I swear to god, I'm gonna try and finish this one.

[first_donoharm]

Itunes meme:

1. Put your iTunes on shuffle and take the first 25 songs it gives you.
2. Link to the lyrics lol, not happening.
3. Let your friends assign you a song to write a drabble to. -- drabble: 100 words. I will try to stick to this so I actually finish.
4. Post this to your own journal

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Comments

[first_donoharm]

((so why care for these petty obsessions? your designer heart still beats with common blood))

The bitch of it is, McCoy knows there's no other way. Nothing modern science can offer, anyway, that will fix her up quite like zydrate. And ain't that the rub? When you've got no other options, the choice between life and death is pretty damn simple. Even if your definition of living gets a little...

Twisted.

Yeah, funny how that works when you're constantly anesthetized, McCoy scoffs as he digs through to find a fresh enough body. Fuckin’ hilarious how the difference between animal and human have blurred until he’s not so certain he shouldn’t be calling himself a veterinarian. It hasn’t ever felt like defiling human remains, especially not now; no, now it’s like a kid’s treasure hunt, and you have to push past all the garbage to reach the prize.

Only the prize is a pair of hazel eyes. With flecks of black if he can help it, were the specific instructions. It took all he had not to put them both out of their damn misery.

He’s decided the difference isn’t in how much you’ve replaced, but how much it matters to you. Take the girl on his table. Without her new parts, she wouldn’t have definition. Hell, McCoy doesn’t know if she’d have much of a body. And that's just not the way humans were designed. They were meant for something more than this, so much more. McCoy knows that, has always been sure of it in his bones. He's seen the product of this world, cuts it out on his table and searches for its cure in the hollow sockets on her face.

But GeneCo's plague spread through their homegrown organs, and Angela's body is riddled with lesions. McCoy knows, he's sewn some of the tumors in himself. Goddamn surgeons. We're all the same in the end. We've taken away her reason to be human, he thinks as he begins to open her up, always feeling just a little too proud of his precision. We've given her everything she’s ever wanted.