"Are you sure you want a clear wipe? There is no going back."
"Absolutely, Doc. Wipe that shit clean. Good memories, bad memories, feelings of inadequacy and past relationships be gone. Jobs? Done. Friends? Fuck it, I'll make new ones."
"There will be a sense of disorientation that is strong. Sometimes there is a fracture that we do not foresee. Ego obliteration is one thing; a completely blank slate ... not that it is unprecedented, but it is usually used as a means of punishment and control."
"Alright. I'm punishing myself. You're in control."
"And what, exactly, are you punishing yourself for? The clean slate is usually reserved for the worst our world has to offer."
"Yep. That's me. I'm a fucking mess. I can't get it down, this grown up thing you guys all bought into. But I also can't seem to just relax and go with it. I actually want people to be honest, accountable you know? I own the bad shit I do, how come no one else does? Clearly *I* am the problem here. I just want you to wipe that shit clean, so I can start over and be like everybody else."
"You think you're ... different, is that it?"
"Look man, I'm not being superior. It makes my life miserable. I don't know how it happened. Maybe I missed that week in Kindergarten. Maybe I had a fever that went too high. All I know is, long as I can remember, the world did not get along with me and vice versa. I'm tired of trying to explain myself. Hit the button."
"Sir, this isn't a fast food restaurant."
"Yeah, no shit. No happy meals. Come no, man. I paid the fee. You have the money. Don't try and pretend that you have, er, ethical problems with this. You wipe people's minds for a living. Sometimes a little. Sometimes a lot. You ain't in consideration for the priesthood, you feel me?"
"Insulting me is probably not in your best interest."
"Are you threatening me? Is that what that was? I can go someplace else. It's not like you're the only goon in town doing this ... ahem ... good work."
"No, no. No problem. We'll begin now. Nurse? Injection?"
The patient's eyes closed almost immediately.
"Jesus, did you hear that one?"
"Yes, Doctor. Shall I take him to the O.R.?"
"Nah, wheel him down the hall to 409 with the rest of the assisted-suicides."
"No, Doctor. Of course not."
Janet did as she was asked. Otherwise, she would be the next in line for room 409. She knew that. That was one thing she did know.