Elsewhere, a former high-class-citizen-turned-surgeon wanders the streets of the slums built up around the garden-like wealthy district, hands shoved in his pockets. He fucked up. Badly. His first job in months and he fucked up, and now everyone openly close to him were disappearing. It was hard enough doing this job when you were still young enough for people to not take seriously. The job had been simple: convince Peixes's daughter to allow him to perform an operation that would slim her down all the while her best friend, named Eridan or something like that, watched him utterly fail from a chair in a corner. Like he even did shit like that.

She made a very compelling argument as to why she refused to allow the operation and he had no reason to force her to go through with it. In return for the non-operation, she offered him protection for both his close friends and himself from her mother's goons. He gracefully declined with a shake of his head. At the time he believed himself to be more than capable taking care of it himself, what a joke.

His thoughts turned to the blind girl he'd happened upon a few months ago, he'd offered to fix her eyesight though she refused. According to one of his remaining friends, who was usually neck deep in sopor to make sense and could usually be found with in a hundred foot radius of Makara, the girl had been offered the operation by one of the do-gooders in the walled off upper district and had accepted. He hoped that she was ok, who knew what the citizen would take in payment, but in the end she probably wouldn't survive it. And he told her angry friend as much, granted it was a bit harsh, but who the hell cares anymore?

The goons surrounded the poor girl, who could tell what they wanted with her, but for the most part they were all in his way. Stooping slightly, a pipe was picked up and with a belligerent cry he proceeded to bash the heads of the goons in. The girl didn't get up and he panicked. He scooped her up and ran to the home of his closest friend.

"Denire open the door!" he shouted kicking the door.

"Tsaref, what the fuck are you doing?" He turned to the voice behind him to be greeted with the sight of his dark haired childhood rival who's eyes were glazed over in a sopor stupor being supported by the very person he'd come to see. Her blue eyes widened, "What did you do?"

"Why is it that every time I bring someone over who clearly needs help, you assume that their injuries are a result of running into me? Besides, I don't pick on people younger than me."

"She's not that much younger than you."

"Doesn't matter, this is the first I've seen of her. I found her surrounded by Her Imperial Bitchiness's minions."

"So you've returned to playing hero? We both know how that worked out the first time."

"Leave Terran out of this and open the damn door."

Denire sighed and pulled a key from her pocket, undoing the lock, then shoved the three inside while Tsaref continued to babble. "Most of her wounds are superficial, but I'm rather concerned about the bump on her head."

After depositing their sopor-addled friend on a chair, Denire turned to tug the girl from his arms. "So why'd you come here instead of treating her yourself?"

"Surgeons are in high demand these days D, I don't want to spend the rest of my life to people seeking perfection."

"Don't you do something like that already?"

"No, I fix the mistakes the 'charitable' surgeons make every time. They think they're saving people but they aren't."

"So?"

"You have a better bedside manner than I do," he admitted, turning to his sleeping friend. "You reckon H has any left on him?"

"Tsaref, no."

"It's not like I'm cutting open anyone to fix their faulty 'new' organs, besides you're nearly done cleaning her up aren't you?"

"That's not the point Tsaref, you've been clean for I don't know how long, and I refuse to allow you to relapse." Dabbing gently at the assorted scrapes, Denire finished tending the girls rooms and sat down next to Hazval.

"Where did you find him?"

"Passed out in a ditch."

"And you're on my ass about sopor? At least I crashed close to home."

"You were still inside the wall at that point Tsaref, I didn't know you then."

"His girl's gonna be pissed."

"You're only saying that because that's what Terran would be. How well do you know his girlfriend anyway?"

"Not too well, and of course Terran would be pissed. She's always pissed at me, it's her thing."

"And for some reason you're still with her."

"No, she left me a while ago."

"Why?"

The pair continued on, Tsaref avoiding the final question, until night fell and the girl began to stir. Tsaref rushed to her side, when she pressed a hand to her forehead.

He'd walked her home after that, exchanging names at her doorstep. Terezi. He hadn't seen her around, but if what Hazval had said was true, he wouldn't see her again. The upper class are known in some circles to run their charity projects into the ground. He could only hope that she could take care of herself.

Across the city, a building exploded in a torrent of bright red sparks. The building would be consumed save for a square of tile in the center, scrawled upon in something resembling blood was 'Your so-called charity kills more than it saves.' A figure limps away. It'd been a few weeks since his friend, Sollux, had suggested jokingly that his tendency to blow things up be put to use, and with a little help from a backstreet chemist and a surgeon he hoped to never speak with again he'd done it.

His name was Karkat Vantas and this was the last straw. The higher class citizens were in for it now. He'd heard through the grapevine from his other friend, Gamzee who uses sopor in questionable ways, who'd heard it from one of his sopor buddies, who'd heard it from the chemist who assisted Karkat with this display of explosive elegance who heard from someone inside the wall what had happened. She should have let that surgeon with the sopor problem do it himself, at least then there wouldn't be a wall between them and her safety would have been guaranteed because according to Gamzee's sopor buddy this surgeon doesn't really charge for his services and usually fixes whatever the surgeons from the other side of the damn wall did. The stupid surgeon that he never wishes to share breathing space again had told him that he may as well organize a funeral, because that was most likely when he would see her again. Dead.

They'd been just fine without her eyes, but some high class citizen had to fucking take pity on her and make her a charity case, probably forcing it down her throat. According to the surgeon asshole, the upper class doesn't treat their pity projects well, and he would know because he used to live on that side. Just another reason not to trust him.

Terezi wasn't blind anymore, and Karkat was incredibly pissed about it.