For the Love of Money

Chapter 11

"How was your bath, Devin?" the doctor called sweetly as he caught sight of me shuffling forward. The air was colder than it was in the steamy, humid bathing area, and as I walked away from the hazy room I could feel the cold starting to cling on my damp skin. I hated that feeling.

The doctor's eyes squinted, and I saw a smirk line his face. I could tell he was stifling back laughter. My face reddened as I remembered what I looked like. "Oh, well, um," he said, trying to hold his snickers in, "well Devin, your...outfit is quite nice, save it's very unlike you. Nice flowery bathrobe. And the pink head towel really suits you. I actually like your new look."

"I will kill you where you stand," I hissed as I walked rigidly to stand beside him and Liam.

Liam seemed to be oblivious to the my feelings, and instead decided to admire my bathrobe-headtowel combination. "Yes, yes pink very well suits your skin tone, and flowers can bring out the masculinity in any man. And yes, the mixture of pink and blue flowers really brings out your eyes, but don't worry about that! We have something that will really bring out your eyes. But besides that, do tell me how the bath was. Was the water too cold? Too fragrant? Did the staff treat you and manage you well?"

I eyed Liam from behind my bangs. "I was...violated," I managed to force out. "They never stopped smiling and they insisted that they clean everything. It was like being bathed by dolls. And then this lady comes out of nowhere with this giant brush and... I just hope you never let me see those men and women again, in case I ever accidentally strangle them."

Liam's smile didn't even falter. "Yes, of course. You see, I had the barest inkling of a feeling that they would act like that when I assigned them to you. It was dad's strict protocol for them to be as emotionally detached and efficient as possible, but now that I'm in charge, I'm trying to let them, you know, be more human. They aren't robots, ha ha." He clapped once. "But besides that, Damon, I must ask, are you ready for phase two of your operation?"

I opened my mouth to give a biting retort.

"Now now, how silly of me, of course you are! Now let's go. You must be dressed accordingly. Come on, Felix. You too must be a judge of his attire,"

We were whisked away from the open the chamber and led around the winding hallways once more, win only Liam's endless chatter echoing off the walls. The doctor listened politely, commented even, but otherwise let him speak. I didn't understand how the doctor could stand Liam, especially if this flamboyant and extravagant behavior was a norm for him. I could feel my temper rising as Liam chattered like a bird, and only the warning glances from the doctor could stop me from telling him to shut up.

We rounded a corner and entered another room that, unlike all the others, was not paved with stony walls or humid with steam. This room looked as if it belonged in a mall, pulled from the poshest clothes shop in town. The walls were pink and lined with neon blue lights. Mirrors dotted around hear and there, seemingly married to the metallic spinny chairs that held drapes and various tools for hair cutting. My guard started to rise once again as we passed the room and entered a colossal pink-and-blue closet, decked with mirrors, spinning displays of shoes and clothes, and doors that opened up to who knew what. Displays of clothes hung with hangers on the walls, along with a plethora of different colored ties. I groaned inwardly. I knew where this was going.

"You see Donald, many people don't know the intricate science that goes into suit fitting. It's not just going to some store and finding whatever color you like or whatever seems to fit. Honestly, that mentality should be reserved for those slumdogs, the ones who have no business knowing how to do that kind of thing. Here, in the cultured upper class, we have a little more sense don't you agree?"

Liam's harsh words were, surprisingly, a relief to me. I'd met the doctor and some of the nurses in the hospital wing, all of them nice and kind and considerate of their fellow man regardless of income. Seeing this side of the rich pigs, the biting, scathing words that came from them, it sort of reinforced my theory that they were all evil. I nodded curtly.

"So now, if you would just step over here," he said, ushering me over to a pink flower on the floor. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to deny that request you made earlier. You're going to have to face those brilliant men and women for suit fitting again. Come on out now!"

On cue, three beaming men erupted from behind the closet door, their white teeth seeming to blind everyone in the nearest vicinity. I recognized the tan one; he'd been the oaf who's swished my towel away before I'd entered the bath. I squinted and folded my arms as they bowed deeply.

"I tried to program them to be formal, and I mean formal as in monarchy formal," Liam chittered happily, smiling at the workers. "We want our guests to be kings and queens. How it must feel to have your suitors now to you, waiting for any requests! It's not wonder my facility is among the top in this area."

I wondered distantly what he meant by program. Hopefully not--

"Oh you know," Liam said, waving a hand dismissively. "The usual method. Conditioning truly is an art on its own. I do so love the prospect of creating workers just to my taste."

I realized, confused at first, that I must have asked the question out loud. Freezing, I rooted my gaze to the ground, deep in thought. Conditioning...no wonder these workers were so creepy. I felt regret course through my thoughts at the way I'd treated them.

"How did you...you know," I asked, trying my best to not sound as horrified and sickened as I did. I realized that I couldn't meet Liam's eyes anymore.

"They usual way of course!" he answered brightly. "Now, the really wealthy like the technologically advanced way. You're aware, the test-tubes babies, mass produced. You know, now you can pick their features."

"What?"

"You can choose their features. Anything, really. Tall, short, fat, skinny, muscular, eye color, hair texture, even down to personality." He leaned close, eyeing the doctor, who was gazing absentmindedly at his phone. "I heard," he whispered, "that they thought of barring those methods from the general public. Apparently, some rich old men were trying to mass produce women for their...pleasure. You know with money, you can do anything. Imagine, being able to create the perfect wife just be the flick of your dollar. Imagine being able to create seven perfect wives, one for every day of the week!" His eyes widened in awe. "How amazing.

"Anywho, I'm afraid that I'm not that rich, not yet anyway. No, I have to find workers the conventional way. Isn't it amazing, the way you can talk those streetrats to create children for money? I swear those women have no souls, giving up children like that. My greatest client is named Lila, and I pay her very well, say ten-thousand per child. She's already managed to create about eighty of my workers. And when they die, I just find more. Hoodlums would do anything for money. Anything but find a job."

I looked up sharply. It took everying in me to keep a straight face, with the furious storm that was brewing inside of me. "She couldn't possibly make that many children," I said conversationally. "She would die."

Liam laughed, a harsh, cold sound. "You're obviously not up to date with our technology, Duncan! There's a serum out there now, used by pretty much all women now who plan to procreate. It's truly amazing - just one swig after giving birth, and it's like you never had the child inside you in the first place!"

I looked at the men, who, chillingly enough, had never stopped grinning at me. "What's their names?"

"Names, you silly boy! Why, I just call the tan man right there number one, and his friends are two and three. Now then," he said loudly, glancing a diamond encrusted silver watch, "we haven't time to waste conversing, as much as I would like to put in my two cents about the hoodlums of this country. You have just under two hours to become perfect for speech. Let's get this out of the way, shall we? You all, get to work!"

The three men rushed at me with measuring tape. I tried to stare everywhere but at them as they measured my body, writing calculations on a piece of paper. As I washed the room with my eyes, I accidentally caught sights with Liam again, who was watching the men work with nothing but pride on his face. His eyes locked with mine, and he gave a warm, pleased smile. Feeling disgusted with everything around me, I forced my lips to turn up as well.