â€œâ€˜Wanted: Breast donors. 34 C or D cup, O negative or AB, Caucasian. Non-smokers preferred. $500 USD plus expenses. Absolutely NO BINDING.â€™ What the hell is this?â€ Ryan waved the classified ads in Raceâ€™s face. â€œDonors for plastic surgery? How much demand can there possibly be for that?â€
Race shrugged and looked up from his copy of the Daily Times. Jobs were scarce and getting scarcer, which is why he and Ryan had hit upon the idea of going through the city papers in search of paid medical tests. â€œEnough that theyâ€™ve got an ad for it.â€
â€œNo, but I mean, seriously,â€ Ryan protested. â€œI can understand wanting blood or tissue donations for, I dunno, mangled faces or something, but breasts? How many people, like, lose their breasts in a car accident? Isnâ€™t that sort of a weird thing to be reconstructing?â€
Race snickered and looked back at his paper, combing the pages for something that didnâ€™t actually require them to have diseases beforehand. â€œI doubt any of those ads are for accident victims.â€
â€œYou mean augmentation? But thatâ€™s illegal. How can they advertise something like that in the public paper? Wonâ€™t the doctors get arrested?â€ Ryan looked back and the ad and chuckled. â€œThough that does explain why they only want Caucasians.â€
â€œJust because itâ€™s illegal doesnâ€™t mean they donâ€™t do it. I bet half the tests we sign up for arenâ€™t exactly legal either, but whoâ€™s going to stop them? We need money and rich peopleâ€™s kids need a cure for cancer.â€
â€œI guess,â€ Ryan agreed. He frowned at the ad for a few moments more before adding, â€œBut $500? Thatâ€™s it? What woman in her right mind would give up her breasts for only five hundred dollars?â€
â€œPlus expenses,â€ Race reminded him without looking up.
â€œExpenses? Expenses for what? Never being able to get a date again? Christ.â€
â€œFor the medications and after-care, and the cosmetic surgery on their chests afterwards.â€
â€œThat doesnâ€™t make any sense. No girl is going to cut off her breasts for five hundred dollars, no matter how much â€˜after careâ€™ there is.â€ Ryan snorted and turned the page.
â€œPeople who didnâ€™t want them in the first place wonâ€™t mind losing them. Might even be a good opportunity.â€ Raceâ€™s voice was casual, a quiet musing as he frowned and reread one of the ads heâ€™d circled as a possibility.
â€œWait. You meanâ€¦â€ Ryan put the paper down completely, frowning at Race. â€œTrannies? Thatâ€™s way more illegal than cosmetic surgery.â€ His face showed that he was more than a little uncomfortable at the idea.
â€œAll the more reason for them to connect with rich women who want bigger boobs. The government isnâ€™t going to break in and stop it; thatâ€™d be like enforcing prohibition. Itâ€™s a good way for everyone involved to get what they want while giving the law a good excuse to look the other way. How about lymphoma preventatives?â€ Race asked. â€œItâ€™s long-term, so the payâ€™s good. You have a history on your momâ€™s side, right?â€
â€œYeah, yeah, sounds good,â€ Ryan answered, distracted. He was still frowning. â€œHow do you know so much about this breast transplant shit?â€ he asked Race, squinting at his friend.
Race didnâ€™t look up. He just smirked.
â€œHow do you think I got rid of mine?â€