Desperate Times Call For...

It was time to go. Garth’s suspicions were definitely raised, and in another month he’d know everything.

How did I let it go this far? Well, anonymity was always easier before the digital age, before electro-footprints and physio-population ultra-scans… Then again, I’d have let my guard down for him in the Middle Ages, ultra-scan or not.

In any case, there was only one way to set this straight. Which brought me to a small, dusty surgeon’s office downtown, facing a gold toothed doctor with hair reeking of pomade-surogate.

“So, what did you have in mind,” he asked, offering a pamphlet. “Cosmetic surgery?”

“I didn’t spend weeks searching the black market for a nose job. I came for your reputation.”

“Total bio-chemical overhaul? Forgive me, but patients who request such desperate measures are usually older, more… in need.”

I grinned. “You’ve never had a patient as old as I am.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, we don’t ask questions here. Come back in two-”

“No. Ariadne of Makropulos disappears today.”

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