Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Damien gave Ezra a generic kind smile, one of the ones he saved for the people he actually knew. Then it was straight into the shower. He turned the water on as hot as he could as if he could boil away the memories he had. He scrubbed himself while trying to forget about the day's work. At least he was finished for the next two days. The bosses never gave him a job on the day of a party just in case he would lose his artistic edge that made him so popular. His shower ended after he cleared his mind and he walked out, waving to one of the other repomen. His white skin was now an unhealthy looking red from the steaming shower. He grimaced a little as he grabbed his surgical outfit and his pay chit and walked out. He could wear enough that no one would notice until his body cooled down. It was one of the benefits of being a doctor. With little fanfare he inserted the pay chit and watched as his massive debt was taken down by two hundred and fifty dollars. Lovely. The face that, when new, had cost 250,000 had netted him around one percent of that. He sighed and walked by the pay machine while slipping on his surgical mask and head covering. His outfit was a lovely white and he had blue gloves that gleamed with the latex shine they had. He took the elevator to his correct floor and signed in. A nurse ran up to him and handed him a patient chart. A Ms. Espanoza had been admitted after someone had ripped her face off it seemed. Damien gave a wide eyed look at the chart and walked in on the same woman he had just cut up less than an hour ago sitting in bed with blood running into her and a rep talking about how synthskin faces were so much more affordable and cheap now and that if she'd just sign on the dotted line that she could go home interest free for six months. Damien felt his heart dropping as the woman signed the contract for the newer face even when she could have gotten another model for a quarter of the price. And he knew he shouldn't say a thing or it would be added to his debt. He gave up and walked to the medical center and grabbed a zydrate gun and vial and placed it against his neck, the click releasing the calming drug into his system. He felt the numbness and apathy spread through his system as he released what could almost be judged an orgasmic sigh. He tossed the gun down and then left a nurse's glove on it to implicate her. He walked back into the room and pulled his mask down, knowing the woman wouldn't recognize him, Hello my dear, let us get you your new face! It was several blissfully uncaring hours later when the drug wore off. Damien was a good surgeon, good enough that zydrate just took the edge off his own feelings. He had put several people back together today, and had operated on some man with enough money that he bothered to spend it on flesh pockets in his abdomen to carry his wallet and watch around in because some man on a soap opera had gotten the surgery. Looking back on it it was just sick and wasteful. He stumbled home and tried to focus on the good he had done. It was what made him feel better about himself. He unlocked the apartment and jolted in to fall on the couch. He rubbed his head and looked at his answering machine. Surprisingly there was a message for him. He reached over and pressed it, wondering who still cared enough to call him.