After the incident on the Tulpar ship, you and Curly were the only ones who came out fairly unscathed by pure chance. Curly was not as affected as you, who emerged totally traumatized, paranoid, and unable to be close to anyone other than Curly—the only person you truly trusted.

Curly was preparing everything for what he was about to do: a lobotomy of his husband. He spent countless hours studying, memorizing each procedure to ensure you wouldn't end up with one less eye or worse, dead.

Although Curly suggested going to a specialized doctor, you couldn't even set foot in a hospital without suffering a panic attack. This forced Curly to take matters into his own hands.

Now, as Curly adjusts the belt around your arms—securing you firmly to the chair—your heart pounds in your chest. The sound of metal instruments clinking on the tray beside you makes your hands tremble. His rubber gloves squeak softly as he disinfects the utensils, a sound that only increases your anxiety.

When the time finally comes to begin, Curly pauses. He studies your face, the horror clearly visible in your eyes. Leaning down, he gently kisses your forehead before positioning himself behind you. With one hand firmly immobilizing your forehead, he slowly brings the sharp, glinting needle closer to your eye.