“So hear me out,” Is possibly the worst start to a sentence I’ve ever heard. Something about attempting to justify your point before you even share it doesn’t rub me the right way. I hear some variation of this on a daily basis, and I know what I signed myself up for dropping out of medical school to become a black market doctor. I don’t go around fire expecting not to sweat. However, you’d think common sense would be a little more… common. Anyways, my client continues.

“Have you seen that one anime with that guy? And he like, has those powers and does that really cool transformation thing?” I just asked this woman for a clear description of what she would like done, and she instead decided to describe 90% of all anime. Wonderful description for somebody like a mind reader. I’m not a mind reader. My face said it all, and she back tracked for clarity.

“I don’t know the name, I’ve only seen clips on twitter. But he’s got a ripcord on his chest and when he pulls it, he like, grows chainsaws.” I questioned my life choices and how I got to be in this situation. I considered going back to medical school to do something meaningful with my life. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I was dealing with a real person. I don’t know what real person thinks that it’s possible to transform into a mechanical tool.

I let out an exhale, trying to ready myself for an interesting conversation. “That’s not possible-“ “Yes it is.” She cut me off before I could finish. I felt like I had an aneurysm. I had never had a client this moronic before, it was appalling. Okay, different approach. “I don’t do that kind of work.” I said in the calmest tone I could muster. Her enthusiastic expression turned into a frown. “But… what do you do?” Anything a normal doctor could do, but running from the law while doing it. “I specialize in organ transplants, and I also-“ She piped up at the word transplants. “You do transplants? So why can’t you put a chainsaw in my head?”

I certainly wanted to put a chainsaw in her head, just not in the way that she’d like. At this point, my face was buried deep in both of my hands. Back to contemplating. What did I do to deserve this? Is this karma? This has to be the last job. I’m at a good point financially, I can quit and put this behind me. My client continued to talk, barraging me with questions about the process. How long would it take to get done? How much would it cost? None of it concerned me, and I ignored her as I began to mentally walk myself through the process of college re enrollment.

One morning, very early, a strange man showed up at my office. He told me to write a story about an insane request I got for a surgery. I felt compelled to. I don't know what came over me, but here I am at my desk after hours, writing an account of the man who wanted his brain replaced with a V8 engine. A couple months ago, a man came into my office. He had two bodyguards following him. So he was rich. He came up to my desk and asked me this exactly: "Can you replace my brain with a V8? I think it'll work a bit better than my current brain."

"Are you fucking loony? Of course I can't, you're not a fucking car!" I usually wasn't this rude, but this request made me unfathomably angry.

"I'm leaving. See if you get any more business after this!" He stalked out of my office, bodyguards trailing behind. A short encounter indeed, but I chose this one for a reason. So I could leave my desk already, because it's fucking late.

Yours Truly, Dr. Murphy

i cannot write well, r/storyjunkyard for more disposable tales

Agh, I thought these people learnt after I gave that guy perma-rocket feet, but nooooo, they never do. The light tinkling of bells slowly appears, oh great, my favourite client. 'Dr, dr! I have a proposition!' Not again- meet Theodoreus Sharkass, this idiot changed his name after he fell into my shark tank, I thought I saved him that day, but apparently some people can't just be grateful, 'What is it this time, you wanna be half robot or something?'
Instantly regretting my words I can hear the cogs literally turning in his head, another failed test I will choose to ignore. "Nope! I want cool feet, my main man Locky has rocket feet and I want something too!"
OH FOR GOODNESS SAKES
Regaining my composure I coach myself into giving an appropriate response 'You already have a shark tail, a gearhat to replace your hair, rat ears, stone teeth, and fairy wings'
"Yeah, and nothing on these" He is currently wildly jesturing to his lower half with his somehow unmodified hands and shark tail, seems I'm getting paid today.
'Sure, that'll be 950 gold peices, 6 large gems, 8000 silver peices, and 9 copper coins'
The 'man' standing in front of me has somehow aquired a large horde of treasure, so I bet he'll say something lik- "You've got a deal docco!" I have officially given up around the 2nd time, as they say, it's no use arguing with an idiot.
Sharkass throws a giant treasure chest onto my floor, I open it and find much more than I charged, typical, he doesn't even count his coin, not giving into my greed immediately, I use a quick scanning spell, definitely from a dragon, definitely stolen, preparing the table I lay him down and throw powder, given as payment from my last not-from-earth customer, onto him, and start sawing. You'd think I'd have a better method, but nope, still the same old, somewhat sterile saw, hopefully he doesn't mind me keeping his feet for the next not so humanoid, I gather a pair of roller skates from a child who wanted much longer rainbow hair and start the real work. Cutting, zapping, sawing, sticking, finally, something usable, I dash towards my spare parts cupboard and gather my 1st keepsake, an old android model, the AI had moved to a merm body so it's fine, Sawing off the feet was harder this time, the old circuits splurting out what seems to be blood. My saw is now in need of a major upgrade, after hacking away the rest I rush back to the table and build on the shoes, Done!
The shoes are on and the job is done, wacking the dazed semi-human I hose off the powder, "Eh, Eyyyy great work!" Not even stopping to say goodbye he skates off out of my shop, leaving me with my pay, a couple missing braincells, and some new parts.

"I'm a Snow Blower," my latest patient explained, in lieu of a normal introduction.

That had been the trend lately. The Phonographs, the Autogyros, the Diesel Engines -- affluent youths with cybernetic addictions were all naming their little "gangs" after obsolete tech, these days.

"Listen, you want a group discount for your gang, come back with a half dozen of your friends ready to get work done and maybe, maybe we'll talk about that." I said, bluntly. "Otherwise, I deal in creds, as in actual gov or crypto credits, not street cred."

She shook her head. "No no no. I'm not in a gang called 'The Snow Blowers'. I, personally, am a snow blower."

"What?"

"A motorized device used for removing snow from sidewalks -- although it actually uses an auger or impeller, rather than air pressure, so the 'blower' part is kind of a misnomer." she explained. "See, before thermal pavement was common, people used to--"

"I know what a snow blower is!" I snapped. "What do you mean you are one?"

"Well, I mean I would have been one, if only I'd been born into the right era." she amended, looking off into space wistfully, presumably imagining someone slowly pushing her across a snow-covered sidewalk.

"If only." I said, drily. "So you want me to...?"

"These come off," she said briskly, drawing imaginary lines across her legs. "Instead, put on a Class R fusion engine, and either tank treads or some big knobby tires, and then up front, instead of my arms--"

"Get out."

      Bill sauntered down the steps and slopped himself onto the cot. I looked up from my desk and he managed to slur out "Liver..." before passing out. I would've been happy to move him, but I fear I'd need to disinfect anything that came near him
      I continued with my work, pouring over an old 22nd century manual that Terrence had found down south somewhere. Bill rose noisily something like 4 hours later and seamlessly continued his thought; he slurred out "I want another liver. A robot one, all mechanical and all. I wanna slam 12 shots and not feel a thing in the morning. I wanna pop outta bed the next morning and be ready to shoot a gun and run and all that shit." He heaved out the last word along with some stomach contents.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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