"Look at these," Lieutenant Smythe ran a gloved hand over the objects in the tray, shimmering beneath a slick red coating. "Implants. Grafts. Replacements. Metal, plastic, vat-grown, gene-tech, artificial." He picked up a disc with three silvery cords. They ended in ragged strands where they had been torn loose.
"And the drugs, the holos, the crystals… We've taken it all away, and what is left?" Smythe regarded his audience, who made a bubbling sound.
"Nothing," Smythe hissed. "You're not even human anymore." He dropped the implant with a clatter, tugging off his gloves. "Disgusting."
He left, shutting off the lights.
Whimpers From My Bed Of Woe
2 hours ago