While We Wait (One Shot Anthology)

Pray For Me (T'Challa)

This Is Going to Be a Two-Part Because it's so damn long!
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"There's a killer loose in Wakanda."

T'Challa sighs as he rubs his furrowed brow. He had suspected it after the second body showed up. It was in an alleyway in a rather unsafe neighbourhood in Wakanda. Even Wakanda, with all its advances in every aspect of society, still has a dark side. The body was splayed out on the floor, dressed in a plain black gown and appeared to be floating. But it wasn't. Thin fishlines attached to hooks were placed in the skin, pulling at the skin, suspending the body in the air. The dried blood from where the hooks were inserted made little burgundy paths down the dark skin before dropping to the now dried pool of blood underneath the body. He had been told a new assistant to the coroner had accidentally bumped into the body, making the hook in the right arm rip out. In a moment of dark comedy, the arm had slapped the assistant who promptly fainted.

"How many bodies?" he asks quietly, afraid to hear that number that would cause panic to arise in everyone on the council, even though they would all hide it with the experience of a well-seasoned politician.

Okoye hesitates before giving the answer that causes the tension in the throne room to build.

"Three."

As if the heavens were mimicking the mood of the throne room, thunder rumbles and roars before it begins to rain.

The sound of violins playing echoes down the dimly light hall, a bright white light pouring from the two little windows on the doors to the exam room. T'Challa pushes the door opens and blinks at the sight before him. On a pristine silver table is the body of the third victim, the ashy brown skin that was once warm with life is in sharp contrast with the silver it lays on. The skin is peeled back on the torso, dark red blood pooling beneath him. As if that wasn't macabre enough, the woman standing over him is in burgundy scrubs, a black smock on with black gloves that go up mid-bicep and a black face mask is arms deep in his torso.

"You're a big one," she murmurs, T'Challa only hearing her due to his enhanced hearing, as she holds up a stomach that seems too large for any person to have. "I wonder how much you weight. Oh, Hello My, King."

T'Challa, Okoye, and Ayo make faces of disgust as she casually puts the stomach on the scale.

"457 grams. Almost five times bigger than the average stomach size of a healthy male but then again," she comments before looking at the face of the dead man. "You aren't average size at all."

"Must she talk like that?" Ayo asks, looking away as she puts the stomach in a bowl.

"The dead talk Warrior Ayo," the coroner quips. "It is a question of whether you know the language that they speak. Now, what brings you down here My King? Don't you have people to be ruling?"

"You are a subject too," Okoye grumbles.

She smiles before pulling the liver out.

"Have you've determined the cause of death yet Doctor Chiwa?"

"His stomach burst."

"Excuse me?"

"His stomach burst. Whoever killed him, fed him till he died. It's rare but possible."

"They fed him until he burst?"

"Yes. I assume you want to know about the other two--"

"Doctor Chiwa?"

She looks up as her assistant walks into the room.

"Mr Odon. How are you?"

"I'm tired but that seems to be my eternal state. The police just called."