to have and to hate

tw:contains questionable ethics

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the farm owner asked, brandishing a tool—a screwdriver of a fashion—in a newly-furbished arm.

“I need those eyeballs, Jon. These faulty ones they gave me aren’t worth the money I spent on them.”

“Still having those dreams, are you?”

“I’m plagued by the memory echoes. I get locked in them for what feels like hours. Forgetting is painful,” she cried.

The man patted her on the arm. “That’s the difficulty with fresh-dead things.”

“I tried, so hard.”

The cryo farm was filled with foragers searching for parts. She waited for his direction.

“I have a few people here that have been brain-dead for a long time. Their parts will cost a lot more but I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

She didn’t hesitate before transferring a million credits to him.

“I see you were serious,” Jon muttered, shaking his head at the ease with which she dropped the money.

“I am desperate,” she whispered.

“I know, my sweet. I know.”

He gave her the tablet to read over her file, an almost fraternal softness to his eyes. She would believe it if she didn’t know his true nature.

“Failure to assimilate this part will not be fatal?” she asked.

“No, it’s not fatal.”

“I’m ready,” she whispered, with a determined nod.

wc:229