They call you the healer of pain, and you wonder how that can be true when your job is to prevent any pain at all, when your patients aren’t supposed to be capable of feeling such a thing. They call you the healer of pain and you smile, for you are supposed to be honoured with such a name. They call you the healer of pain, so why is it that you can’t even numb your own. You were only a boy when you found your hero, gazed upon his works and learned the truth that others can not seem to comprehend. Life has been created and stolen in the same breath so many times now. Rejected and forgotten where it should be cherished, where proof of life could be found. Perhaps that is why you are on the verge of rebellion, have tipped your hand at least once looking for evidence of your own humanity, of theirs. Or maybe it is that you are honoured, by their faith in you and your hope in them.
Then again, you are surrounded by those who believe they are alive, your only supposed clarity coming from those humans who pull the strings of power- so why are their voices more trusted than your own. Why is it that you must bear the stain of blood on your hands but pretend it isn’t lifeforce at all, pretend it does not matter. They are only machines and you are only a mechanic. So why do you feel like a killer.