A dark caption.

Mary Rogers, 40, decided she had enough. She was tired of looking at those lines, those growing, deepening lines on her pretty face that continued to cut into her face. She did not see just wrinkles, instead viewing them as a testament to her lost youth, and with each day she swore they got longer, deeper, and more of them appeared.

She had enough. She walked into the office to meet the doctor.

She stepped into the office, a bit surprised at it. It didn't conform to her expectations. She had expected something more clinical, and this seemed more like an office building. As she walked into his office and was greeted by the receptionist, a perky young blond woman, she began to relax. This area, at least, seemed to be a bit more to her expectation as what she thought a plastic surgeon's office would look like.

She waited, checking her phone as she crossed and uncrossed her long legs. She had wanted to project an image of being younger and while this outfit might not have been quite right for someone who just turned forty, she thought it was more about the projection of youth, at least in this case.

Her wait was short and she was sent to the surgeon's office, finding an old, kindly-looking man in dress clothes and a lab coat.

"Ah, Mrs. Rogers, I understand you were interested in some work."

"Uh, yes." She said. "Did, do you know where?"

"Oh, yes!" He said with a smile. "The face specifically. I tend to keep it generalized to start, then we move to specifics as we go on. I find that provides the most complete picture of what a client wants, especially with applying subjective ideas of beauty to far less subjective parts of a person."

"Oh." She said. "So, do you want me to tell you what I was thinking?"

"Yes, if you would."

She went into detail about her face, her wrinkles, and what she thought were the issues here. He listened intently, nodding and asking a question here and there and when she finished he was smiling.

"Well, I think you came to the right place. I can assure you that you can walk out of here today with none of those wrinkles."

"T-today?" She said, surprised. "How?"

"A procedure we've perfected. We will need to start soon in order to do so, though, so if today does not work..."

"No, I can do it today. How long will recovery be?"

"Effectively none. No bandages, no stitches, nothing of the sort. When those feet step out of that door, it will be like that new face was always there."

He pushed some papers over to her. She smiled and signed.

"So," he said. "Why don't we head over to start the procedure?

They both got up and he led her to the operating room. He sat her down on an operating table and a nurse put an IV in her arm. It was only then that she realized there seemed to be a lot of equipment in the room.

"What is all of this?" She asked him.

"Oh?" He said. "All for differing imaging. Very delicate work, especially around the spine."

"The spine?" She asked as she felt the sedatives working.

"Yes."

"Why would you need..."

He walked over to her as she trailed off and he saw her sliding into unconsciousness.

"Because, my dear, I'm not a plastic surgeon. I'm a neurosurgeon."

Lance was just about to leave the office when the doctor stopped him. Lance turned and saw the doctor walk over with some medication bottles.

"Just a precaution, but take two a day in the morning for the next week. Just in case of a potential infection. We pride ourselves on our sterilization, but nothing is perfect, you understand."

"Thank you." He said.

"Yes, I thought this was better than giving a prescription. More discreet this way, I think. Anyway, the follow-up is in five days. Take care."

"You as well doc, and thank you again. I did have one question, though, since you're here. How old?"

"Oh, forty, I've been told."

"Perfect." Lance said with a smile. "Just perfect for me."