#and I don't know what I love more. The grave digger long sleeve OR his White Castle button down.

[infant-no-finances]

bbno$ - Shining

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Neutralised (1994): S01 E01 [1/5]

(Meant to be read like a TV show, or the description of a TV show)

Warnings: Shitty writing (I'm rusty on television writing), death & dead bodies, 90s fashion decisions (can you tell I don't know what to mention), misunderstandings & perceived abuse, cheesy nicknames, violence & Swearing.

2000 ish words. Please tell me if you want to be tagged.

~~💀💀~~

The scene opens on a graveyard at dawn, a figure holds a shovel and attempts to dig, but the ground is too cold and hard. Next to him is a completely black golf-cart type vehicle.

A small subtitle appears at the bottom of the screen, it reads 'January 1st 1994, Chicago, Illinois'.

As the camera gets closer to the figure we can see them in more detail, blonde hair and glasses wearing a denim shirt and jeans under a dark brown winter coat, along with black boots, the faint hint of stubble colours his jawline in a tint of gold. This is Caleb 'Cal' willow, head grave-digger, 32 years old, British-American, six-foot tall and good-looking even though he doesn't wish to be anyone's eye-candy.

The figure (Cal) stops, leaving the shovel standing straight up in the frozen ground as he leans on it and looks towards something off-camera.

The camera shifts to behind the man in denim and we see truck, a beat-up, old, purple, 1989 Ford F-150.

The shot gets closer and the couple in the car are suddenly clearer.

The man in the driver's seat is hefty and has a smug smirk on his face, his leather jacket covers a stained off-white tank-top, a baseball cap covers most of his curly brown hair, except for the week-old beard and puts his blue eyes in shadow. This is Lance Carter, an electrician, 30 years old, originally from Mississippi, six-foot-two and a former college athlete.

"You gotta stop trippin' over yer feet, Mona." He grumbles as he leans over to kiss the woman.

The woman, 'Mona' is paler than her lover, light blonde hair, styled into bangs and a ponytail, and bright blue eyes contrast with her black painted lips and dark crimson eyeshadow, her red V-neck sweater vest and black long-sleeve shirt show a hint of cleavage and a black heart necklace. Her bangs barely hide a poorly covered bruise from that earlier morning. This is Monday 'Mona' Duke, the youngest grave-digger, 26 years old, born and raised in Eloia, five-foot-one and deceptively lean.

"I'll try not to, my Lancelot. I'ma go hand Cal his coffee, I love you and I'll see you later." Mona whispers, kissing his cheek and pulling away to get out of the truck.

Mona takes a set of three paper cups and a black satchel bag with her, the camera shifts to show her walking, with a slight but noticeable limp on her right side, towards Cal, his figure standing in the graveyard, and we see she's wearing black cargo pants and black heavy boots with inch-thick platforms on the bottom.

"Bram not here yet?" She calls as she walks over.

"Not yet, Mona, waiting for the call to say he's got religious reasons." Cal breathes out a cloud as he sighs, happily taking a cup from his female co-worker.

"We should have taken today off, but then again, you don't care about New Year's Day, and I don't want to be in the same apartment as my dumbass boyfriend."

"Go send Prince Charming away then, Princess." Cal chuckles softly.

Mona jogs back to the car, which isn't easy with her limp being made worse by the freezing weather.

"Lance, I'm at work now, you can leave."

Lance leans out of the window to kiss Mona, when they pull away a man can be seen between them, about six feet from the car.

The man is tall, broad shoulders with a black trench-coat draped over them, his pale blue jumper clashes slightly with the dark green colour of his trousers, and the maroon brown shade of his boots. His curly black hair comes to rest just above his dark brown eyes and aquiline nose, his scowling lips are framed by a neatly trimmed goatee. This is Abraham 'Bram' Machado, the tallest grave-digger, 30 years old, born and raised in Idaho, six-foot-three and easily angered.

He glares at Lance as the man drives away, his rage vanishes as he looks at Mona.

"Morning, Mona, sorry I'm late Cal… car troubles." The tallest member of the trio nervously explains, gesturing to his car parked neatly in its place, the only hint of damage is a cracked passenger window.

"Lateness I expect from Mona, not from you, Bram." Cal huffs as he once again tries to dig the frozen dirt.

Mona limps a couple paces before sitting in the black golf-cart.

"Are you doing okay, Mona?" Bram raises an eyebrow in concern, taking a swig from the final cup of coffee to hide the scowl on his lips.

She nods, taking a sip from her coffee before she turns to scan across the graveyard, her eyes widen when she spots something.

Cal gestures for Bram to put his drink down and focus on the work. Bram nods but stares at Mona as he continues working.

"Excuse me, sir," Mona starts walking towards a slumped figure, "you can't sleep out here, you'll catch your demise, mister?" She pokes the figure with her foot, dropping down to check their pulse.

Cal and Bram stop and silently watch as Mona slowly stands and starts carefully walking backwards towards them.

"Monday, are you alright?" Cal's voice waivers slightly as he starts to realise what the lady grave-digger has seen.

"Monday, come here, you shouldn't look at that. Mona, Mona come here." Bram pulls Mona towards him, making her squeak as her smaller frame collides with his chest, he shields her body with his.

Cal grabs his phone from his back pocket and dials a number, the scene starts to fade out as Cal says, "Hey, Boss…"

The next scene fades in, an office, cramped and claustrophobic.

An older gentleman, his black hair balding, short of both stature and temper, wearing an all black suit more at home in the 70s, along with black leather gloves on his hands. He sits at an old wooden desk and shakes his head as he grabs a small pile of paperwork.

"These are your witness reports," He looks at the trio, annoyed at them, "I'm not letting you three get off of work just because you found a body. Miss Duke, shift's over, I'll see you later. Out." The older man, Mr Mortimer according to the name plaque on his desk, grumbles in an Italian accent, waving the three grave-diggers out of his tiny office.

They step out into a larger room, past a young black man sitting with his feet on his desk reading 'Funeral Monthly', and through another door into what almost looks like a gothic hotel lobby. At the desk sits a larger, blond gentleman, downing an energy drink with an obvious 'I don't want to be here' attitude.

Cal strikes up a conversation with him with a casual, "Hey, King." Then the conversation fades into background noise.

"Hey, Monday… Are, are you sure you're okay, Mona?" Bram whispers as he sits down with her on one of the benches in the lobby.

"Yeah I'm fine, Bram, it's nothing I haven't seen before," She shrugs, "Lance should be here soon to take me to the café anyway." Mona's voice is a mile a minute, it's clear that this is just how she talks, fast-paced with little time to relax, as is her lifestyle.

But at the mention of Lance, Bram's soft, caring smile drops, replaced with a scowl full of hate as he hunkers down, placing his forearms against his thighs, he glares at the entrance and his jaw clenches tight, hands already balled into fists.

He's shaken from the mist of blind anger by Mona gently patting his shoulder as a gesture of thanks.

Mona heads outside, lighting up a cigarette as Bram stands, stopping himself from following her, he waits for Cal to leave first.

Bram glares at Lance as Mona kisses her boyfriend and leaves with him, Bram continues glaring until he can't see the truck anymore.

"Drop the glare, we have work to do. You can fight him when Mona isn't around him," Cal nudges Bram's arm, "c'mon Romeo."

The two men climb into the golf-cart and head back to the grave they were digging.

Meanwhile, Mona and Lance share an awkward moment of silence before Lance huffs a hefty sigh.

"Are we gonna talk about it?" He grumbles.

"What? The dead frozen guy?" Mona raises an eyebrow at the gruff tone of her boyfriend's voice.

"No, Mona. Are we gonna talk about him, the tall guy you work with?"

"Bram? What about him?" She shrugs, not understanding the question.

"He glares at me, every time I drop you off or pick you up. Hell, Mona, he glares at me when I visit you at work."

"He's just protective, it's not every day that someone shows up with bruises and a limp."

Mona checks her hairline in a compact mirror, showing the bruises, which can't be older than a week or less, she attempts to cover them with makeup and fixes her bangs to hide them again.

"I know that, but it's every time, not just today." Lance slams hard on the horn and silently mouths a couple curse words at another driver.

Mona jumps at the noise of the horn, Lance notices and takes her hand to press a reassuring kiss to the back of her palm.

"I didn't realise that, Lancelot, but pay him no attention. I'm your girl, not his." Mona whispers as Lance parks the truck.

As soon as Mona steps out of the truck, the back door of the café swings open and a young man, in white clothes and an apron, with jet black hair comes rushing out, stopping when he sees Mona and rushing over to hug her.

"Fry, down baby brother, down." Mona chuckles softly.

Fry puts his hands up and takes a step back, "Estelle's here. She's mad at Angelo."

"Why's she mad at Angelo for?"

As Mona steps through the door the camera follows her and when it swings back the screen goes black.

The scene fades back and the camera raises diagonally out of the grave Cal and Bram have been digging. Cal and Bram have both ditched their jackets by this point, Cal's denim shirt has sweat stains in the armpits. Bram is in the process of taking his jumper off, revealing a long-sleeved beige undershirt and suspenders.

"So, what's the deal with you and Mona?" Cal asks, watching as Bram's shoulders drop as he sighs.

"The deal with me and Monday," Bram murmurs as he places his jumper in the cart, "From the day she got hired, I thought me and her would be friends, or maybe more, but she doesn't see me in that way. If she truly wants Lance, then the lord better fix him fast." Bram grumbles as he avoids looking Cal in the eyes.

Cal goes to speak, falling silent as both men look towards the sound of tires screeching to a halt.

Lance's truck pulls up beside the row of headstones, the driver's side door swings open and he steps out, scowling as he looks at Cal and Bram.

The passenger door swings open and a young, golden haired man in a dark blue security uniform steps out and rushes over to Lance's side. The name tag on his chest reads 'Kane Carter'. This is Kane 'K.C' Carter, the day-shift security guard, 27 years old, the younger brother of Lance, five-foot-nine and a man who is usually late due to being a heavy sleeper.

"Piss off, Kane." Lance growls, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the seat before slamming the car door.

"Lance, don't. Think about what Monday would want." K.C tries to push his brother towards the car as Lance storms towards the grave-diggers.

"Don't you dare." Cal whispers as he pries Bram's hand off the shovel, chucking both potential weapons in the back of the cart.

Bram stands his ground, glaring daggers at Lance as the, slightly shorter, tall man advances.