Exterior Hearts

[Guest]

The vials were broken. He had to tell someone. Every week, Rory stood in line with hundreds of other cog wheels to pick up his prescription of "Ink", the state mandatory Emotion Inhibitor that every citizen was required to take every single day. 7 vials, for 7 days of the week. He'd just gotten his weekly kit yesterday, and now it sat upturned on the floor in a puddle of dark, shiny liquid next to several crushed glass vials. Normally, the plastic flooring of his apartment wouldn't be enough to break glass that dropped on it, but... well... he'd stepped on a couple of them before he realized they weren't on his bathroom counter anymore.

Despite not having anything on except a towel around his waist, the vials were so small, that they popped open under his heel as soon as he put any amount of pressure on that foot. The interesting thing was, he didn't know how they'd fallen. They'd been sitting on the counter, next to the syringe gun, perfectly safe before he'd stepped into his shower. He hadn't heard them drop while he was in there, so he didn't realize they were even on the floor until he stepped out of the tiny cubicle.

Crouching down smoothly, Rory set aside the plastic container and looked at the 7 busted pieces, still drowning in a tiny lake of their contents. Each was about as long as his thumb and no thicker than his pinky, with a tiny metal cap on either end like a battery. There were at least 3 that were obviously stepped on, the glass shards a lot smaller and bunched together in a tiny group. But the rest were ambiguously intact. Picking one up, black liquid oozed down the side of his hand from an unseen crack in the side of the vial. Well, it looked like the fall broke a couple of them after all. There were two others that suffered from the phantom cracking, but the 7th and final vial was unharmed. Inspecting it, however, proved that the cap was loose on one end. There was no way he could safely put it into the syringe gun like that.

Who would have thought they made these things so delicate? Probably an issue on the production level. Rising to the sink again, he turned the water on and glanced at the drooling black liquid snaking a small river down his fingers to his wrist. Entragionhypethelmine, nicknamed either "Entreg" or "Ink" for the color, it was a slightly viscous liquid, completely black and shiny in the light and it's main function was to block a person's natural spectrum of emotion. In addition to that, it also boosted energy, so now 4 hours of sleep a night was the accepted number, and it depressed hunger, so that people ate less.

Almost 8 years ago, the State, originally split up as the United States of America, Canada, and the United Mexican States - commonly known as Mexico - outlawed human emotion. After several experimental programs, particularly focused on the military and government law enforcement, they'd brought Entreg into the mainstream, eventually passing a bill that made the use of it mandatory by threat of law.

Before the bill was written, there'd been a few crippling natural disasters that battered the continent's more populated areas, resulting in several riots that were almost just as destructive to the combined nations. So, the State finally presented its solution, and the populace, which half of which were already taking the stuff, agreed to the government's terms. It quieted the more destructive and violent parts of the human brain, and it soothed the rest into a constant, balanced state of contentment. Nobody was really "happy", but nobody was ever unhappy either. It didn't matter if they were; if anyone was found to have stopped taking the drug, they risked being put in jail or executed, so it wasn't really a choice anybody could make.

Not that it meant anything to anyone. Nobody feared repercussions like that, but were merely able to make the rational choice to continue taking the medication for the betterment of society as a whole. Still, as Rory washed his hands in the sink, as he thought these things over, he could already feel himself getting sick. Every morning, he woke up at 5 AM, got into a 10 minute shower and took his daily dose at 5:30 before getting dressed. 5:30. As he began to clean the vials from the ground, scooping them into a dust pan, he glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was 5:45.

His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, and he was sweating, the more he thought about what might happen if he was discovered before he could get replacements. He didn't feel nauseous. He didn't have a headache or any pain anywhere. His body was just reacting as if he'd been through some strenuous effort and there were chills inside when he envisioned Them taking him away from his job and sticking him in a cage to be forgotten forever. Which in itself was alarming because he would have never cared before. In a cage, at his work station. It just didn't matter.

Now aged 26, he'd graduated from school right around the same time the law was made, so he remembered what it was like before. He knew what this was, and he tried to cling to the feeling of safe neutrality that had become his normal state as he set the dust pan and broom aside. Clinging to the kitchen counter now, he tried to slow his suddenly labored breathing, finding the task to be impossible as he put a name to what he was experiencing.

Rory was having a panic attack.

[*Lozy]

Jane stood in the small sterile room, fixated on the face in front of her. Light blond hair, in a pixie cut, was tousled around from sleep. Large round eyes housed blue-grey irises, and were feathered by many long eyelashes. A straight angled nose crinkled a little. And a small mouth housed small plump lips that foamed with toothpaste, as a toothbrush hung out of it, revealing slightly (but barely noticeable) crooked teeth. The small face was connected to a slender body that was only covered by bra and underwear. As Jane stood in front of her bathroom mirror she prepared her list for the day. It was the same list she had everyday, so preparing or even going over it was completely unnecessary, but it was always good to be ready. It was 5:20am when Jane put the toothbrush down, spit, and rinsed. As she flipped her head back up her eyes were once again brought to the mirror. They stared past the reflection as long thin fingers were brought up and clicked the corner, causing the mirror to open. Several small vials sat neatly, their contents filled with a dark liquid, and a syringe gun laid next to them. Jane reached up taking the gun in one hand and a vial in the other, closing the cabinet.

Jane caught an odd expression on the face in the mirror,one that seemed to be reoccurring. Her gaze left the reflection and turned on the objects in her hand. This was her new weeks supply, and the feeling in her stomach and the small nudge in the back of her head was back, as it was at the beginning of every week. A voice that said "Stop. Remember...". Jane loaded the syringe with the inky liquid called Entragionhypethelmine, an emotion suppressor that lulled the State's population into an infinite "contentment", and finding an appropriate place injected the black liquid into her blood stream. After all, Jane was now a practical woman, she knew the repercussions of not taking the drug, as well, she thought it much better not to follow voices in her head or feelings in her stomach. She disposed of the vial and placed the gun back in it's place. It was 5:31, and it was time to get dressed.

Jane exited the white sterile bathroom, her bare feet slapping against the white laminate flooring that ran through out her entire apartment. The apartment was one of hundreds -if not even more- the resided in the housing sector of the large compound. The compound held everything. There was the housing sector, the medical sector, the technical sector, the education sector, and so on and so forth. Everyone lived there and everyone did everything with in the walls of the compound. Jane lived with herself in one of the smaller apartments that were offered, and her apartment wasn't much unlike all the others. The white laminate ran from the kitchen, the living, and the bathroom. All the walls were a light grey or sometimes white. In the kitchen resided basic necessity, the living room basic furniture with a television, and the bathroom kept a sterile feel. The bedroom only differed slightly, introducing your feet to something much softer, grey carpet and white walls, with the basic necessity of a bed and closet. Personal items were added by the occupants, but small things like family photos and the like. Jane's apartment differed in this way. She did indeed have a few family photos but, unlike most homes, interesting splashes and strokes of color adored her walls. Paintings with vivid bright colors hung on the wall, and a large stack of even more sat in a corner. These paintings were from before. Before "Ink".

Before "Ink" Jane had been a completely different person. Before, people would have called her a "free spirit". She was completely passionate about everything she did. Whether that passion was always directed in the right place, was something her and her parents had many disagreements over. Jane was a whirlwind of emotion and art in the form of painting was her outlet. Talent sprung up as a young child had been encouraged by her parents, but as it soon became apparent as Jane aged, painting was all she wanted to do, and was all she did do. Her parents became more and more disapproving, of course as any youth would, Jane made sure she did quite the opposite of what her parents wanted, and fell more and more in love with the expressive art. With much reluctance and pressure Jane finished high school, and not long before the new laws were made, Jane had told her parents that she would not being going to college and would be perusing her art full time. Her parents were not surprised, but were in utter outrage. "There is no life in painting" her parents told her, to which she retorted back with,"There is no life without it". Her parents wanted stability for her, something they had always provided and had, something they thought would keep her grounded. Jane wanted no part of a stable life. She wanted the thing that gave her peace of mind. She wanted the only thing that had ever consoled her. The only thing that had made her feel like she could say anything she ever wanted to say her entire life in just a few brush strokes. But, when the laws were made and Entreg was distributed, the passion and the emotion dispersed, and the inspiration left with them. With her mind released of those things, Jane thought in a practical light, and went to school and became a nurse.

Jane's bare feet were met with the comfort and the warmth of the carpet in her room. She glanced at the bedside clock (5:32am), but knew that she was perfectly on time. Things always ran smoothly and according to schedule, a perk, among a few others, about the drug. Jane's long fingers ran threw her thick, short blond hair, her blue-grey eyes fell on the chair in the corner of the room. A stark white dress laid folded over the back of the chair, and a pair of socks and shoes sat neatly on the seat. Jane unfolded the dress, and slipped it over her head. The cotton material slid down her body the hem ending just below her knee, she buttoned it up, and smoothed out her round bum. Jane then rolled the over-the-knee stocking socks, up her her long slender legs, and slid her feet into her nurse's shoes. She brushed her hair, parting her bangs to sweep over her forehead, and put on the watch that sat on top of her dresser. Jane stood in front of the tall mirror that hung on the back of her closet door. Vanity wasn't really her thing, and self-consciousness wasn't a feeling she had experienced in such a long time. Though, she had to admit, as Jane turned in different directions, that this dress had to be just about the most unfaltering thing she had ever worn. Pulling back her sleeve she looked down at the watch, 5:40. Checking the time was an old habit. Before, Jane had been late to just about everything in her life, and was always searching for a clock anywhere near her. Leaving her room she headed for the kitchen.

In the stark, sterile kitchen Jane opened the fridge, pulling out an apple and a bottle of water. She peeled the apple, took a bit, took a sip of the water, checked her watch, grabbed her bag, and was out the door, locking it behind her. As Jane walked along the hall, joined by many others making their commute to work she thought of what the day would entail. Nursing had not been quite as boring as she had thought it would be, but it was far more gross then she ever imagined. But, she could not complain. There were those that went to work everyday and did the same thing. Jane took amusement (or what little amusement she the drugs would give her) in thinking of what new people she would meet and what new person would get the chance to throw up on her today.

[Guest]

He couldn't tell anyone. It was 6:00 now and Rory was in the process of rushing to get dressed, knowing already that he was going to be late for work. The panic attack lasted for only a few minutes, his heavy breathing calming as his mind raced and thought of what his next step should be. Because like it or not, he had broken his supply of Ink for the week and there was no going back and fixing it now.

His first thoughts as soon as it happened was to scoop up the broken vials and take them to the medical sector, turn them in at the desk where Ink was supplied, just explain to them what happened and get replacements. A really, really simple and reasonable plan. As he got a tiny plastic baggy from a kitchen drawer to put the pieces in, he noticed that several of the vials were crushed into tiny fragments and he couldn't help but feel like there was almost something violent and destructive about the way they looked now. Would they think that he did it on purpose? Would they see him, standing at their desk looking innocently anxious and assume that he stomped on the things to get rid of them?

It had been an accident but there was no way Rory could prove that. But wasn't asking for replacements an honest and noble thing to do? He'd screwed up and they should realize and be grateful that in his time of crisis, he'd decided to admit what he'd done wrong. He was doing the right thing and obeying the law. Or, they could assume that he'd thought about destroying the vials but only after it was too late realizing he'd made a mistake. Would they punish him if they thought he had the potential to stop taking Entreg at some point in the future and refuse to let anyone know about it then? Would they see this incident as the first step into a life of crime?

Rory couldn't let that happen. He liked his life and his job - or, at least, he assumed he did - and he didn't want to get in trouble with the State. He just wanted everything to go back to normal, the way things were supposed to be and not draw any attention to himself. The easiest way to do that was to pretend that nothing happened and just wait until next week when he'd get a new dosage and be able to get back on track. Nobody had to know what happened. Nobody had to get suspicious or call his loyalty to the State into question. He knew the risks of not taking the drug and he knew why it was a requirement - there hadn't been any violent crime in years; the prisons housed the few people who stopped taking Entreg, and even then, those people were only institutionalized for a little while. Once they'd been re-educated, they rejoined regular society. He knew all of that and believed in it, but his fear of being locked up was a lot stronger than his fear that he might end up exploding into a violent rage and kill someone because he wasn't taking the drug. Because logically, one was more likely to happen than the other.

Taking the glass vials, now sealed in plastic and wrapped in a cloth, he hurried to his bedroom and stumbled and turned in the middle of the floor before he finally decided to hide it under his mattress - it seemed like a nice, secretive place... at least for now. It would do as a temporary solution and he could figure out a more permanent solution later on. Lifting up the over-sized cushion, he shoved the cloth under it, as close to the middle of the bed as possible, letting the mattress plop back into place and smoothing his hand over his sheets. Kneeling by his bed, Rory pressed his lips together and stared at the hidden vials through the fabric and springs, wondering one last time if he was doing the right thing. That was when he glanced at the clock and realized he was supposed to be leaving right now.

Rushing to his closet, Rory tossed off his towel and put on a matching undershirt and boxer briefs, hopping on one foot as he tried to put his socks on while standing - he didn't have time to sit down. Then he put on a brown shirt - one of about a dozen in his closet - with his uniform overtop of it, a dark gray jump suit with red and black markings on the left sleeve that marked him as an Engineer. When he had his darker gray jacket on, he sat on the bed to put his boots on, but a glance at the clock - 6:10 - told him he should have been about halfway to the technical sector already.

Grabbing up his other boot, he limped across the apartment to the bathroom, stomping into the boot before stepping in front of the mirror. Short, dirty blonde hair and big, green eyes met his gaze, with an angular, clean-shaven face, and thin lips that seemed in a constant expression of worry at the moment. Wait... that wasn't right... Trying to fix the problem, he adjusted his features until they looked and felt the way they were supposed to - a blank, unmotivated stare now facing him. There was a tiny flicker of displeasure to see himself looking like that, but he ignored it as he brushed his teeth and the short strands of hair on his head at the same time, once more frantically checking the clock before spitting. 6:15.

Letting out a ragged breath, he cleaned his brush and his mouth, rushing out the door, only stopping to spit out his mouthful of water in the kitchen sink as he passed through. The hallway was empty now, everyone already having left for work way before him. The isolation sent a chill running through him - during this part of his morning routine when he KNEW there was supposed to be other people around and the fact that there weren't could only mean that he'd screwed up and was going to be LATE!!! - and even though he had the urge to run like a bat out of hell down the hall and catch up with the morning crowd... a quick glance up at the ceiling restrained him.

A black globe sat in the middle of the ceiling in the hallway, housing two Electronic Monitoring Devices - EMDs - which were fancy, hyper sensitive AI surveillance cameras and were situated in nearly every corner of the large compound. There was nothing they didn't see and any spontaneous or out of the ordinary behavior was instantly put within their focus. Which meant that Rory, being late as he was, was probably being focused on right now. Here was the beginning of what he'd gotten himself into and the true price for breaking the vials: having to keep up appearances not just for his human encounters, but every second that he was alone in the public parts of the compound as well.

Reassuring himself that it was only for a week, Rory kept his eyes dull and facing forward, walking with a hurried yet non-excited saunter down the hall. Coming to the end of the housing unit where it branched off and met with the main thoroughfare in this part of the compound Rory stepped out into the wide hall among just a few others who were still walking about because they had a longer commute to their work stations.

There wasn't a set order or tempo to the way people were walking, but Rory couldn't help but feel like he was out of synch with the rest of them, trying to slow his steps to a more even pace and keeping his darting glances as subtle as possible. Then everything fled his mind - his worries about the crowd, worries about getting to work on time, worries about getting caught, etc. - when a sudden ache surged through his stomach. The Ink. It had to be. Rory was an incredibly healthy person. He slept the required amount of 5 hours a day, ate minimally, and worked out every day. He didn't get sick and he couldn't be sick right now. It severely cut into his attempt to appear normal if he went through withdrawal - would it really start this quickly? That didn't make sense!

He tried to tell himself that it was no big deal and just to ignore it, but the further he went, the more pronounced the ache became, causing him to stop and lean against the wall on the side of the corridor. Pressing a hand to his stomach, he winced and hissed a sharp intake of breath as pain erupted like a hole in his gut. Upon further review, he came to the conclusion that if he went into work hunched over and grunting like this, his boss, Emmett Blase, would just send him to the medical sector anyway. So, he might as well save himself a trip and just go there straight away and get it over with. Who knows? Maybe the problem would actually turn out to be really minor and he could just go straight back to work? He hoped that turned out to be the case.

Limping along holding his abdomen and supporting himself on the wall with the other hand, he broke away from the main corridor to the hall that would take him to the medical sector. All along the way, Rory tried not to look at anybody, all the while his stomach insisted on embarrassing him by making warbling sounds of complaint, loud enough to get him a few looks here and there. Or at least, Rory perceived that he was drawing attention to himself; he didn't really know if he was or not. Entering the medical section, a small black box with an actively moving light on the front of it flashed a light in his eyes, scanning him. There. That should alert his boss as a reasonable excuse for why he didn't clock in yet. A communal clock on the wall read 6:24.

[*Lozy]

Jane arrived promptly on time for work(6:00), along with the other four or five nurses scheduled for today's shift. It was not uncommon to for there to be so little staff; after all, the medical sector hardly got any traffic. The only time the entire medical staff was present was at the beginning of the week when the dark vials of Entragionhypethelmine (or Ink) were handed out to the entirety of the compound. Other then this, the medical sector was hardly of any use. There were, however, a few exceptions; such as children and the elderly. Thanks to Ink, it had a way of making you healthy and keeping you that way. Your body took only what it needed and that was it. It was a helpful drug, but sometimes it caused it's little problems.

In the case of children, this problem was a result of their own growing immune systems. As soon as a child was of a certain age, Ink was administered. The dark liquid would be injected directly into their blood stream, but their bodies saw it as an invader, as a disease. Their little bodies fought with all their might to keep the "invader" out of their body. Children often had to have high dosing,were easily fatigued, and because their immune systems were so busy fighting off Ink they got sick easily. With the elderly, even with the "healthier" life that Ink provided, it was no drink of immortality. Eventually you died; and not much could ever be done about that. Ink didn't build frail bones up, and it didn't help the blood stream, especially to those that were old to begin with. Though, something seems off about Ink. This drug, that mutes everything cannot be as good as they all think.

Jane said goodbye to the night shift staff on her way to the locker room. The medical sector was a blank and sterile place. It smelled like bleach and that awful way a doctors office smells. Everything was either crisp white or bright chrome. The staff locker room was much the same other then the lockers being that aluminum gray color. The only things that hung on the walls anywhere were of medical diagrams, charts and things. There were bookshelves filled with medical books that were hardly ever touched, and in the waiting room were this months subscriptions of several magazines perfectly in order.

Brushing her blonde hair away from her face, Jane's eyes gazed the room. A couple of the other nurses had already taken back patients that had been waiting when they got there. Two children about preschool age, their mothers' standing beside them numb to their fear and confused by their tears, and the nurse a little bewildered by the child's flailing arms. Jane watched like she did everyday, feeling like she knew how easy it could be; but could and would are entirely different things. Another nurse took back an old man. Jane saw him on a regular basis in this sector. But, it was a normal day. The others were busy, but they wouldn't be for to much longer. Jane plopped down into one of the waiting chair, crossing her legs, and picking up a magazine. 6:24.

The noise alerted her that there was a new patient. Jane stood from her chair, setting the magazine back down, and looked to view the person that was in need in help. Oh, was he in need of help. A man with short brown hair was hunched over holding his stomach, and his face read it, loud and clear, pain. Jane immediately rushed over to him, her face was smooth,void -but excitement wanted to flicker behind her gaze- "Sir, what is the matter? How can I help you?" With light, soft hands Jane touched the man's shoulder leading him to the closest room for him to sit down. This was strange, and a little trilling, nothing had happened like this the entire time Jane had been a nurse, a stomach, sure but this expression. She could see him trying to conceal it, but there was no getting past it, his face was covered in his pain; and Jane couldn't take her eyes off it.

[Guest]

The stringent smells and blank whiteness of his surroundings assaulted his senses as he inched his way further into the sector, and he struggled to maintain his facade of dull disinterest while pain continued to poke and prod through the walls of his abdomen. Then it was like an emotional free fall as a voice addressed him and the body it was assigned to came into view. Rory felt like he was knocked off his feet by the sight before him and all pain and thought fled his mind as he gaped openly at her.

She was beautiful and at that moment, Rory was absolutely certain that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Short, blonde hair, thick dark eyelashes like midnight wings on her eyes, and pouty lips that had him begging for the chance to taste them. Even the frumpy nurses outfit she wore - which was practically a paper bag for all the form it gave her - could not disguise the elegance and frailty of the body beneath. All of a sudden, he had the urge to kiss her and hold her and tell her things about himself - to reveal what he'd done this morning as if she were an angel he could confess to who would absolve him of sin and grant him blissful salvation. More than that, he didn't want to leave her side, feeling her touching him and helping him and immediately he knew such thoughts were forbidden... but strangely he didn't care at all.

Ever since Ink became Law, marriage became a privilege of assignment. People with desirable genes were selected to breed and assigned a spouse by the State. There was no dating and sex had become a dutiful requirement to help propagate the human race, restricted to those that the government allowed to share that responsibility. It was forbidden for those unassigned to copulate or reproduce. For some, the choice was taken away entirely by State enforced sterilization. But right then, the threat of such was not enough to quell the pounding in Rory's heart.

Then Rory blinked and actually looked around himself and realized he was no longer in the main entry of the medical sector. She'd taken them away to a private room and he sat upon an examination table, the smooth steel beneath him feeling cold, even through his gray jumpsuit. Looking back at her again, his eyes ready to drink in the sight of her once more, he paused as he actually really looked at her for the first time, taking in the details he'd skipped over before. She was a robot. Not literally, but it was the impression he got from the restrained and passionless way she moved and the expression she wore on her face. Suddenly, he felt a depressing weight filling him. It was such a let down from the goddess-like images he'd glimpsed before and reluctantly, he started to shove away the emotions and fantasies that had sprung up with them, embarrassed about how carried away he let himself get.

Then he realized he was sitting there like an idiot. She'd asked him questions and he had yet to say anything. In fact, he hadn't been doing anything to keep up the appearance of being normal at all! That's when he remembered why he was here and found that the ache in his stomach had subsided considerably, to the point where it was simply an empty ache in his gut; more an annoyance than actually painful. Great. Not only had his reason for coming here suddenly gone down to a more tolerable level but he'd also left himself open to having his crime discovered!

Getting control over his features, Rory looked at her and calmly stated, "Uh... I had a stomachache... It was pretty bad while I was on my way to work and I didn't really know what to do, so I thought I'd just come here and check it out. I think I'm just hungry, though. I'm fine now." Did he sound too nervous? He was rambling a little bit, he noticed. The real concern was whether or not she noticed. He wasn't worried that she'd inspect him and find out that his symptoms were related to not having his morning dose of Entreg, but mostly focused on the fact that she already suspected that from his behavior while being escorted into this room. Was she suspicious?

Looking at her eyes, Rory stopped himself as he saw a flicker of something beneath the dull mask of her features. He couldn't tell what it was but it was enough to convince him that she wasn't as dead inside as he'd originally assumed. Curiosity got the better of him and he let his guard down enough to ask, "What is your name?"

[*Lozy]

Jane's hands moved swiftly, but her blue gaze never left his face. She was entranced. This man wasn't particularly handsome, relatively average . An average body type his toned muscles, if they were visible,hidden under his work clothes; almost shaggy, short brown hair cut similar to a lot of other males; his face had no stand out features, except for his green eyes that held all the emotion Jane hadn't seen in so long. The idea of tearing her eyes away, to miss a second, was almost uncomfortable but she needed her supplies to access. Turning to the small counter -metallic sink and large over head cabinets- she grabbed a stethoscope, thermometer, and slipped latex gloves over he thin fingers.

Immediately Jane's hands placed themselves back on his abdomen and as she applied pressure, as she had before, an unlike that time he now showed no reaction. Her eyes quickly fluttered up to his face, it had changed. Oh how it had changed. The utter pain the read so clear on his face was a dying flicker to this new emotion that read on his face. This look was nothing like his previous, and she had no where to place it. Working in a hospital with young children and the elderly, she'd seen pain -no where to what she'd seen earlier-, but this was totally different. His average face had smoothed from the twisted agony that stopped Jane's heart, to this big eyed wonderment, that had her truly puzzled for it's description. As she pressed harder into his stomach, she could feel him shift. The pain was now mere discomfort?

She made a note of this reaction quickly on her hand. This, like many other things were her bodies natural instinct the Ink had not managed to take from her. Before Jane never thought much of the use of paper, after all she had plenty of writing space on her body. It was odd how They worried over these things that were leftovers of her and others personalities. Jane was still in processing of whether they would elect her to procreate. Physically she was a great choice, with strong genes, but they were worried over about her personality genes leaking through. Stubbornness and smart mouth were not the things they wanted anyone to inherent. Not that Ink had trouble concealing most of her free personality, but the fact that so much leaked in worried Them.

Jane looked back up at her patients face, and it was closer to her's now, the discomfort flickered behind his green eyes, but only because Jane had been looking for it. The man's face was forced contentment, she could tell that much. What was his problem? And as he spoke she only grew more curious. He was answering her previous question, but his voice came out so unsteady, unsure. It appeared he was trying to seem calm, but next to the everyday monotone flat voices, his stood out with it highs and lows. Jane's eyes narrowed as she listened, this was the most emotion she could display on her as she listened intently. His excuses would have, under other circumstances, been obvious lies. But, in this place with Ink lies (at least among the people) had become obsolete. To Jane even, she saw no common sense in them, but made no jump that it was not the truth. She wondered with his explanation that what this meant. Was there another underlying problem that had not yet made itself known? Was this to become common place, and grow into a much more serious thing? After all, Ink would handle any help handle any virus that infiltrated their system. Curiosity wished to burn in her but Ink left her numb.

'Name?' The man had asked for her name. She was still thinking of what this could be when she answered him,"Jane Adam." Her soprano voice rang flat, monotone. Her blue gaze scanned his entire body up and down, falling once again on his face. Name! "And, your's? What is you name, Sir?" with a name she could look into his records. With his name she could instantly know who he was and any medical (or non medical) information she could ever want. If it were possible a smirk might have formed on her face.

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