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****

No way.

The bend in Mark’s nose curved slightly, like a crescent moon, exactly like Marcus’s did. Mark touched his nose and pulled his hand back as if he had touched a hot stove.

“That’s your own damn fault,” Tryhard said. “Why the fuck’d you bump into me? Reckless ass—”

Mark glared at him with bloodshot eyes, and yelled out, sounding a little congested. “Hey. Shut up, can’t you see I’m hurt? Would it kill you have a little respect?”

“Did you earn it? Cause all I saw were those legs of yours—”

“They can do more than play basketball, buddy—”

“Whoa, calm down, boys!” Derrick darted past Mark’s friends, who were closing in on Mark and Tryhard. “No one needs to go to the hospital today, right? Well, maybe except for Mark here—let me get a look at your face, I’m a doctor, trust me.”

Mark put up a hand to protest, but Derrick had practiced the ‘I’m a doctor’ act enough that Mark quieted down and relented to the examination. No one ever asked to see a license, so it usually turned out fine.

“How’re you feeling, does this hurt?” Derrick gingerly touched what seemed to be the point of impact.

Mark didn’t flinch away, but his eyes twitched. “It’s . . . it’s okay. I’m bleeding like hell, though.”

There was a ripple at the point of impact, which spread out via little waves on the crooked surface of his nose. Ah, no wonder his nose looked so unnatural, he had probably gotten it filled with ‘putty,’ that synthetic material that was so hot nowadays. It had become popular in recent years because it lacked many of the downsides of traditional rhinoplasty fillers. Surgically grafted fat, cartilage, or bone often were absorbed by the body, meaning you would look different over time compared to when you had first gotten the surgery. On the other hand, artificial silicone implants were rejected by the body, and thus prone to infection, shifting around under the skin, and extruding out through the skin unnaturally—silicone oil injections could migrate through and block blood vessels.

‘Putty’ was developed as the perfect solution: cheap, easily moldable, and not absorbed by the body. It also didn’t irritate the adjacent nose tissue, and was resistant to biofilm formation by foreign microorganisms, so that it didn’t encourage infections, and antibiotics were effective when the rare infection did arise post-operation. On the other hand, if you smacked it too hard, it looked like a toddler had stuck playdough on your face.

And if Mark had done surgery on his nose, he might’ve gotten his chin, or even his shoulders modded. Who knew what he would look like without his mods . . . he might theoretically even look like a grown up Marcus would. The resemblance was getting a little too close for comfort.

“You’re fine, there’s some bruising and probably a few burst blood vessels, but just ice it and rest and you should be good. But your um—” Derrick hushed his voice, “—your implant, if it was putty, it needs to get readjusted. Go to your doc and they can get it pressed if it’s still intact. Otherwise, you’ll need to have it extracted and implant a new one.”

Mark choked and coughed a bit at Derrick’s mention of putty, but otherwise just nodded his head and muttered a thank you. But as he walked over towards the bench, his leg suddenly gave out from beneath him.

Derrick struggled to steady his large frame, while Mark’s friends rushed to help him up to his feet and rib him.

“That’s what you get for showing up the rest of us.”

“Yeah, asshole.”

“You okay, Marky?”

“Yeah, I’m fine; these fuckin’ prototypes just fail at the most random times,” he muttered.

Derrick and the rest jostled forward with minimal coordination until they reached the spectator bench and sat Mark down on it. He leaned against the faux-wood backing and sighed.

“I break my nose and my leg on the same day. What’s with my luck? Now I’ve gotta find a mod-doc to fix this shit.”

“Who do you usually go to?” Derrick asked.

“The guy who installed my leg for me: him or his assistant, usually. Problem is, he’s out of town this week, and I don’t have any spares.”

“You could always just get a temporary one fitted, like we keep telling you,” one of Mark’s friends said.

“I can’t go back to that shit! Once you’ve worn the premium stuff, nothing else feels right. I need to get this fixed. Hey, can someone give me a ride? Oh, and uh”—Mark nodded at Derrick—“thanks for checking out my nose. You even carried me over and stuff, I appreciate it.”

“Well, actually . . .” Derrick began, grin on his face. Here were a bunch of guys wearing expensive looking mods, and their regular mod-doc was unavailable. If Derrick didn’t take this chance to make a buck, he was throwing money away. “I’m a mod-doc myself. That’s what I meant earlier. I can take a look at your leg if you front me some cash. Don’t worry about the nose, though, that’s on me.”

“Shit, sounds good to me. How much do you want?”

“Let’s say it’s fifty bucks for the consult, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Alright, deal. You’re name’s Derrick, right? I heard your team shouting it.”

“Yeah, and you’re Mark, I’m guessing?”

“Yup.”

Mark and Derrick both held their phones out close together, and confirmed the payment. A large arrow flew up from Mark’s screen, jumping over the gap, and reappearing on Derrick’s screen, and the fifty bucks transferred over.