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

Another eventful night, huh. This new voice came from another row of lockers opposite Damien. Standing there was a man not much taller than himself with shaggy dark blonde hair still damp from the shower he'd just taken. Tired dark eyes appraised the other briefly before looking away again. It just gets better and better. Currently, he was dressed only from the waist down and the standard Repo uniform could be seen peeking out f a worn brown duffel bag that sat on the bench behind him. The man was obviously strong, however he was more well defined than muscular. As he turned away to reach into his locker it could be seen that his entire right arm was missing completely. Ezra had lost his arm in an accident almost four years ago. Then he'd been working as a freelance artist and a talented one at that. The loss of his dominant arm put an end to what initially looked like a bright career. It killed him. Art was Ezra's passion, his livelihood. Having grown up in the slums and received no formal education, the young man had hoped his artistic skills could pave the road for a better life. Without the means to put those skills to use it felt like a light had gone out. When Geneco developed Synthelimbs it seemed like a godsend. They not only looked real, but through advances in neurosurgery doctors could reattach the nerves that allowed the prosthetic to feel and function like a normal part of the body. Advertised the next step in medicine, each prosthetic was carefully designed to fit the individual. They were detachable and bar-coded like the organ transplants. It was in signing up for one of these limbs that Ezra made his first mistake. The procedure was ridiculously expensive, he was poor and unemployed. Not a good match. But he was bound and determined and so it came to be that he found himself working for Geneco alongside his friend Damien. Withdrawing from the locker, Ezra sat down with the damning limb in hand. The arm was perfect, unscathed in contrast to the rest of the man's body which was, in short, not. Reposession was not a job that came without its risks, targets fought back, often violently. That night in fact, Ezra had earned himself a few bruised ribs and a black eye while retrieving a liver from a man twice his size. Quietly and without any ceremony he began to reattach the limp prosthetic to his shoulder. At the juncture of both his shoulder and the arm, were light metallic structures similar in makeup to a ball and socket joint. Joining them was almost like plugging prongs into an outlet. Once connected there was a crackling static-like noise and Ezra was wiggling his fingers and bending his elbow to test. He'd long since learned to ignore the discomfort of his nerves being constantly attached and taken apart. You look exhausted, he commented, rolling his shoulder before pulling a thin grey shirt over his head. I'd suggest taking the day off but...You know. He forced a smile and gathered his things. After each beginning their employment at Geneco the two had grown more and more distant. Even now it felt slightly awkward to address the man who'd once been his closest friend. Like Damien, Ezra did not have the luxury of being able to head home just yet. He still had a meeting with one of the Largos about their new ad campaign and after that..... Well he preferred not to think about the parties until the time came. Part of his contract was that he helped the family with whatever design ideas the had for Geneco. More than once he'd been tasked with finding a new look for some advertisement or holoboard commercial, because it was less expensive than hiring a licensed designer. That was what his talent was reduced to until the debt was paid off. Sometimes he had to wonder if it was worth all the trouble.