“I’ll be honest with you, Sika.” I lean my back against the wall near the vending machine, resting my shoulder. “I really don’t like your ‘god’. Not one bit.”

“Dude, don’t be so square. He’s not bad, he’s just kinda…whacky?”

“…He told me you were going to jump. Were you really?” The image of those blue tears flash in my memory. “Or was that what the Doctor felt as you entered his body?”

“I–You seriously think that it’s my fault that he was gonna jump?”

“I never said anything like that.”

“Maybe not. But it felt like you did, dude.” He kicks the vending machine. A can of beer tumbles down and he grabs it, eyes still on me. It’s around two in the morning, our shifts at the hospital have ended, thanks to the ‘emergency’ of the Doc. I am concerned for the patients at the hospital. The top surgeon in here is probably dead. And now we have Sika, a depressed architecture major, mourning the loss of his father, cursing all medicine and throwing his faith to a psychotic divinity. I press down on my shoulder. My entire right arm is beginning to go numb. I'm certain I pulled or ripped something.

“You’re a surgeon now. You shouldn’t be drinking.” His hands are picking at the peel-away tab atop the beer can, shaking slightly.

“Oh. Didn’t realise I’d pick’d it up.” He hands me the can obediently. I'm rather surprised. 

“I sorta fall into the rhythm of stuff easily ya know? But still…” He rummages his pockets for a cigarette before turning to me with his droopy eyes. “Nothing I do seems worth it, dude.”

“...You’ll get angry at me if I say anything.” Fishing out some change from the nurse briefs, I count the coins which look vastly different from the currency I’m familiar with back at home. These ones are square shaped and made of a rubber of some sort. Sika fumbles with his coat pocket and picks the skin off his cuticles. He looks nervous, almost jittery.

This isn't his usual behaviour. I've been around him long enough to know it's the original body’s. Despite the original soul of Doctor Florence not being there, I suppose the body still retains some memory. That much is clear. The last time we did a life trial, I retained memory of Robert’s experiences. Maybe I even applied it in my time. The boy was good at math and bad at relationships. I seem to apply the latter skill quite frequently, judging by the way Sika and I have been.

Honestly, I could do with a smoke myself, having to deal with all this. “Listen, I’ll buy you some cigs. But in exchange, hear me out.”

“Sure dude.”

I clear my throat. A soft rain begins to fall. I hold up my left hand to Sika. The red smoke has turned black and eaten away most of my fingernail. “Can you see this?”

“See what?”

“…Very well.” I put my hand down and sit on the damp bench beside the machine. I glance down at the tight knot on my chest. I remember how his golden soul took over the original Doc’s heart. It makes me feel a bit sick, knowing that somewhere, there were traces of Doctor Florence and now he’s no more.

…What did Emily feel when I became her? What did Robert feel?

If their souls still exist somewhere, then I…

The smell of medical waste is distinct and concentrated. I snort. The added pain of my shoulder and the growing fatigue make my tone harsh. “I see you fluctuate between Doctor Florence’s memory and yours. Is this what you want?”

“Whatd’ya mean?” He’s picking at his nails again, clearly some sort of sign of a withdrawal symptom.

“You don’t smoke. Florence does, because he cannot drink.” Emily’s memory speaks for me. “These people we become, they’re real people. Their memories are proof.”

“…And? It’s just a trial anyway, what’s the big deal?”

“You–!” I glare at him. “There are patients–other people here who rely on you! It’s not just one life we’re messing with. Do you not remember anything from the last time?”

“The schoolboy you were? Dude, you ran in front of a truck and died! And when you fuckin’ decided to die, I had no choice! I came back instantly–didn’t even have the chance to see if I was worth two shits!”

“Oh so it’s all about you, hah?! From now on, I’ll tell you when I plan to fucking die, alright? I’d like to do it now.”

“Yin!”

“This life is not mine. Not ours! Don’t you understand? We’re doing something wrong here Sika!”

“It’s God’s fucking plan dude. It ain’t wrong and it ain’t my plan, I just prayed for a better chance. This one, I dunno if this is the one yet!”

“You’re goddamn selfish!”

A garbage bin tumbles to the ground as a raccoon scrambles away. Sika stares at me with wide eyes. His cheeks are red. I get up with some effort and walk towards the main road. “I'll…go buy those cigs. You stay right there and don't move. We need to talk. Properly.”

Sika wipes his eyes and nods solemnly. I turn my head away.