Chapter 3: Yesterday

I'd seen a lot of dicks.

Beautiful ones, wonky ones, gnarly ones--but none as uniquely unappealing as the dick I saw the day before.

Magnus Cattivo, CEO of Schlong Systems and current favorite among internet conspiracy theorists, was sitting on the edge of the procedure table. His penis lolled sadly to the side, covered almost entirely of scar tissue.

"Do you mind getting hard, Mr. Cattivo?" I asked with clinical detachment.

He looked up, eyes narrowed on my chest. "You're not as hot as they said. If you were, this wouldn't be a problem."

I didn't react. This wasn't the first time I'd heard an insult like that. The kind that came from men who relied too heavily on their implant. They had lost all interest in organic arousal. Magnus burned through doctors faster than his implants wore out. The money was good, but he was a toxic asshole. Now it was my turn to deal with him.

"Would you like assistance?" I held out the iPad, preloaded with *Boomtown*.

Magnus took it from me without looking. "What about the girl at the front desk?" he asked "She's hot."

I smiled politely. "I'm afraid she doesn't offer stimulation services."

"What the fuck kind of place is this?" He thumbed through categories on the screen, grumbling at the lack of celebrity deepfakes.

Magnus didn't match the cheery healthnut the media portrayed him as. His smile was colder, and his pale skin looked almost dead. I wondered what supplements were keeping him alive.

I turned to my drawer, pulling out a chilled vial of Trimix and a fresh syringe. Ethics be damned--this guy sucked. I wasn't going to give him a choice. While he was distracted typing "enhancement daddy" in the searchbar, I swabbed the side of his repulsive penis with alcohol and numbing cream, letting it sit--but not as long as usual. I slid the needle in, quick and precise.

"Fuck!" he shouted, dropping the iPad on the floor with a crack. A woman's breasts began glitching into tiny lines across the screen.

"This saves us both time," I said as the jab began to work. His cock stirred, then hardened with startling speed.

"A little warning next time?"

"Noted," I picked up my scalpel.

-

Thirty minutes later, I peeled off my gloves.

"And that's it," I said as Magnus adjusted his pants. "The old implant's out, and the new one's in. The incision was just three millimeters--a personal best. Should heal within the week."

He didn't look at me, just nodded with a grunt. He slid off the table and walked out, his legs a little wider than when he arrived.

I let the door swing shut behind him and slipped through the side entrance into my office. My desk was sad, almost bare. Just a stack of unfiled patient charts and an untouched planner from last year. Nothing exciting ever happened here. Everyday I knew what to expect. Dicks and stitches. I usually watched turtle memes after surgery to cheer me up. Something about their tiny, determined legs.

I was halfway into my chair when I heard a muffled voice.

Magnus.

Curiosity tugging me, I moved closer to the thin wall to listen.

"This one should last longer. I also upgraded the sperm controls. We'll test it in a week, once I'm healed." His voice trailed off as he walked down the hall.

Frowning, I turned around and went back to the operating room. The old implant still lay on the metal tray beside the table. I picked it up with tongs and turned it over in the light.

It looked identical to all the others I'd removed. But it was well known Magnus tested his prototypes on himself. I wondered what made this one different. What were sperm controls?

Years ago, the original model was purely for enlargement, but the newer versions had gone full gadget. There was an LED flashlight that also let you change the color of your pee. Some had preprogrammed urination patterns: waterfall, mist, pulse. One came with a taser function, supposedly for self-defense. The market had moved past standard enhancement. Implants were status symbols now--like watches or cars. But I have never heard anything that had to do with sperm.

A knot started forming low in my gut. I told myself it wasn't my business as I picked up a biohazard bag and began labeling it. Explanted penile device, confidential--Clara N. I sealed the implant inside and, ignoring the stupid ideas swirling in the back of my mind. I slid the bag into the red bin on the counter. With all the others.

The door knocked.

"Come in," I called.

The receptionist leaned in. "Magnus wants the old implant."

"Did he say why?"

She shook her head. "Just said it was company property."

"Okay, tell him I'll be right out."

She nodded and closed the door.

I stared at the red bin, motionless.