In the lower levels of Novalectrum there's an unobtrusive implant parlor inset into the lower portion of one of the skyscrapers. Inside, past a door leading beyond the sparkling white tile, is a small efficiency apartment, neatly kept and decorated tastefully. In the bedroom area, a short, skinny person with shoulder-length royal blue hair in his late thirties lies sleeping alone and nude, covered in a pink comforter.

  The sun is just beginning to filter through the light pink curtains from the stirring city outside when a gentle chiming wakes the somnolent person.

  "Ughhhbrlble," he groans in reply, or words to that effect. Goddess his head aches.

  The chiming he might ignore, but the soft blue light penetrates even his hangover. It's his assistant bot, Detlev, a small black spherical construct. Its alarm is set to this godawful hour since Henrik has so many clients to get through today.

  "Wake up, Henrik," Detlev murmurs insistently, brightening the light a couple notches.

  The transmogrifier groans, rolls over onto his back, groans again. 'M awake, Detlev,' he mumbles, accent thicker with sleep, before sitting up in his overlarge bed and stretching.

  The movement reveals an expanse of hairy, scarred, and implanted belly and chest, a sign of all the years he's spent altering himself and allowing others to alter him. His parents would be appalled if he still wanted any contact with them.

  If.

  On a small table beside his bed sits a bottle of white pills. He dry-swallows two of them; hopefully they work as quickly as the packaging insists because he truly does have a lot of work to get through today. Best if he's as clear-headed as possible

  Henrik flings the thick comforter off his slender body before rising. He stretches again and stumbles to the bathroom. There he empties his bladder before examining himself in the mirror.

  The image there is the same as it always is in the morning. His own face, hollow-cheeked, stubbly and un-made-up with the usual bags under his eyes. He turns his head to the side; his pointed ears are still new enough to draw his admiration rather than simply being part of his normal appearance. With the help of his swarm of healing nanobots the wounds are mostly unnoticeable now. Hmm, perhaps a little scarring. Well, no matter. He knows how to fix that up.

  He should, it's his stock in trade.

  The shortish transmogrifier runs fingers through his long, royal blue hair, admiring it - pleasing, that implants don't fade like dye does. Easier to change the color too. Never mind that the strands growing from his scalp aren't quite hair anymore.

  Henrik gives a little grimace that isn't quite a smile, pulling his thin lips back from his teeth and exposing the little fangs he had installed some years ago. Quite satisfactory, those; and startling to people who don't expect them. He's frightened away more than one prospective attacker by flashing those fangs at them. The ones that didn't frighten were at least startled enough for him to draw his pistol and...well, get them out of his non-hair.

  Heh.

  The blue-eyed person runs the shower hot as he can stand it; that always helps burn the night's fog away, especially when he's slightly hungover before the painkillers take effect. With a sigh the short person steps under the spray.

  He has a vigorous wash then towels off before shaving. After that he feels a little better fit for whatever the day's going to bring.

  When he opens the bathroom door the scent of coffee wafts in - Detlev is handy for more than simply waking him when he doesn't want to be awakened. Slinging a robe over his slender shoulders, Henrik steps into a pair of blue slippers he keeps by his bed and shuffles across his small flat to make himself some breakfast.

  Black coffee, as strong as he can get it - that's the backbone of a breakfast, especially after one's had a bit of a raucous night. Protein and carbohydrates - eggs and toast with a bit of butter. Of course he might otherwise fuel himself like a machine but one should enjoy one's meals too, shouldn't one?

  Quickly and tidily Henrik takes on his morning meal. Just as efficiently he pops the breakfast dishes into a little unit he bought last year - worth its weight in titanium if one lives alone, if he's honest with himself.

  He does so try not to be though.

  After tidying the breakfast dishes Henrik makes his bed and hangs his robe back up in the bathroom to dry. Then he pulls out his makeup set and picks over the colors, searching for what he feels like wearing today.

  Silver, not by itself, green, definitely not - not today. Gold? He's not feeling the gold nor the metallic pink. "No," he mutters to himself repeatedly, pawing through the little pots. "No...no...no...ah!" His thin, clever fingers pluck out a shade of sparkling blue eyeshadow that matches his hair as well as a shade of lipstick to match. Thinking a moment further, he takes out the silver after all.

  Henrik starts with a bit of foundation to conceal the bags under his eyes, paler than his natural skin tone. Then working deftly he applies the shadow to his eyelids, the sparkling deep blue bringing out the lighter blue of his eyes.

  He blends some silver in at the top of his eyelids, admiring the effect for a moment before putting that and the blue back in with the rest of his makeup. A swift application of lipstick and some setting spray, and he looks in the mirror again to admire the effect.

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  Henrik always loves how pretty he looks when he's made up like this. His parents would have something to say about this too - but never mind them. He gives himself a smile, exposing his cute little fangs and finds the whole effect pleasing.

  Ah, but he feels much more himself now.

  Quickly the transmogrifier applies deodorant. After a moment's hesitation he chooses cologne rather than perfume today, a sweet fresh musk he likes to wear sometimes.

  The person dresses himself for the day's work then, a shirt and tie under a lab coat. He's no sort of doctor but over the years he's found it sets his client at ease for him to look...official.

  After he's clad properly, he decides on the pink glasses, balancing them carefully on his nose. There now. This is the image he likes to project. Now he's ready for the day's first customer.

  Er, who is the day's first customer?

  "Detlev?" he calls softly. The floating robot appears as if by magic. "Tell me my schedule for the day."

  The construct emits a sort of on-hold noise, calling up the requested information. "First you have an ear pointing, then a set of bioluminiscent implants, an eye replacement, sabertooth implants, and an organ replacement," Detlev recites precisely.

  Ah, the little thing is worth its weight in gold to him, it truly is. Especially when his memory's as bad as it is some days. "I thank you. Now, follow me."

  Detlev acknowledges the order with a soft chime and follows him downstairs to his immaculately clean parlor.

  Done in white tile to minimize anything that might cling and thoroughly sterilized by the nanobots he keeps, Henrik's parlor contains all the tools of his trade. Dominating the center of the room is a doctor's chair - obtained secondhand, naturally.

  He doesn't maintain a large stock of implants in-house, only the popular ones - he stores those in a metal cabinet on one side of the room. On the same side there's a glass box containing the nanobots he uses for various purposes; most often for cleansing this room when he's done for the evening.

  On the other side of the parlor there's a countertop with steel sink inset. Above that there are cabinets containing the various supplies for his trade; surgeons' tools, gloves, anesthetics both topical and general.

  Near the counter there's a rolling tray for his implements. He prepares it for his first client, laying out the tools along with a topical anesthetic and various other things for a simple ear pointing. Then he settles in to wait for the man. Fortunately he doesn't have to wait very long.

  This is an easy one at least. That's by design of course; Henrik isn't much of a morning person, and Gods forbid he should schedule a complicated procedure first thing.

  The man, already looking somewhat like a vampire with his dark, slicked-back hair and red eyes, walks in shortly after Henrik finishes making ready. This client doesn't want his ears lengthened, he simply wants them pointed - a much simpler matter. The operation takes a matter of minutes rather than hours; he sends the man out under his own power, though he recommends that he should sleep on his back until his ears heal. The man takes on the advice, though he touches one of his newly pointed ears rather gingerly. That will really hurt once the numbing wears off, ask Henrik how he knows.

  Briefly the transmogrifier cleans up the chair - generally clients are upset by the sight of blood, not knowing what bloody work the installation of their implants truly is. Best if they don't.

  He's just about got the place spotless again come time for his next client. This man wants luminescent implants down his body, no doubt intending to wear something sheer to show them off. Well it would suit him Henrik thinks, eyeing his client unobtrusively.

  This installation requires no more than a good numbing at the site of each implant as well as the site of the one at the base of his skull to control them all. It takes around an hour, so efficiently does Henrik work - but then again he's done a lot of these. It seems to be in vogue.

  At least this time he doesn't have to pour anyone into their skycar.

  "You'll be sore for the next few days," he instructs the man, who nods - at least he's paying better attention than the last one, though Henrik plans to send a message with these same instructions as well as a manual for the control of the implants to him. "If the soreness persists much longer than that you'll want to seek medical help. Keep the sites dry until they've started to heal before you try showering and if the skin around the sites goes red, rub it with this ointment." He hands the man a small tub of antibacterial ointment. "You'll have difficulty sleeping for the next few days as well, given the universal placement of the implants; I suggest a low-dose sleeping pill, ja?"

  The man nods again at the speech and then he leaves under his own power, albeit limping slightly. Henrik doesn't blame him for limping really. Taking on this many implants at once is more like the death by a thousand cuts; much the same as getting his hair replaced by the color-changing implants.

  Ah well, time to clean up for the next client.

  That's quick enough. The blue-haired person is making decent time today. He decides to do the next client, an eye replacement, and then have his lunch. Far gone are the days when he was too upset by this process to eat. Ah well, that's progress he supposes. Anyway it's best to eat so his hands don't shake.

  At least the hangover's pretty well faded. Bless those painkillers.

  Henrik doesn't particularly like messing around with peoples' eyes, there's far too much potential for things to go wrong. But considering this person is already missing an eye from some accident or another and wants it replaced, well, he'll make the allowance. It's also fairly difficult to match eye colors but with his supplier's help he's managed.

  Thinking of Bog makes him smile a little, but he smooths out the expression before his client arrives. Most of the time he prefers to keep things professional, but...well. He enjoys a bit of non-professional behavior now and again. Once more, he'll make the allowance.

  Henrik sedates this client a bit more than the others - it's no more soothing to have one's eyes worked on than it is to do the work - and gets down to things. Hooking the implant up to the optic nerve is always touchy, and he almost always employs a set of his nanobots to get the job done. When he's finished he bandages the man's eyes and helps him to his skycar. He sets the autopilot to take him home, since this client's arrived alone.

  After cleaning his office, shooting his gloves into the trash, and washing his hands thoroughly, Henrik wanders back upstairs into his apartment and digs around in his pantry and refrigerator for something he wants to eat. Soup will do him nicely he thinks, taking the container from his freezer. Something light to get him to dinner.

  He relaxes and checks his accounts as he eats his lunch, avoiding any of the usual chemical alterants. His final appointments for the day are going to be rather difficult after all, and he wants to go into them clear-headed.