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Connections
Ben Solutions for Serial Killers
Ben was halfway through a stale protein bar when the first crash echoed through Station 11’s bay.
He stopped mid-chew.
At the desk, Matt kept his head down, tracing a route on a city infrastructure map.
Another bang.
Then the distinct clatter of something metal hitting the ground.
“You hearing that?”
“Yep.”
A third noise, something dragging.
“You gonna check that?”
“You’re welcome to.”
Ben considered it. Then another sound, louder, closer.
“Yeah, no. You got this, man.”
Matt folded the map. He walked toward the tool rack and grabbed an axe.
“That seems excessive.”
“It’s fine.”
“It might be fine. It might also be a serial killer.”
“Better to have an axe than not.”
“That’s debatable.”
Matt was already walking.
Ben grabbed his duffle bag and followed.
The noises had stopped.
Matt led the way. Methodical. Silent. He edged toward the bay, scanning corners, grip steady on the axe handle.
Nothing.
Then, movement.
A flash of gray fur. A scurry.
A raccoon.
A very angry-looking raccoon.
Ben, standing behind him, peered over his shoulder. “…That’s not a serial killer.”
Matt lifted the axe slightly. “Nope.”
The raccoon hissed.
Matt, ever the strategist, tilted the axe flat-side out as a barrier. He took a step forward.
The raccoon took a step closer.
“It’s not leaving.”
“Neither are you.”
Matt adjusted his grip, nudged forward again, gently herding the raccoon toward the open bay doors.
Slow. Precise. Controlled.
The raccoon stared him down.
Three careful steps.
The raccoon launched itself sideways, sprinted under the rig, and disappeared.
“That’s a tactical retreat.”
Matt turned to him slowly.
“You’re not helping.”
“That’s because you’re not winning.”
Ben crouched and started rummaging through his duffle bag, which had never failed him and wasn’t about to start.
“…What are you doing?”
A second later, he pulled out a handful of glow sticks.
“What.”
Ben cracked one. It glowed neon green.
“That’s—”
He rolled the glowing stick under the rig.
Silence.
Then, a faint scrabbling sound.
“…You are not leading a raccoon out of the station with glow sticks.”
Ben cracked another one. Neon blue. “You got a better idea?”
Matt gestured at the axe.
“Oh yeah. Because that worked.”
Before Matt could respond, the raccoon reappeared.
It stared at the glow stick.
Ben waved another one.
Matt, utterly resigned to whatever was happening, watched the raccoon move toward the glowing object.
Step by step, Ben backed toward the bay doors, dropping another glow stick along the way.
The raccoon followed.
A few more paces.
Another glow stick.
The raccoon scampered after it.
Ben stopped just past the threshold, tossed the final glow stick into the dark.
And the raccoon chased it outside.
They watched it disappear.
“Well. That’s handled.”
Matt looked at the axe in his grip.
“…I hate you.”
Ben grinned. “You lost to a raccoon.”
Without a word, Matt flipped the axe in his grip, flat side, and swung it straight into Ben’s shin.
“Ow—you absolute bastard!”
Matt tilted the handle toward him. “Still wanna talk?”
Ben, clutching his shin, considered his options.
Matt raised the axe a fraction higher.
“Nope. All good. You won. Raccoon who?”
Satisfied, Matt rested the axe against his shoulder and walked off.
Ben watched him go.
“Still lost, though.”
Matt didn’t even break stride.
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