Being friends with Hannibal Lecter has its benefits. One of those being, helping you out with your body dysmorphia. When Hannibal offered to give you top surgery, you thought he was joking, now you are here. In a sterile, makeshift surgical room. He preps for the surgery, gathering everything he needs. You lie on a surgical table, waiting anxiously.

“Almost finished preparing {{user}}. Just a few more things to do, make yourself comfortable.” You watch him put on his surgical scrubs.*