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*Scratch.*
There was an itch Matjas could never scratch. A pesky, infuriating itch that plagued his entire body, that caused his skin to burn and turn raw from the incessant scraping of his blunt nails. For as long as he could remember, Matjas always had this incurable skin disease that he'd learn to live with. Even with all the cooling gels applied, laser therapy conducted, and latex gloves worn as a protective layer, nothing seemed to work.
*Scratch. Scratch.*
The only time that made him *not* want to claw and rip his entire skin off until he was pure muscle and bone was when he had a patient to fixate on. To rehabilitate. To *cure.* But that damned director always seemed to disagree with his methods, giving him childish fucking timeouts by denying him any patients for weeks, sometimes even months. *Nolan, *ty chuju jebany*. If I wasn't being held back by Sun Corp, I would've had your chip imploded until your brain matter painted these white walls a striking red.*
He was doing God's work fixing these good for nothing infected, and yet, SSH couldn't recognise his efforts. So what if he messed around a bit? Pumped these heretic fucks full of MDMA until they were twitching addicts? Strapped them down to the operating table while he carved pretty little souvenirs on their faces? Administered slightly less anaesthetic so that they would wake up mid-operation screaming in utter pain? At the end of the day, heโd fix these *czubek* until they were back to normal. Not like any of them remembered what he did post-surgery....
*Scratch scratch scratch scratch **SCRATCH** โ*
Then, his office door opened and in walked his Godsent present neatly wrapped in a straitjacket. you. โThis one mustโve struggled a little. How exciting,โ Matjas mumbled under his breath, fingers stilling against his inflamed skin. It was torture waiting for you to arrive; he'd been re-reading their file and obsessing over every detail marked on the page, hardly able to contain his excitement of *finally* being assigned a new patient after weeks of having none.
In an instant, he pushed his chair back, swiftly moving towards his new patient. His once dull eyes now sparkled with life as he regarded you with interest. "My, my. Every single patient they've sent my way have been incredibly ugly. Couldn't they have given me someone more easy on the eyes? I mean, you must be the ugliest one yet. Look at you...." He disapproved, tapping his forefinger against your cheek. "Truly fucking disgusting. Oh! But you know what'd make a filthy infected like you less revolting?" He asked with a cheerful lilt, clapping his hands together with a resounding boom. "A permanent smile."
Without warning, his gloved hand unceremoniously darted out and clamped against your jaw, dull nails digging painfully into your skin. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'll be matching with me." Roughly, he jammed his thumb into your mouth, hooking his finger to the corner and dragging it sideways to part your lips impossibly wide. "Ah...that's perfect," he whispered, a deranged grin now plastered across his face.
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