“We believe in incentivizing the people we want on our team. We want you on our team. I believe Doctor Seek is waiting for you now.”
“I wonder if he has a face,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me?”
Veronica gives me a look as if she understood exactly what I said, but is daring me to repeat it. I am not that bold.
“I wonder if he has space,” I lie. “The lab is quite crowded. I felt like I was in his way.”
“I’m sure he will make you feel welcome,” she says. “Off you go.”
Off I go, to the elevators, like a good little working automaton who does what she’s told because there’s money involved and she can’t live without it.
I am nervous to see the doctor again. I wonder if he’s going to be nicer to me. Or worse, meaner. My stomach starts to churn with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. I go down to the lab. I don’t have to be escorted this time, because my pass has been adjusted to allow me to use the fancy elevator that goes to the floor where his lab is located.
I let myself into the room where everything happened. It all looks… normal? I don’t know if I am disappointed or confused.
Dr. Simon Seek is already at work. He looks more handsome than ever, literally. I imagine that having his body rebuild his face whenever he drinks the company ink means fresh, clean skin. They could sell this stuff as skin care if they wanted. People would buy it. People will buy anything that makes them look smoother.
“Hello,” I say. “You’re looking well today.”
It’s a slightly sassy comment, but I am a slightly sassy person.
He gives me a nod, then turns back to his work.
I am pissed. Instantly.
We fuck, his face starts to fall off, I run away, and he acts like I’m nothing and nobody? I feel a hot flush of shame and what seems like rejection. I didn’t expect him to welcome me with open arms, I guess, but some acknowledgement of what happened between us yesterday would be, well, nice. Or just simple human decency. He probably doesn’t have a lot of either of those two things, I guess. Humanity or decency.
I slam my notes down on the table, which doesn’t do much because they barely weigh anything. There’s a slightly enhanced puff of air that is probably not going to have any impact.
He keeps doing what he is doing. I let out a long, passive-aggressive sigh and flip through the notes he’s allowed me to have. There’s nothing in here about turning into a boiling hot dog with little to no notice. Interesting omission.
“We should talk about what happened yesterday,” he says once about thirty minutes have passed and I’d all but given up on him broaching the subject.
“Which part? The part where we were inappropriate? Or the part where your face stopped being a face?”
“Occasionally I test the substances on myself. It’s quicker than waiting for a trial,” he says.
“Okay.”
“I’d appreciate it if you did not mention that in your notes. It’s not exactly part of the formal protocol.” He smiles at me. “Nothing we did yesterday is part of the formal protocol.”
“I gathered that,” I say. “I tried to quit.”
“Veronica wouldn’t have allowed that,” he says.
“She didn’t.”
There’s a pause. He seems fine. He doesn’t have any scars at all, and I would have thought that his face would have been ravaged.
“Does it hurt? When you melt?”
“No,” he says. “Pain receptors are far too confused by the process. They don’t know what they are, is my theory, and testing that element directly seems as though it would hurt. So.”
“So,” I repeat.
“I would like you to have a front row seat to all the wonders of my work,” he says. “But you cannot flee at the first sign of trouble.”
