One would kill us metaphorically, the other would do it literally."

🚑💨

"Would Dallon the RN literally kill them?" Pete scoffs. "Yeah. Why is that even a question. He'd rip them apart with his bare hands."

He looks just behind the main camera. Not at Holly, not at Claire, not at the original cameraman. Suppressing a wide grin, he rolls back his sleeve and flexes his biceps. "I could too, if I wanted to. I've been working out lately. Can you tell?"

Patrick crosses his arms. He tries to hide a smile as well. "Yeah. Very impressive."

Chapter 8

Dallon stops dead in his tracks when he opens the front door of his house at nine in the morning to find the cameraman sitting on his porch. He grips his coffee cup so hard, his knuckles turn white and the plastic almost splinters. He's barely dressed in uniform and put together in a presentable manner — for gods sake, he hasn't even brushed through his hair yet.

He clenches his jaw. "I thought this was a workplace documentary. Not a televised compilation of invasively personal anecdotes."

Holly watches from behind Dallon's car as Patrick simply shrugs and tightens his grip on his equipment. "Look, man. I just work the camera."

Sliding a pair of sunglasses over his eyes and slinging his bag over his shoulder, he marches past the camera and pushes through Holly to climb into his car. Before he can lock the doors, she jumps into the back seat and holds the door open for Patrick. Dallon curses his old Chevy and it's inability to lock quickly at the push of a broken button.

The car sits in silence for an agonizing five minutes before Dallon sets down his cup and practically punches the key into the ignition. Classical music hums from one of the local radio stations.

His hand lingers on the gear shift. "If I answer your questions and talk to the camera during the drive, will you leave me alone today?"

"We won't pull you aside or intentionally film you," Holly says. "No promises that you won't be caught in the background of a shot."

"As long as it isn't on purpose." He kicks the car into drive and speeds off down the street. "You have about five minutes."

Holly and Patrick share a look of slight panic. She clears her throat and allows Patrick to aim the camera. "How are you this morning?"

"Worse, now that the camera's here."

"Cool. This isn't one of the questions I was planning, but why do you live in a white suburban mom's dream neighborhood?"

Almost as if it's on cue, the tires scream as Dallon puts pedal to the metal and speeds past the stop sign and out of the neighborhood. "Lots of space for cheap. Less crime. Big bedroom. Nice backyard. Cool balcony. Actual kitchen."

"You cook?"

"Not really. Its presence is just strangely comforting. Why would you come to my house anyways? And how the hell did you find it?"

Patrick's face turns red for just a second. He may or may not have spent an hour sneaking past nurses and digging through an ocean of files and records while he hunkered down in someone's office without permission. "I wouldn't worry about it. Just... just legal documentary things."

Dallon looks at the digital clock on the radio. "Four minutes."

Holly starts digging through the notes app on her phone, sifting through all the questions she has while trying to pick out the most relevant and easy ones. "What's your favorite movie?"

"Mississippi Grind, Independence Day, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, or Shaun of the Dead. Maybe... maybe Fight Club as well." He shrugs and turns up the radio volume. "Can't decide."

"If every movie had to burn but one, which one of those would you want to save for the next generation?"

"Independence Day so I could trick them into believing that it was based on a true story."

"When you were growing up, did your parents allow you to watch Spongebob Squarepants or did you have a sad and deprived childhood?"

"They were never around. I watched what I wanted and ate what I wanted. My favorite episode is the Pretty Patty one. Three minutes." He jerks they steering wheel to the right and takes the turn impossibly tight without slowing down. Patrick and Holly both slide and grab on to anything they can to stay upright.

"Oh my god! How do you drive like this and survive?!" Patrick yells over another screech of the tires, arguably louder than the first time.

"You don't get what you want if you don't take it," Dallon rummages in the globe box for a moment and throws two baggies over his shoulder, "the same pertains to driving. Why? Is there — is there something wrong with the way I drive?"

"Of course not!" Holly scrambles to regain her balance. "I forgot all my questions! What's your dream job?"

"Being rich."

"Dream vacation?"

"Cabin in the middle of the woods." The car heaves as he pushes on the gas pedal more to blow through a yellow light that turns red immediately after they cross the intersection. "Ideally, nobody would be there or know that I'm there."

Patrick frowns at that comment, of all things. "Huh. I thought you were seeing somebody."

"What? Why in the world would you think that?" Dallon turns down the music, like that'll combat the chaos.

"I don't know! I mean this in the most platonic way possible, you're really attractive. And you're a registered nurse. I believe people actively search for someone like you, right?" Patrick turns to Holly to validate his response. She nods.

"Huh." He says. "Well, I'm not particularly interested in finding a relationship. Not then, not now, probably not ever."

"Ever? Like ever, ever?"

Dallon turns the music back up. This whole exchange is way too invasive and personal for his taste. Hopefully his driving techniques will discourage them from hounding him in his car ever again. "It was never a priority to me. I don't know of anyone I could possibly care about enough to want to keep them around for the rest of my life. One minute."

In one split second, Holly makes a bold decision that has the potential to change one of the steady streets the documentary coasts on. "Is there anybody you're interested in getting to know better? Anyone at all?"

For the first time during the entire car ride, Dallon hits the brakes and skids to a stop at a red light. He keeps his hands on the wheel and doesn't move his gaze from the road ahead.

"I'm not sure." He says lowly. "Even if I did, it's not of any importance to me right now."

The light flashes green and the car zooms forward again into light-speed, swerving into the parking lot outside the hospital in record time. Patrick and Holly fail to find words amongst the smell of burnt rubber. His driving skills would beat up Pete's in a back alleyway.

Dallon grabs his coffee cup and his bag and snaps his keys from the ignition. He eyes the two in the rear view mirror and peels off his sunglasses to fold them on his shirt collar. "Good talk. Let's never do it again."

"But we—"

"I will not hesitate to call the cops if you show up at my house uninvited."

Patrick and Holly sit together in shock for a few minutes. Neither of them know what to say or how they'll ever be able to get into a car again without instantly dying from motion sickness.

Patrick sets the camera down and slumps back in the seat. "Who in the fuck is he?"

🚑💨

Brendon picks up the fifteenth firecracker popper of the day off the inside of the coffee machine lid. The bags under his eyes speak for themselves. He's tired of the poppers already.

The little popper snaps between his fingers with the slightest bit of pressure. "I've been finding these everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. They're like... chunks of sand you find in your hair after going to the beach two months prior."

Taylor and Ryan withhold snickers from their shared table in the corner of the kitchen. They know it's cruel, but they can't resist following him around and watching their stupid little game unfold. They clink their cups together and take a long drink as Brendon opens and shuts the fridge with another loud snap.

🚑💨

"No, I don't feel bad at all." Ryan says.

🚑💨

Pete sits outside on the curb with Hayley. They're both exhausted from just hearing the incessant noise of a thousand poppers. It's barely noon, and lunch is being eaten outside. They can't understand how everyone else can sit through it.

They each eat half of a sandwich, peanut butter and marshmallow to be exact, and watch the scattered stream of cars pass by on the road.

Pete looks at the ambulance, then to his uniform. He looks at the keys on his belt, then to Hayley.

"Wanna learn how to drive the ambulance?" He asks.

She stares at her sandwich like it'll suggest a response. "Is it difficult?"

Pete shrugs. "Not really. Have you ever driven an SUV before?"

Hayley nods. "That was my car in high school. Big old Chevy Tahoe. A weird tan color, dented everywhere, no air conditioning, and a little torn up inside."

"It's like a Chevy Tahoe, but it has air conditioning and it's wider."

"Where does this reference come from? Do you have experience driving a Chevy Tahoe?"

"No, but I can imagine how it feels."

"Sure, Jan. Will I get in trouble if I do try driving it?"

Pete bites his lip as he thinks. If she crashed the ambulance, maybe. If they don't get caught and nobody ever finds out, probably not. Maybe the guilt will eat him alive, but allowing her to drive isn't necessarily the most illegal activity he could take part in. "I dunno."

She frowns. "You don't know?"

"Nah."

They sit in silence for a moment while Hayley turns the idea over in her head. She totally could drive. It's not like they get calls every five minutes. And if they did get a call, less people would have to jump into the ambulance. It's just more efficient, really.

"Okay," she nods and polishes off the rest of her sandwich, "I'll bite. Teach me how to drive the ambulance."

Pete grins but his smile falls quickly once he looks at the mound of food between them. They both brought lunch and were going to split it, and food is not allowed in the ambulance under any circumstances. "What're we going to do about lunch?"

She stares at the pile blankly as well. "If we eat it all in the next two minutes we'll have twenty minutes to drive around."

"I'll probably get heart burn."

"You're not the one driving so it's fine."

He nods. Her reasoning is sound. "Alright. Two minutes."

🚑💨

Brendon sits in the chair underneath the window, adjusting his shirt and flattening out the wrinkles. "I know it's Taylor and Ryan. I'm not stupid. I don't care whether or not they pull pranks. As long as they do their job when the time comes, they can do whatever they want."

He sighs deeply and fixes his gaze to the floor where the camera stand sits. "I know it gets boring around here. We don't get many calls, and when we do, they're either easy or unimportant. I get it. I do."

Holly and Claire share a concerned glance.

🚑💨

The 911 operator HQ is blurred out. The few other operators on duty did not consent to being filmed, so the crew chooses to block out the surroundings entirely. They just focus on Tyler, sitting at his corner desk, taking calls every few minutes on his fancy little headset.

"We're a moderately isolated town, so we have a department to take the calls for this area alone." He practically glares into Patrick's camera. "That's it. There's nothing special around here."

"What calls do you typically get?" Patrick asks.

Tyler shrugs. A sharp ring sounds once across the room. "Mostly dumb ones. People scared for no reason. Big hunks of junk in the streets. Privileged folks complaining about the temperature of their coffee. There are a few serious calls, but those are moderately rare."

"Who do you call the most? Police, fire department, or the EMT's."

"Cops," he gestures over his shoulder to framed group photos of all three departments. "But I wish we could send the fire guys more often. They're a lot better at... everything. And they're objectively more attractive."

"And nicer, I bet."

"Way nicer. Not that I go on calls with them or anything. Just based off my handful of interactions with them." Tyler's train of thought skids to a stop and takes another route. "Are the EMT's busy a lot?"

"Never."

"Ah. I think I'd like to get to know them. That guy I talked to, Brendon? He sounds gullible."

Patrick nods. "A little bit. If you fill out some more paperwork I think we could get you some more time in the documentary we're doing. I think people would like you."

Tyler smiles. "That's very nice of you to say. My main concern is someone will stop me if I'm being mean. I do not want to be stopped."

"We aren't allowed to interfere with anything unless it's dire. Even then, I think we're encouraged to refrain."

"So... you're technically not allowed to be doing what you're doing right now?"

"Yeah."

Tyler nods. "Cool. I'll look into increasing my involvement."

A light on his headset chirps with a call. He taps a hidden black button on the side and swivels his chair around to face his computer screen. It lights up immediately with tabs of information. "911, what's your emergency?"

They stay silent as the caller describes the emergency. Tyler's face quickly falls from focused concern to annoyance. "Yes, I understand. I'm listening."

More silence.

He sighs deeply. "Ma'am, I'm sure the man in front of you is just waiting for his food like everyone else."

A spit-filled screech of anger splits through the headset. Tyler doesn't even flinch. He picks up a pen from his desk and expertly twirls it between his fingers. "I understand, ma'am. However, this line is for potentially life-threatening emergencies — I'm sure you are not starving."

Patrick has to hold his laughter. It's one of the hardest things he's ever done.

"No, I will not send the police. Calling this number again with an intent to annoy or harass an individual can and will be categorized as a felony with a fine of roughly one thousand dollars. I'm going to hang up now. Goodbye."

🚑💨

As the day comes to an end for a select few and the film crew decides to wrap it up, Brendon and Patrick meet up in the parking lot. The cameraman whips out his equipment and films the interaction.

Patrick pulls his phone from his pocket and thumbs through the device. He tilts it sideways and shows Brendon what the cameraman can only assume is a video. Roughly five minutes pass. Brendon hands then phone back with a crisp five dollar bill sitting on the screen. They shake hands and depart quickly.

🚑💨

Brendon's face pales when he's questioned about it in the chair beneath the window in the second lounge. He instinctively brings his fingers to his lips to nervously pick at nothing.

"It was nothing," he blurts, "just curious about... nothing."

Holly and Claire roll their eyes. They won't probe it further, but they have their answer.

Brendon bites his lip. As he reviews everything they could've possibly videotaped, another event crosses his mind. "By the way, do you guys know who dented the side of one of the ambulances?"

Chapter 9

Josh aggressively drags the cameraman behind him into the storage room. He shuts the door behind them and yanks on the cord to the light above them. Despite being cleaned barely a week ago, half of the lockers are covered in unidentifiable stains and new graffiti marks. Ryan's is disgusting and smells off, but Josh sprays half a can of Febreze through the vent before he gets to the goods.

"You told me not to touch the phone," he states firmly, holding up one finger to silence the cameraman. "And then you immediately fucked up by telling me that the crew cannot interfere with my day-to-day business."

Josh pauses and waits for a nod of acknowledgement. As soon as he sees it, he continues on.

"So yesterday at two in the morning, while I was on my shift, I used the phone."

"Why would you—"

"Ah ah! No interference." He purses his lips and waits for the jolt of fear to fade into simple uneasiness. "I used the phone and you know who picked up?"

The cameraman shakes his head no and the camera moves with him. Patrick was the one that visited the dispatchers, not him.

Josh grins. "This guy named Tyler. And yknow what? We've been talking for a bit. And it's really great. He's really cool. You can go now."

The cameraman pauses. That's it? "Is that all you wanted to show me? Really?

Josh nods. "Yeah. I wanted to do a one-on-one interview but I thought a change in scenery would really spice up the shot. Right?"

"...I guess."

🚑💨

Brendon and Taylor eye their assigned RN fairly uncomfortably throughout the bumpy ambulance ride. He's got a pair of dark sunglasses covering his eyes and neither of them can tell who he's staring at or if he's asleep. And nobody wants to poke a sleeping bear either.

Pete even glances in the rear view mirror a few times, to check that everyone is still breathing. The silence is unnatural but certainly understood.

The drivers hand hovers over the radio dials. "What type of music are we feeling today?"

Taylor watches Dallon out of the corner of her eye, trying to catch any sign of movement. "Whatever is on the radio, Pete."

They both flinch as Dallon's lip twitches. The fog of fear is thick enough to cut with a knife.

"...What's your favorite band?" Taylor tentatively fidgets to bite at her nails. "Maybe we can rip a CD off the Internet for the ride next time."

The vehicle jolts over potholes and bumps. "That's illegal," Dallon mutters. "And I don't listen to music."

"You have to listen to something, someone, anything. Podcasts? Radio talk shows?"

"No."

"...So you just sit in silence while you drive?"

"Mhm."

Taylor bites her cheek and stares at everything in the ambulance but her coworkers. Brendon fixates his gaze on his shoes and doesn't look up no matter how many bumps and tight turns the vehicle makes. Awkward.

🚑💨

Dallon and Brendon fold the empty stretcher back into the ambulance while Taylor stands on the sidewalk behind a small crowd of people. The call was a bust; cafe workers thought a customer had died in the booth, but he was just young, high, and tired.

She takes a sip from the little coffee sample cup she hijacked from the front counter. It was open and available for free tastes, and there was no way in hell she was going to pass that up. "Who the fuck doesn't listen to music? Is he even a real person?"

Patrick struggles to shrug with the camera hoisted on his shoulder.

"Do you think he's a robot? What if he's being paid to watch us and report back to Big Pharma? Maybe he's the next Terminator?"

"Why would he get paid if he's a robot?"

Brendon waves Taylor back to the vehicle. She drinks the rest of her coffee sample like it's a shot of vodka and tosses the cup over her shoulder into the crowd. "That's the only issue you have here?"

"I just don't think robots should be paid a fixed salary."

🚑💨

"Me? You want to know what I did today?" Ryan holds a hand to his chest, flattered that the camera is on him now that most of the team is out on a call. "Wow, I feel like an integral part of the plot."

"You're not." Hayley calls from across the room. She's got a packet of paperwork spread over one of the tables in the kitchen, a pencil behind her ear to replace her ballpoint pen if it breaks.

Ryan continues, unbothered.

"Well, I spoke with my mom last night. We had a good chat about my schedule and everything, which had been pretty balanced up until a week or two ago."

The cameraman signals for him to elaborate on his story. He follows Ryan to the seat he takes beside Hayley at her table.

He lifts up one of the papers and squints at the fine print. "Damn, look at all those papers you have to sign. What're you doing, buying a freakin' house?"

"Actually, almost. It's an apartment lease contract." She huffs. "Don't let me put a stop to your story. Go on."

"Oh, yeah," he nods. "My sleep paralysis demon is back."

"Your what—" Hayley gathers her paperwork and pats into a sloppy stack of documents and sideways contracts. "Your sleep paralysis demon?!"

"Yeah. Doesn't, like, everyone have one?"

Hayley and the cameraman both shake their heads. "Absolutely not, but please continue."

"Hold on, really? I don't want to continue if I'm gonna look like a fool. I refuse to be ostracized."

"You're not going to be ostracized over a sleep issue. You will be if you don't tell me more about this immediately. I want to hear about your sleep paralysis demon."

Ryan glances towards the camera. His surprise that they want to hear more cancels out the nerves he feels upon learning that new tidbit of information. "That's a first. Well, I told my mom I was seeing it again and she asked for a picture of it and when I showed her what I drew, she said I need to go to therapy."

Hayley raises an eyebrow, slightly confused but overwhelmingly curious to hear more. "I don't think sleep paralysis is worthy of therapy. It's not too uncommon," she watches as he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through the camera roll.

He tilts the phone for her and Hayley's eyes widen immediately. She smacks the back of the phone so it falls face down on the table.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters, "please go to therapy."

"It's not that bad—"

"Go to therapy, Ryan. Holy fuck. Go see a therapist— actually, just go straight to church. Get an exorcism."

Ryan bites his cheek. "...Which one costs less?"

"An exorcism, probably." Hayley flips through her lease again to distract herself from the image of the sleep paralysis demon. "You know how shitty the American healthcare system is."

He nods. She has a point, especially since they're both employed by the system. "I'll look into it," he says.

🚑💨

"You're seriously asking if I like it here?" Dallon rolls his eyes as he reclines in the chair under the window in the room now labeled, 'The Interview Room'.

Claire shrugs. "Just answer the question." 

"No, I don't like it here. I thought that was obvious."

"It is, we just wanted you to say it."

"If it's obvious, I shouldn't need to explicitly state my stance on this issue. We don't do shit. At least we help people in the emergency room — even if it is with lame problems and fixable issues. Here, we just... like, today we woke up a druggie, and that was the whole call." His hands move animatedly as he stares off into space to picture the scenario again. Even though his deep blue eyes have started to glaze over, an angry fire still burns. "It sucks. I hate it. I feel absolutely useless. My new coworkers don't even like me, so there's not much going on over here."

The cameraman frowns. "They don't hate you. They think you're intimidating. And they think you are a robot."

"Whatever. You and I both know how much they dislike me," Dallon reaffirms, set on his position. "I know Brendon's going to do everything in his power to either replace me or get rid of me. And that's okay."

"Do you... do you want to leave?"

Dallon doesn't answer.

🚑💨

Josh 'spills' half a gallon of soy milk on the floor. He tries to make it look like an accident but the cameraman caught him shaking every drop out on the floor.

Hayley sees him do it and says nothing. She is not a fan of the soy milk either. Nobody is.

Pete is the one to slip in it. He can't be mad now that the soy milk has been wasted. That shit's nasty.

🚑💨

Brendon holds up a poster board tacked with dozens of photos, all labeled and connected to one another with a waxy blue twine. Every photograph comes from the emergency room, along with a short paragraph about each place and item he found.

He points to the coffee machine from the emergency room's break room. "This one is way different than ours. It's supposed to make espresso shots too. I think that would make him feel more at-home, right?"

"It's a coffee machine."

"Yeah, and maybe he would feel more welcome if he saw it in the kitchen." Brendon's face falls and he sets the board down, propping it up against the wall. "I want to make this work out, okay? Some suggestions would be nice."

"Dallon doesn't like it here," Claire says. "I asked him if he wants to leave and he didn't respond."

If it was at all possible, his face falls further. "Oh. I mean, I guess I understand why. It's not like we get along well either. Did he say he was gonna file for replacement or something?"

They shrug. Their interview with Dallon ended shortly after the question was unanswered. His shift ended and he went home in silence. "Would you be upset if he did?"

Brendon sits on the question for a moment, but comes to a conclusion pretty quickly. "Yeah, I would be. He's not the more open or social person, but I'd hate to see him go because he doesn't feel like he belongs. A conflicting schedule would be a different, but that would suck to lose someone because they don't think they fit in. Maybe he just hasn't hit his stride yet. That's why I've been trying to reorganize so it feels more homey here. As homey as it can get, at least."

"Interesting. And what if your plan fails and he leaves anyways?"

"I'd feel better knowing I tried to make him feel more comfortable and useful. It doesn't seem like we get along too well but I don't want to ruin the joy he finds in his career. That is, if he feels any emotions at all. I think he might be a robot, actually."

Claire nods. She checks off a box on her little notepad and squints at the rest of the list of topics discuss. "And have you heard about Ryan's current predicament?"

"You mean the sleep paralysis demon?"

"—Yes... How did you—"

"Don't ask. He really needs to go to therapy for that. Please tell him I said that."

🚑💨

Ryan grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't need to go to therapy. That's not even the worst sleep paralysis demon, I don't know why everyone is shitting their pants over this."

"What about the exorcist?"

"Okay, I am going to see an exorcist. But you see, that is not the same thing as therapy. An exorcism is a lot cheaper, and probably twice as effective. We need to stop shitting our pants and trying to send me to therapy over my sleep paralysis demon."

🚑💨

"911, what's your emergency?" Tyler glances into the camera across the room, quickly turning away as it zooms in and starts to come closer.

"There's a deer," the caller whispers. "On my lawn."

Tyler glances over his shoulder to see the camera just a few feet away from his desk. He flips it off and the lens turns to Josh, spinning in the chair meant for one of the other desks. "There's a deer on your lawn, sir?"

"Yes."

"...A deer."

"Yes."

Ignoring the camera entirely, Tyler turns to face Josh, smiling and rolling his eyes while they both snicker quietly. "And what is this deer doing, sir?"

"Looking at me."

"Is it just looking at you? There is no other immediate danger?"

"It's looking at me— oh never mind. It just ran off. Goodbye." The line disconnects.

There is an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that consumes Tyler at once. What a stupid call in a stupid town at his stupid job. How pointless it is to work as a 911 operator when the majority of your calls are made in the middle of simple and fixable situations. The EMT's are just as tired as he is of these stupid calls, but the more urgent ones are filtered through to them. And Tyler is one of the filters.

"Is that one of the weirdest calls you've ever gotten?"

"Doesn't even break the top twenty."

Josh frowns. His disappointment is unfathomable. He's not sure what he expected from Tyler's job, but it sure wasn't this. "Wow. You make this job seem a lot more interesting than it actually is, huh?"

Tyler shrugs. "A little bit. It's okay, I guess."

"How do you even survive a shift with calls like that? I would explode and die if I had to talk to people like that all the time." They stare so deeply into each other's eyes, it's like the camera isn't even there. The whole office could dissipate into a void and neither of them would notice. The cameraman almost pukes.

"I dunno. It's a little more bearable when you're here."

Josh nods, grinning behind his hand. "Maybe I'll have to stop by more often then."

"Maybe you should."

🚑💨

Pete twists his sock into a ball and squeezes. A stream of soy milk falls from the fabric and seeps into the carpet. It starts to smell immediately.

"You know, if I put it back in the carton it would still taste the same." Pete says. 

Chapter 10

"You guys leave at the worst times." Brendon practically runs from the double doors of the hospital as the camera crew hops out of their respective vehicles. The sun is about to set, and the energy is still running high.

He waves them along to follow him back through the doors. However, instead of leading them into the emergency room like they expected, they return to the paramedics' dingy headquarters.

"We had a huge car accident," Brendon pauses out front of the lounge. Electronic dance music blasts from the other side of the door. "Three car pileup in the middle of the freeway. Nobody was killed, but we have to run the washing machines on double time today."

Holly frowns. "...What does that mean?"

"There was a lot of blood. Half of us are not wearing the uniforms."

🚑💨

"I found this shirt in the lost and found upstairs." Ryan pinches the fabric of his white shirt and stretches it out for the camera to capture. "Unfortunately I'm not a grandma, but I still kind of like it."

"Unfortunately?"

"Yeah. If I was a grandma, then I could wear the shirt. That's why it's unfortunate."

🚑💨

Taylor stands and shows off her grey sweatpants. "University of Phoenix" is printed down the side in dark green Times New Roman font. Her uniform shirt is finely spattered with blood, but presumably not enough to warrant a complete change of outfit.

"I dunno," she shrugs. "I might keep them. I genuinely don't think anybody else will take them. Not even the creator."

🚑💨

Dallon refuses to enter the interview room. He stands across the room with his hands in a pair of lost and found jeans, stained with grass on the knees. His new sweatshirt hails from Flagstaff, Arizona, advertising the elite Arizona Snowbowl ski resort.

He makes direct eye contact with Claire and picks up the mini microphone clipped to the sweatshirt collar. "If this footage ever sees the light of day, I will personally make sure you do not live to see the next day."

🚑💨

"I know he hates it," Brendon sighs deeply. "It was either that sweatshirt, or a shirt that advertised a Nebraskan middle school talent show that took place at the turn of the century."

Claire and Holly sift through their list of questions for everyone. It's long and detailed, but easy to navigate. They find the section of questions for Brendon fairly quickly. "While we're here, we have another topic to ask you about."

"Shoot. We aren't busy right now."

"Do you have a date to that wedding? Your two friends from high school were tying the knot soon and you said you were concerned about finding someone to take with you."

Brendon's face flushes. "...Do you have any other questions?"

"Nope."

"... I... I have not found a date to the wedding."

🚑💨

Pete rolls his eyes. He's still dressed in his uniform, but it's hidden underneath his own clothes. "We know he doesn't have a date to his wedding. He doesn't talk about it and hasn't mentioned it for weeks, but we know."

"How do you know?" Holly asks.

He shrugs. "Josh is really nosy."

🚑💨

Josh's eyes blow to the size of dinner plates. His knuckles turn white as he grips the side of the chair. "How does Pete know that I know what Brendon knows?"

Snippets

"You're a human being. You have the capacity to love and feel."
"Take that back."

"I'll stab you. And even though I'm an EMT, I won't try to save you. I won't even give you a bandage. I'll watch you suffer and bleed out and die. Don't touch my food again."

"You set your phone on DND when you go to sleep? How do you do that in good conscience?"
"If you decide to have a problem after midnight, that is between you and god."
"...How... How do you... how do you set your phone to Dungeons and Dragons mode?"

"Tyler is teaching me to answer calls today. I think that's illegal but I'm gonna have fun doing it."

"Has nobody been listening to me?!"
"I dozed off two hours ago."
"I stopped paying attention because you're boring."
"Ignoring you was a conscious decision."

"I am emotionally unavailable to help with the current problem."
"So do you want a soda or what"

"I think anarchy is an integral part of society. The threat of revolution really adds some spice to a conversation."

"What if I threw a bunch of CD disks at someone and they splintered on impact and the shards stabbed them a million times? What would you call that?"
"Aggravated assault, probably."

"How can you tell if you're a pyromaniac?"
"Why... why do you need to know—"

"This is an emergency room, not a dating show. But look at where we are—"

"Sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I'm a good EMT or just a secret necromancer."
"Wouldn't you know if you're a necromancer...?"
"No, it's a secret for a reason."

"Dallon and Brendon? Dating? I don't think one of them even has emotions, let alone the capacity to love and care about another human being—"

"My cat shit in my mugs again I need to use yours."