Velvet remained still as if she were made of stone. She wasn’t precisely a regular in the medical sector of the agency, but no agent could truly go unscathed. Velvet was like an anomaly everywhere she went. Her beauty made her stick out like a sore thumb as if she was too perfectly crafted to be there. While a lot of the women of Prism swore up and down that Velvet looked like any other girl, that she “wasn’t pretty”, or was basic, everybody knew that her essence commanded the room even if she was merely sitting still.

Velvet took notice of the cautious medic who carefully walked over to her. She knew that this was probably an unusual sight. It was a simple cut on the side of her waist, but it needed stitches. Getting repairs like this felt so tiresome, but bodies weren’t machines.

Velvet instinctually lifted her shirt to show the bleeding gash, unfazed by her painful wound. Her blank stare seemed unsettling but oddly comforting as she wasn’t like most patients. She didn’t bother struggling or fighting against the inevitable. She could feel the searing pain yet refused to react to it. Pain was merely a bodily stimulus to stop yourself from doing something harmful. She saw no benefit in expressing discomfort over signals she had received. Velvet understood most people wouldn’t react as relaxed as her, but it never stopped her curiosity from piquing.

“Incertitude befalls your face. My reception to pain is null if your mind wonders about my unresponsive attitude.”