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Mr. Kay talked with a patient who was swaddled in the blankets of her bed, and she stared up at him with brilliant, hopeful eyes. The surgery on her liver from the previous day had proven successful, and now she was entering the recovery stage of her visit in the hospital. A nurse rushed into the room, his pale cheeks flushed and rosy, and his brow quivered with fear.

"Dr. Kay! We need you in room three!"

Mr. Kay apologized to the healing woman for the sudden halt in their conversation before he rushed out the door. He was thankful for his work, and he was exhilarated that he could aid people every single day that he stepped into the grand hospital. The manmade world did feel startlingly sterile, though, and it contrasted differently with the comfort of White Space. It was chilly there, of course, but Eve provided an unusual warmth that set the soul ablaze.

The filtered, processed water of the wash basin hit his veiny hands as he scrubbed himself down, removing any contagions before he entered the surgery room, where a young boy awaited. The poor child had swallowed a kitchen magnet, and in combination with his pacemaker, disaster awaited. Mr. Kay was brilliant in his field, and after the operation was quickly and elegantly completed, he met up with the drowsy child and his parents in the boy's room. They were eternally grateful, and it did fill Mr. Kay with pride.

But he had simply become a world class surgeon for two reasons: to help people and make money.

He had always feared poverty. Each waking moment was spent pondering about how much he would struggle on the streets. He was raised in a caring, middle-class family, so he had never had to worry about money too much. But as he reached adulthood and independence became eminent, he worried greatly about money, and healthcare was a strong option to keep his greatest dread at bay. He hadn't worried about debt since he paid off his college loans, and he found that saving countless people's lives was an important thing to do. Mr. Kay wanted to give back to society.

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Back in his late teenage years, the blossoming surgeon wanted to be a renowned comic book artist, showing the world his talent and boundless stories. But his fear returned. He could end up poor, and comics don't save lives. His choices eventually stalked him and trapped him in his own agony. When he returned home after a laborious day, he would draw for hours but construct nothing. It all seemed pointless. Comics don't give. They just sit there. Yes, they provide entertainment, but what good is that?

And oh, how he had been wrong! Surgery gave him staggering paychecks, yes indeed, but how was his heart doing? There was nothing there. He felt lost and betrayed by himself. The stories he wanted to tell were billowing through his mind, but they were to be trapped there forever. Mr. Kay didn't have enough time to follow his profession and make grand series about superheroes or the lives of comical old ladies or a homeless mutt.

His fright kept him here. And there was no leaving.

Mr. Kay was bewildered about where his eternal sadness was spurring from, and he visited two therapists. The first was a cheeky young woman who constantly forgot everything he told her. Each session was the same. She would ask about his work and what he thought about it; she forgot he was a surgeon each time he came into her homely office. He promptly dismissed himself from her care after the third meeting. The next therapist was a jolly middle aged man with an exciting personality. He did remember everything, and Mr. Kay adored him because of it. After a year of weekly dialogue, Mr. Kay was diagnosed with depression and granted a prescription to alleviate the mental strain.

The little pale pills worked wonders, but after about six months, the darkness of his brain returned. But Mr. Kay did not return to the therapist. He decided he was hopeless. If medicine couldn't help him, then what could? It wasn't until recently he discovered it was his life choices and abandoned dreams that were upsetting him.

And Eve, the unhuman therapist, figured that out.