Dill leaned into the small cubicle where Pearson was busy researching soul extraction and working his way through the contents of a the snack machine in the cafeteria. "Got any spare clothes here?"
"Not personally, no, but you can have a look at what we've removed from the bodies that have passed through. Some of them are quite clean with hardly any bodily fluids at all."
"Ew. I'm not sure I want to wear some dead guy's stains."
"Odd. I never took you to be squeamish like that." Pearson grinned, stuffing the remains of a Venus bar into his mouth (smooth chocolate covering whipped chocolate around a centre of liquid caramel). "Not considering you'd pop their heads off as a snack."
"Oh. You have a point." Dill frowned at the number of snack bar wrappers and crisp packets on the floor. "Geez. You're worse than Sam and me on a Friday night."
"I think you have enough bad personal habits of your own without throwing stones at mine."
"Throwing stones?" Dill grimaced. "Oh, I get it. Yes I suppose you're right. Sorry, dude."
"So where are these clothes then?"
"In the store room."
"Cheers." Dill walked to the back of the lab, where several doors led to stores and refrigerators. He found the one to the store room and looked at the keypad. "Dude? What's the number code?"
Pearson wheeled himself out of his cubicle, his cross-legged figure on the office chair looking like a fat pixie in a lab coat. "It's a four figure number that's neither odd nor even."
"What? I don't have time for riddles, man!"
"Go on. You're such a genius. Work it out."
Dill stared at the keypad. "Is it a prime?" He shook his head. "Negative? Imaginary?" He glanced back at Pearson's grinning visage, tempted to rip the technician's scalp off and eat the answer out of his brain, but the round face gave him the answer. "Zero." He punched in the code. "Four zeroes."