Ash pulled off the towel covering his face and propped himself up in bed.
His first instinct was to touch his neck—no scars.
"Strange. You didn't use me as a guinea pig for one of your surgeries this time?"
"Already did," replied 222, the medical officer, without even looking up from their book. The crow-like beak of their mask twitched slightly as they spoke.
"The procedure went smoothly. Congratulations—you're now officially a handsome guy."
"What!?"
Ash scrambled to find a mirror, but there wasn't one nearby. The medical officer chuckled. "Just kidding. Fixing your throat was child's play, really. I had some extra time, so I did a few minor touch-ups here and there. Nothing major—you didn't even wake up."
Ash let out a sigh of relief, then froze.
"What kind of touch-ups?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just a Duffy procedure to open up the corners of your eyes, an Ebo technique to adjust your brow bone, a Loja method to refine your jawline, an Eiras enhancement to curl your eyelashes naturally... and a few other things."
Ash's jaw dropped.
"How much do I still resemble… well, me?"
"Pretty similar, I'd say. You know, two eyes, one nose, one mouth. The usual."
"This is what you call minor? What's a major makeover? Swapping out my entire head?"
"That's a bit extreme," the medical officer admitted, making a casual gesture. "But it's not uncommon among surgeons. A major surgery typically involves replacing most of your facial features. Say, swapping your eyes for a hawk's, your teeth for a shark's, your nose for a wolf's, and your ears for a bat's. Oh, and don't forget the limbs and organs. Mechanical prosthetics are all the rage these days."
Cybernetic modifications? Seriously?
Ash recalled seeing a prisoner with rabbit ears and boar tusks and had assumed it was some sort of bizarre crossbreed. Turns out, it wasn't nature running wild—it was science.
"Have you had any major work done?" Ash asked, eyeing the medical officer's crow-like mask.
After a moment of hesitation, they replied, "You could say that."
"Ohhh," Ash drawled, staring at them suspiciously. "I see now..."
The medical officer knew exactly what Ash was implying and put their hands on their hips.
"Let me set the record straight: I've never needed to touch my face. It's perfect. Always has been."
"Oh, so it's not your face, huh?" Ash's gaze swept over the medical officer's fully cloaked figure, trying to detect any abnormalities.
"What are you staring at?"
"Just wondering if your fingers might pop out a screwdriver or something."
"No screwdrivers. Just an ear pick. Want to try it out?"
"Sure."
"Not happening. Here."
The medical officer tossed a small bag onto the bed. Inside were ten shiny silver coins.
Ash pointed at the coins. "What's this for?"
"Payment. You let me practice my procedures on you. Ten operations, ten coins. Fair deal."
"Wait, I thought you paid in gold last time?"
"I asked around, and apparently, no one else pays gold for this kind of thing. At most, it's a few silver coins. Some don't even pay at all!"
Ash clicked his tongue. "That's the problem with following the crowd. If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you?"
"You make a good point. Maybe I shouldn't pay you anything at all—"
"But listening to others occasionally shows humility and adaptability," Ash said quickly, pocketing the silver coins.
The medical officer laughed but soon grew serious.
"You're a hot topic now. The only prisoner in Kaiman City's history to survive a Blood Moon Trial despite being gravely injured."
"Wait, the only one? No one else has ever survived an injury like mine?"
"Oh, there've been injuries, but they all ended up as shredded confetti. You, on the other hand, had a superficial wound—easy enough to patch up without breaking the Life Preservation Act."
"Superficial?" Ash's face twitched. His throat had nearly been torn off, and they called it superficial?
"Anyway," the medical officer continued, "make sure you rack up more contribution points. You don't want to end up in the next Blood Moon Trial. And next time, there might not be an elf taking the brunt for you."
Ash narrowed his eyes. "You seem awfully concerned about me. Did treating me spark some kind of emotional attachment?"
"Please. You come in for treatment almost daily. If every prisoner were as cooperative as you, I'd be out of this place in a month. Thanks to you, my techniques are practically flawless now."
Ash smirked. "When you leave, can you take me with you? I'll even let you use me as an experimental subject for three years. Deal?"
"Sure."
"Wait, seriously?"
"Of course. If you're okay with being shipped out in three separate boxes, the prison will gladly let you go."
"Would you be able to put me back together afterward?"
"If I were a four-wing legendary surgeon, sure. I might even throw in some enhancements for fun."
"And are you?"
"If I were, do you think I'd waste my time chatting with you?"
The medical officer crossed their arms.
"Besides, you're still dreaming of escaping? After going through a Blood Moon Trial, you haven't dropped that childish fantasy?"
"Dreams are what keep us going!" Ash clenched his fist dramatically. "And after seeing that trial firsthand, there's no way I'm staying here. I'm breaking out!"
"Well, good luck. Just try to keep your body intact when you do. I might still need it."
Ash leaned in. "You got any tips for a clean escape?"
The medical officer fixed him with an intense glare, their birdlike mask amplifying the effect.
"You think a little makeover means I won't report you?"
"Relax! Consider it post-op small talk. Let's say you were wrongfully accused and locked up in Lakebreaker Prison. Hypothetically, how would you plan your escape?"
"That's absurd."
"Why?"
"Because memory extraction exists. Any investigator would immediately prove my innocence by checking my memories."
Ash frowned. "Don't you think that's… invasive? Isn't memory a deeply personal thing? Shouldn't it be protected?"
"Ah, so you're one of those people. A freedom fanatic."
"Excuse me?"
"Only criminals and anarchists oppose memory audits. Next, you'll be telling me we should unbind miracle chips or give women full autonomy over their reproductive rights. Look at you—you're sweating."
Ash gulped. "Wait… women don't have reproductive autonomy?"
"Of course not. If a fetus has a defect, termination is mandatory."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then it must be born. Why ask the mother? Every birth comes with hefty subsidies—equivalent to three years' salary in a mid-tier job. For a mage, it's even higher."
Ash's jaw dropped.
The medical officer glanced at him. "What's with that look?"
"Nothing," Ash stammered. "Just… you ever claim those subsidies yourself?"
"I can't have children."
"Sorry…"
"No need to apologize." The medical officer waved dismissively. "But honestly, you're more radical than most 'freedom lovers.'"
"This counts as radical?" Ash wiped his brow.
"Absolutely. Any policy that lowers birth rates or complicates law enforcement is a non-starter. Propose something like that, and you'll be out of office within a week."
Ash was speechless.
Maybe in the Blood Moon Nation, he really was the villain.
"Anyway, back to the hypothetical game," he said quickly. "If you were wrongly accused and locked up, how would you escape?"
The medical officer smirked.
"Escape? The answer's obvious. You're just too dumb to see it."