Medication

[lostamigo]

[Daniel sits in a common room, in a chair large enough to support his weight. In front of him, a TV. What's playing is the ending credits to a western, as the cast rides off into the sunset. Looks like he's been sitting here for a while. And, as soon as someone passes by, he speaks.]

...I made a mistake. Can't move my leg. On the table over there, a syringe. Can you give it to me? Sorry about that.

Comments

[lostamigo]

[Daniel takes it and gives himself an injection, straight to the heart.]

Thanks.

...You don't look surprised.

[dolorous_sensei]

Should I be surprised? Let me guess, your cyborg body need a cocktail of drugs daily to be functional, and they have side effect that you have to grin, and/or reducing your overall life expectation and/or quality.

You're a mysterious cyborg in a mission. It's just expected, really. Or you're telling me that I should expect that your mysterious back-alley cyborgification doesn't have any side effect? If that's the case, then everyone would get back-alley cyborgification.

[lostamigo]

Long as I take the drugs on time, the only side effect is that I'm stuck inside a metal coffin. And I will be forever. It's a part of me.

And it's not back-alley. That'd be simpler than reality.