Growing into the Job, Post 496: A Day at Far Horizons: Aesthetics

The Channel 5 News van pulled up smoothly to the curb and the blonde woman in the passenger seat looked up from what she’d been doing on her phone. The mid-morning sun cast a crisply golden hue over the exterior of Far Horizons Evolution Center which, as a building, was rather nondescript in the way suburban office parks in America could be. Marta Walker, though - aka Marta Vacek aka KOLECTV Agent 0GGB004 - had been here on assignment just three nights previous, for the grand opening gala. So she knew that looks could be deceiving, even with buildings. Inside, she’d seen on Friday, loomed something elegant and futuristic, a monument to progress - or to something even bigger. 

The van’s door slid open, and Marta stepped out with preternatural grace, her heels <click-clacking> onto the cement sidewalk.

It hadn’t always been this way, but she knew she’d be a vision. Eyes of those outside surreptitiously drifted her way. 

Tall, statuesque, and mesmerizingly proportioned, Marta had literally been built for the studio news cameras she now spent much of her time in front of, like a walking advertisement for the future of women. At 5’11” and currently in six inch heels, she towered over most men and all but the tallest women. Her figure, through a gift of both generous genetics and covert bioengineering, was a masterclass in extreme femininity: legs that could stop trucks, a waspish 24-inch waist flaring into sensationally full hips, and an impossibly high, GG-cup bustline held proudly forward beneath her tailored blazer.

She decided, last minute, to shed the blazer. She threw it back in the van. She slid the door shut.

A small group of women, headed into the front entrance, had paused to look at her. As had two rather meek-looking maintenance men in brown overalls, behind a bush as they tended to the gardens. 

Her outfit had been chosen for TV, specifically for the segment she’d be doing today - quite the change from her normal assignment as the sports anchor for the afternoon and evening broadcasts. Her thin sweater was white, tucked in to cinch neatly at the waist and daringly tight  enough to command attention.. A form-fitting skirt, in sleek deep navy, clung to her unabashedly female hips and full rear, its hemline just shy of scandalous for their morning audience and more than enough to show off those breathtaking legs. Her heels - five inches of glossy patent leather - made her an undeniable presence. There was a reason she’d been sent by the people back in Voronezh for this American TV reporting job: to keep the eyeballs of the male audience in the local demographic glued to Channel 5 - likely with their hands down their pants. 

Marta smiled, and tossed her long, straight blonde hair. It shimmered under the morning light, falling silky and pristine down her back. Perfectly applied peachy lip gloss, sculpted brows, and subtle contouring completed the package. Her entire look was a weapon - a carefully assembled blend of professional sophistication and overwhelming womanly allure.

Marta exhaled softly, putting in her earpiece as she took in the scene before her.

The automatic glass doors of the Evolution Center <whooshed> open and closed in a steady rhythm as a stream of people - patients and clients, she assumed - entered and exited. Even outside the facility, in the parking lot, there was a palpable energy in the air, something bigger than just the first day of a new medical clinic.

Women, for sure, dominated the scene. Almost every patient she saw was female - some tall, healthy, striking, and maybe it was her imagination but the others looked determined to become so. Some were young mothers, effortlessly balancing infants in one arm or pushing strollers. Others appeared to be corporate professionals, dressed in expensive suits, on mobile phones and power heels. Some teenage girls, here on a school day, were likely athletes, scholars, or future leaders, their laughter brightly joining their mothers’ as they approached the center. 

And the men?

Marta’s sharp, hunter-green eyes flickered over the few of them briefly. They were there, sure. But… different.

Most were tagging along behind their wives or girlfriends, some holding diaper bags, others trailing with quiet obedience. The ones who came alone moved more cautiously, less assuredly. There was something almost timid about them.

Her lips curled in amusement. Men had become so different than they were several years ago, and seemed even more so every day. 

Anyway, back to business. Though technically a sports reporter, Marta had specifically requested this assignment herself. Officially, this was a fluff piece - a feel-good morning news special about the newly-opened Far Horizons Aesthetics Clinic and The Sanctuary, its integrated day-spa. Today was the first day for all the new clinics and the spa would be welcoming its first clients. While she had a few in-depth questions for the clinic’s lead physician, Marta was told to keep the piece light and engaging. At the same time, though, she understood the unspoken importance of assignments like this. This was as much a marketing assignment for the Movement as it was anything else, and she could be a good soldier. 

Really, she had two missions today. For the camera, she was here to introduce viewers to Dr. Celeste Rothschild and her cutting-edge approach to aesthetic procedures - botox, fillers, facelifts, breast augmentations - things the average viewer could wrap their head around. That, and the appeal of the day spa. For herself and the people back in Rosja, she wanted to know more about another woman and the depth of her influence over this place.

Melissa Monroe.

Though not part of her assignment, Marta, Agent 0GGB004 had been casually tracking Melissa Monroe’s rise for months. The way she moved through the world - both online and in the physical world - growing, expanding. The way the women around her seemed to follow suit. Marta had laughed at first, thinking the Monroe woman was just another creation of the Movement, one whose genetics might inform a new bioweapon against men but one who herself was an unwitting tool. Marta had seen the weapon’s effects firsthand: though mostly immune to her Queen Bee’s pheromonal sway, Marta was now a part of the hive of Alicia Ray, anchor at WGGB Channel 5. Alicia had been given a treatment based on Melissa’s genetics, which had started altering not just herself but many others at WGGB. “The Product” was no joke and - now that she’d been in her presence at the gala - Marta knew the Monroe woman wasn’t either.

That’s what was starting to worry people.

Some of the most influential women in the Movement were beginning to think she was becoming too powerful, or building an army - and yet, somehow, she didn't even seem to know it. This place was an experiment more than anything else, and it just might be starting to get out of hand. But still - it was thrilling. The potential for places like this, for women like Alicia and Melissa Monroe - it made Marta shiver in dark delight. 

Marta turned to her cameraman, a lean, quiet man in his early thirties, who was adjusting his gear. Despite being a male, he was actually pretty competent, and she’d been okay taking him with her on this assignment. They had a date, in fact, later tonight. He liked to be sat on and have his face smothered inside her bra cups.

“Alright,” she murmured, taking a deep breath as she pushed her shoulders back, standing tall. Her sculpted, Eastern European features settled into her dazzling on-air smile, “Let’s go see what the future looks like. Roll tape.”

The camera guy, Derek - a bit confused by her meaning - brought his camera to his shoulder and started to record nonetheless. Strangely, she’d instructed him to document everything, keep the camera rolling, even though this piece would probably only be several minutes of today’s Late-Morning edition. And so, he did. Marta, meanwhile, had already strode forward, heels clicking, hips swaying, and the camera gravitating to her liberty-bell rear.

The glass doors parted for her, and she stepped once again into the huge, soaring atrium of Far Horizons Evolution Center, full of natural light and dominated by the enormous female statue towering over the reception desk. It was breathtaking. Today, instead of partygoers it was mostly patients, she figured, and certainly mostly women who milled about around its feet, attending to their appointments or gazing skyward into its stone-serene visage. The space’s monumental protector made the huge airy space feel more like a temple than the atrium of a medical building.

The air was cool, smelled clean but filled with something Marta couldn’t quite place, and her skin strangely prickled a bit. As she - tagged along by her cameraman - strode towards the front desk, she smirked as a man stepped aside, instinctively. There was also a distinct musical ambiance to the atrium - a soft, feminine-voiced melody piped through hidden speakers. It was calming, but Marta wouldn’t be surprised if there was something subliminal about it.

Wanting to look like a woman on a mission, she moved through the atrium confidently, and smiled at how her heels struck a rhythmic counterpoint to the otherwise subdued hum of the facility. Compared to the giant statue, though, it was difficult not to feel dwarfed, and Marta had a hard time keeping her eyes from flitting up to it. It reminded her that - only two years ago, before her treatments - she’d been just another provincial girl from Poland. How far she’d come, though. 

Ahead, at the statue’s feet and at the base of its podium, the reception desk gleamed under the soft, natural light filtering in from the ceiling of glass above. Its surface was an immaculate stretch of stone accented with subtle gold inlay. Two young women were stationed behind it, one of whom Marta recognized from a visit she’d had at Evolution Pharmaceuticals several months ago, soon after she’d come here to the States. The girl had been a receptionist there too, if memory served.

She offered a perfectly measured smile, professional but warm, as Marta approached the counter.

“Hi Ms. Walker, we’ve been expecting you,” the dark blonde woman greeted, reaching for the sleek tablet in front of her and giving a confirming glance at the schedule. She had features that were a delicate but striking blend of European and Middle Eastern ancestry, a complexion of warm olive and was immaculately made-up. Like seemingly every woman that worked at this place, she was gorgeous and shapely. Marta could see, though, that she wasn’t just hired for her beauty, but was groomed for this role. “It’s nice to see you again,” the girl said, tapping her tablet’s screen. 

“Yes, hi…”

“Nadia,” the receptionist offered, looking up again, “we met at-”

“Evolution, yes,” This girl is an agent, for sure, Marta thought to herself. They shared a secret, commiserative smile. Not all the women employed here were agents of either Evolution or KOLECTV, so she knew it'd be best to remain covert. “We’re here with Channel Five. We are doing piece on Aesthetic Clinic and Doctor Rothschild.” As best she could, Marta tried to contain her accent; at times it slipped. 

“Yes I’ve just let Lexi know you’re here,” Nadia smiled. Lexi Samuels was the head of Marketing at the facility, another agent if Marta’s info was correct, and had arranged all this with WGGB. “She should be right ou-“

“Hi hi hi!” came a clear, confident voice, and both Marta and Nadia looked up to see the professionally-dressed young woman approaching - tall, lightly freckled, her big eyes an intriguing hazel-green and framed by thick dark lashes. Her hair - dark brown and worn today in soft, effortless waves - was pinned back just enough to keep it professional but still cascade luxuriously over the shoulder of a silk blouse with a floral print, one that struggled to contain an impressive bustline. The fabric was tucked tightly into a sleek, high-waisted pencil skirt that did little to hide the way her trim waist curved into her full hips. She was slender, but far from frail - Marta’s trained eye detected the subtle definition in her arms, the poised control in her movements. She was young, yes, maybe a bit younger than Marta herself, but she carried herself with confidence - like a woman becoming accustomed to people listening when she spoke. A Program girl, for sure. Like probably a lot of others in this place. “Marta! Happy Monday!” Lexi sang, exceedingly chipper as she came in for a brief hug, a European air-kiss, “It’s nice to see you again. How was your weekend?”

The two had met and chatted on Friday at the gala, over vodka tonics, to put final details on this visit. 

“It was nice, thank you,” Marta smiled, and after a few more pleasantries, some shared acknowledgments, Lexi was leading her and her camera-boy away from the desk, back around and behind the statue, and into the newly-opened Women’s Health and Wellness wing. To the left and right were more non-descript entrances to the other wings - Evolution’s satellite research facility and the old geriatrics clinic, respectively.

“Well, we’re excited to have Channel Five here again,” Lexi continued, as they made their way through the large entryway into the newly designed hub of female-focused clinics. The transition from the grandeur of the facility’s public space into this more intimate, luxurious, and clinical environment was purposefully dramatic. “I’ll be personally guiding you through the Aesthetics Clinic today, and Dr. Rothschild is looking forward to speaking with you.”

The two women, with the cameraman in tow, stepped into a sprawling, semi-circular, sunlit lobby of the Women’s Health Wing, where a small central reception area with a single receptionist greeted patients and directed them toward their respective clinics. The wing seemed to be designed in a soft crescent shape, with each clinic occupying its own section. Marta saw signs over hallways leading to “Internal Medicine/OBGYN”, “Adolescent Care and Female Development”, “Fertility and Maternal Optimization”, “Behavioral and Relational Dynamics”, and - where they were now headed - “Aesthetics and The Sanctuary”. The general layout allowed for both fluid movement between departments and a sense of exclusivity for each space.

“The design here is meant to be different than old-school medical clinics,” Lexi was explaining, as they were about to step past the desk with its own gorgeous reception professional in her fitted uniform. Marta could notice that the softly curved hallways which led to the separate clinics encouraged a natural, fluid movement between sections rather than the harsh, linear layout of a traditional medical facility. “Patients can check in via biometric scan, and interact with fully automated concierge services here,” Lexi continued, then glanced at the cameraman, who was already subtly adjusting the shot to frame the exchange,“or Patti here can help get them where they need to be. Say hi, Patti.”

“Hi!” said Patti.

Another program girl, Marta knew, maybe from Coronado.

“I’m going to take these guys from Channel Five into Aesthetics, Patti,” Lexi said, “can you buzz us in?”

“Sure!” Patti chirped. 

With a whisk of a frosted glass door disappearing into a wall, Marta and Lexi stepped deeper into the wing, into the Aesthetics Clinic. The air subtly shifted the moment they passed through the arched entrance. Here, the lighting softened, no longer the crisp, clinical brightness of a medical center but a warm, flattering glow, designed to make every woman look radiant the moment she walked in. Soft ambient music played from hidden speakers - Marta recognized the melody as a slowed-down, almost hypnotic version of a pop song she’d heard before. A delicate fragrance lingered in the air, something feminine and luxurious - was it perfume? High-end skincare? Maybe both.

The waiting area of the Aesthetics Clinic itself looked like the lobby of an exclusive high-fashion salon rather than a medical clinic. Instead of cold, impersonal chairs, elegant lounge seating in plush ivory and champagne tones were arranged in intimate clusters. A gold-rimmed refreshment cart stood in the corner, offering cucumber-infused water, herbal teas, and a selection of vitamin-packed beauty elixirs.

Marta took it all in as Lexi led the way, her heels clicking against white marble floors with inlaid gold accents. She spotted a few women waiting - flipping through glossy, oversized coffee-table books displaying before-and-after transformations. One young woman, early twenties, looked nervously excited, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she fidgeted with a clipboard. Marta’s trained eye detected subtle signs of pre-procedure anxiety; she was probably here for a first-time treatment.

“Welcome to the Aesthetics Clinic,” Lexi said, gesturing subtly to the luxurious surroundings, “We designed this space to be uplifting, indulgent, and transformative - because that’s exactly what we offer our patients: transformation in positive, comfortable surroundings.”

Marta glanced around, pretending to take it all in as a reporter, but privately, she was impressed. This wasn’t just a clinic. It was a shrine. A temple to female perfection.

The camera guy, Derek - hanging a step behind them - shifted uncomfortably. He pretended to be dutiful with his camera, but there was something else going on. Marta smirked. She had expected this with him, but might ask him about it later.

She cast a glance over her shoulder at him, her green eyes sharp and knowing. “You okay back there?” she asked, her voice teasing but measured.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine,” he muttered, keeping his eyes focused on the camera’s controls, as if that would shield him from the reality of where he was. He was a male, and he was out of his element. Wayyyy out. 

Marta smirked. She could practically see the thoughts running through his head - the subtle anxiety, the discomfort. The way he was very pointedly avoiding looking at any of the promotional materials, especially the breast augmentation displays on the sleek screens along the walls.

“Careful, Derek,” she murmured under her breath, just for him. “Too much time in this place, and you might start wondering about your place in the world.”

He swallowed hard, gripping the camera tighter. Marta chuckled. He didn’t know what to do with himself in a place like this. She bet the poor thing had never even been inside a high-end salon before, let alone a clinic designed specifically to enhance and intensify female beauty.

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a sultry whisper just for him. “Or maybe,” she mused, her lips inches from his ear, “you already do.”

His face turned red. Oh, Marta thought, sometimes men can be so delicious.

Lexi, unaware of the small power play happening behind her, continued leading them through the space, deeper into the medical portion of the clinic. “Come on,” she said, guiding them through a frosted glass doorway into the clinical side of the department, “there's some cool stuff you should see.”

The change was subtle but distinct - from indulgence to power. The ambiance remained sleek and luxurious, but now, cutting-edge medical technology blended seamlessly with high-end aesthetics. Through a glass-walled hallway, Marta could see state-of-the-art procedure rooms, each immaculate, futuristic, and equipped with the latest advancements in cosmetic enhancement. Described by Lexi, one room contained a dermal injector station, another a fat-grafting and sculpting suite, and further down, a fully equipped surgical suite for more extensive procedures - facelifts, BBLs, and breast augmentations. “Along with some more…experimental procedures.”

Marta nodded. Derek, behind the camera, was catching it all. 

“Anyway, this is where the magic happens,” Lexi said smoothly, gesturing to the array of technology as she walked. “Every woman who steps through these doors leaves looking - and feeling - more powerful than when she arrived.”

Marta arched a brow. “Quite the promise, yes?” she posited. 

Lexi smiled. “That’s Dr. Rothschild’s vision.”

At the mention of the doctor’s name, Marta’s smirk deepened.

“Oh, I know,” she mused, tilting her head. “Dr. Rothschild has quite the reputation - especially when it comes to, ah… a certain specialty of hers.” Not a reporter by nature and barely by training, Marta had nonetheless done her research for this assignment. The briefings had helped. 

Lexi let out a small laugh, and her eyes sparkled. “You must be talking about her approach to breast augmentation.”

Marta gave a slow nod. “She’s been called quite radical in the field,” she noted, “Her tagline, if I remember correctly, is - what was it again?” She feigned innocence, then let the words drop like honey: “Curves are power.”

Lexi grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. “Well, she’s actually gone as far as saying ‘Breasts are Power’ these days but that’s basically right,” she said, “and she means it.”

Marta turned toward the camera guy again, watching him shift uncomfortably as their conversation continued. Oh, this was fun.

“You hear that, Derek?” she teased, arching a brow at him. “Breasts. Are. Power. What do you think about that?” 

Both women saw the poor thing’s eyes drop to their chests - first Marta’s, then Lexi’s. Each had taken the opportunity to adjust their posture, straighten their shoulders, push out their frankly enormous breasts. He had no idea how to respond.

Lexi, sensing his discomfort and knowing there was business to attend to, laughed and steered the conversation back on track. “Dr. Rothschild has built her career around the idea that aesthetic enhancement is a tool, not just for beauty, but for influence. She believes in aggressive aesthetics - not just subtle tweaks, but bold, unapologetic transformations that give women an edge in every aspect of their lives.” Lexi, a lead marketer here, had her messages well in mind. 

“Power through beauty,” Marta mused, intrigued. It was not a new concept, for women like her, women in the Movement with access to dark, advanced medical technology. But here it was, being offered for public consumption. 

“Exactly, power through beauty,” Lexi agreed. “She doesn’t want to just make women look better. She wants to make them feel, like, unstoppable.”

Marta exhaled slowly, absorbing that. Far Horizons wasn’t just performing procedures, it was creating power. And women - teachers, mothers, housewives - were already lining up to get theirs. 

Lexi’s heels clicked lightly against the sleek floors as she led Marta and the cameraman deeper into the Aesthetics Clinic. The transition from the warm, spa-like reception area into the clinical wing had been subtle but deliberate. The ambient lighting remained soft, the décor pristine and luxurious - more like a high-end beauty lab than a sterile medical office. Glossy promotional posters lined the hall, showcasing before-and-after transformations of women with plumper lips, sleeker jawlines, impossibly perfect curves.

As they approached a set of frosted glass doors, Lexi turned slightly to Marta. “So, like, I should warn you. Dr. Rothschild is… a little intense,” she said with an amused smile, “but that’s why she’s the best.”

Marta raised a brow. “That’s okay. Intense makes good TV.”

Lexi chuckled. “Then you’re going to love her.”

With that, she pressed a sleek control panel, and the doors hissed open.

The consultation suite was larger than expected, and cluttered with controlled chaos. A sleek glass desk was strewn with surgical sketches, anatomical reference models, and breast implant prototypes of various sizes - some looking startlingly large. Marta noticed the markings: 800cc? 1200cc? 3000cc? The far wall was lined with digital screens displaying high-resolution 3D body scans, highlighting everything from waist-to-hip ratios to breast symmetry metrics.

And in the center of it all, pacing briskly behind the desk, was Dr. Celeste Rothschild.

She was not what Marta had expected.

Tall, but not overwhelmingly so - maybe 5’8” without heels. Her hair, a striking shade of dark honey-blonde, was pinned into a loose, practical bun behind her, with stray strands falling over her forehead as she moved. She was beautiful, but in an unconventional way - high cheekbones, sharp steel-blue eyes that flickered with restless intelligence. A lab coat hid her figure, buttoned up over what appeared to be an emerald-green dress, the mid-length skirt of which peeked out below. And she radiated energy - not in the controlled, polished way of most surgeons, but like a woman whose mind was moving too fast for the rest of the world to keep up.

At the sound of the doors opening, she looked up sharply. For a second, her gaze landed on Marta, and a slow, knowing grin spread across her lips.

“Oh, wow,” the woman said.

Marta barely had time to react before the surgeon strode forward, her eyes sweeping over Marta’s figure like a sculptor studying another artist’s work

“You-“ she gestured vaguely, nodding as if confirming something to herself. Her voice was a commanding alto. “I like this. Who did your work?”

Marta blinked. “Excuse me?”

Celeste gestured toward Marta’s cinched waist, dramatic hips, high, impossible bustline. “Someone did you. Someone good. You’re not just genetics. Surgery, but mostly Program, right?”

Marta tilted her head, intrigued but cautious. She wasn’t used to being read so quickly. But the doctor was right: back in Poland there had been surgeries, and there had been The Program. Were they supposed to speak of this so openly? Certainly not the way she was trained. But something about being here made Marta feel bold. Like she was in the New World already. “I suppose you could say that.”

“They gave me some Program too, before coming here,” the doctor rattled, picking up a stainless steel coffee tumbler from her desk. It looked like some new FHEC swag, logo and everything. ”Not just for the extra one-point-two inches of height, or three-point-seven of bust size. And not just so I could do this…”

The doctor crushed the tall steel coffee mug in her fist, crinkling it like a tin soda can. 

“You can do that too, right?” she asked, looking at Marta. 

Marta nodded. 

“You too?” This time, looking at Lexi. 

Another nod. 

The camera guy’s eyes were wide. 

Celeste Rothschild shrugged, tossed the crushed coffee tumbler aside. ”No they gave me Program so I wouldn’t be sucked in by…”

She looked up, finding a vent in the ceiling, and waved her hand around in the Melissa-scented air above her head.

“…all this.”

Lexi, and Marta, nodded, now both acutely aware of the camera and the camera man’s presence. This lady was a bit brazen, a little loose in the lips, to say the least. Did she not know the world of men was not meant to be privy to the darkest machinations of the Movement? Or had she become so bold that she didn’t care? Maybe she was just plain zwariowany. Whatever the case, neither of the younger women said anything to try to hold the surgeon’s tongue. In fact, there was something a bit thrilling about being able to speak openly like this in front of a man, and one with a rolling camera to boot. Like, they’d come this far and could be this bold. What would the repercussions actually be? What could men really do, by this point, to actually try to stop them? And it made them each think - how much farther could they go? How bold could they be a year from now? Ten years from now?

Oblivious, maybe, to the two agents’ bemusement, the surgeon then snapped her fingers, spinning toward Lexi. “But see?” She pointed at Marta “This is exactly what I mean. You can tell when someone has had good work done. It should feel inevitable, like they were meant to look like this.” She turned now fully to Marta, her blue-grey eyes gleaming with excitement. “And you? I can see it in you. You were meant to look like this.”

Marta smirked. Even from her skinny little beginnings, growing up with Katarina in Rzeszów as the daughter of two factory workers, she’d always felt that way. “Well, thank you.”

Lexi, trying her best to appear unfazed by Celeste’s barely-contained enthusiasm and half-spastic energy, stepped in smoothly. She hadn’t even gotten to introductions yet. “Dr. Rothschild, this is Marta Walker, from Channel 5.”

Celeste Rothschild snapped back to the present. “Right, right, the promo piece.” She finally looked at the cameraman - her expression immediately shifting.

Her nose scrunched slightly. “Ugh. Testosterone.”

Marta barely stifled a laugh. Derek, her cameraman, physically shrank under the doctor’s gaze.

Celeste sighed, rubbing her temple. “Whatever. Okay, yes. Just…stand in the corner and don’t get in the way.” She turned back to Marta. “Sorry, I just - bleh. Anyway - ahh! First day here, and I swear I can already breathe easier with fewer men in my workspace.”

Marta’s eyes flickered. She cocked her head, and let the woman talk.

Celeste exhaled sharply, waving a hand. “Yep. Fresh from exile. You probably know this, if you did your reporter-ly research or whatever. Kicked out of my position in L.A., out of the University system, because - apparently - my methods are ‘too extreme.’”

Marta arched a brow; she had known this, had done some reading, but wanted to hear the doctor explain it herself. “Extreme?” she prompted. 

Celeste gave her a sharp, foxlike grin. “I believe the phrase they used was ‘reckless ideology.’” She rolled her eyes. “Idiots.”

Marta leaned in slightly. “You mean…they didn’t like your approach of…how do they say? ‘Weaponized Aesthetics’?”

Celeste’s grin widened. “Ah. You did do your research.”

Before Marta could respond, the surgeon's eyes flickered with something new - a spark of recognition. She took a step closer, tilting her head slightly. “Eastern European?”

Marta’s stomach tightened. “Excuse me?”

Celeste gestured vaguely at Marta’s frame, like she was again analyzing a sculpture. “Your Program.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Marta nearly flinched. “Not an American style. Not from Coronado. Russian? Or did they send you to Kazakhstan?”

Marta fought to keep her expression neutral. “You are awfully the perceptive, Doctor.” Her accent, again, had started to return. 

The surgeon’s grin didn’t waver. “A year ago? Maybe a year and a half? That’s when they were doing this style of enhancement. The waist-to-hip ratio is a dead giveaway.”

Marta felt a cold thrill go through her. Celeste had just met her, and she had already pinpointed not just her enhancements, but the time and place they were done.

Lexi, sensing the tension - and remembering the time - cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I have a patient in the Adolescent Clinic to check in on. Please let me know if you need anything, Marta.”

She gave Marta a polite nod, threw Celeste Rothschild a knowing smirk, and slipped out.

As the doors whispered shut behind her, Dr. Rothschild leaned against her desk, folding her arms over her full chest. 

Her eyes stayed locked onto Marta, a slow, intrigued smirk tugging at her lips.

“Now,” she said, “why don’t you tell me what you want your viewers to know?”

Marta turned slightly, signaling to Derek with a small flick of her fingers. He adjusted his stance, shifting the camera’s focus as she straightened her posture and smoothed a hand down the curve of her hip. She took a deep breath.

She’d been a sports reporter for WGGB for the last few months, but that was just about the sum total of her TV-news experience. She’d never attended broadcasting school, and never done an interview like this - certainly not with someone like Celeste Rothschild. A scientist, a surgeon, a woman who, though having only just arrived at Far Horizons, was already something of a legend (though some might call her infamous) in aesthetics circles.

But Marta Vacek, if anything, could be confident. She met Celeste’s sharp, steel-blue gaze. “Doctor, it is the okay to start the interview now?”

Celeste Rothschild scoffed, rolling her eyes as she hopped down from her perch on the edge of her desk. “Sure. But let’s get out of my office, back into the clinic,” she said, “and watch your accent.”

Marta arched a brow as she followed her out of the office, realizing now how this woman’s moods could change on a dime. One moment, she could be calculating and methodical; the next, she was fidgety, impatient, as if she were bored with anything that wasn’t directly serving her vision. But Marta took it in stride. If anything, it made for more compelling television. Anyway, it would be so good to not talk about the sports.

She gave a slight nod to Derek, who signaled that they were rolling as they stepped into the hallway. He was seeing her and her only through the camera’s viewfinder; Dr. Rothschild would be just offscreen when the shot opened up. Marta spoke into her microphone and looked right into the camera. 

“We’re here at the newly opened Far Horizons Evolution Center,” Marta began, offering the lens a dazzling on-air smile, “to speak with Dr. Celeste Rothschild, who is heading the center’s Aesthetics Clinic.”

Derek panned the camera back a bit, bringing Dr. Rothschild into the frame alongside Marta. He nearly lost his nuts as - seeing her now in his field - he saw how she had unbuttoned and pulled back her white clinic jacket to reveal a chest that - showcased in her high-necked but figure-hugging, emerald-green dress - nearly rivaled Marta’s. 

Oh Christ…

Marta was fighting back a smile. What do they say here? Bingo. Viewers won’t be able to look away, from either one of them. “Doctor Rothschild, thank you for taking the time to speak with us today. Can you tell us a little bit about what Far Horizons Aesthetics has to offer?”

Celeste Rothschild herself was not afraid of flashing a confident smile, her sharp blue-grey eyes locking onto Marta’s with the faintest flicker of amusement.

“Well, first of all, Marta, welcome, to you and your viewers,” she said, her voice smooth but brimming with a barely-contained energy. “Far Horizons Aesthetics is unlike any other clinic in the country. We’re not just about making you look better. We’re about you becoming better. Stronger. More powerful. More you.”

She gestured subtly to the state-of-the-art facility around her, where sleek digital displays showcased before-and-after transformations, where the soft light of something no longer impossible lit the scene.

“We offer a full spectrum of aesthetic enhancements, and with the recent changes in legislation regulating insurance coverage, much of it very affordable,” she continued, ticking off casually on her fingers, “Injectables - Botox, dermal fillers, collagen stimulators. Precision sculpting - fat grafting, body contouring, facial balancing. Advanced skin care therapies, regenerative treatments, and, of course, surgical procedures for women who want to make a bolder statement.”

Dr. Rothschild’s lips curved, and she knew what the camera was waiting for. She twisted her torso just a fraction, to reveal a bit more of her own striking silhouette. 

“And yes,” she added with a slight smirk, “that includes breast augmentation - covered by most insurances now. We here at Far Horizons aim to be a bit radical in the field. I - we - believe in aggressive aesthetics - not just subtle tweaks. It’s what women want, in this new world we’re seeing. They want bold, unapologetic enhancements that don’t just change how a woman looks, but how she moves through the world to can make a difference in it...”

…and bend it to her will. That was really her message, wasn’t it?

She let that unspoken thought linger for a moment before a tall, gorgeously blonde young woman in scrubs - a medical assistant, Marta knew, one that was part of the little altercation on Friday night -  walked past, in the hallway. She seemed oblivious to the fact that there was a news report being recorded, and seemed more engrossed in her manicured nails. This woman, Marta noted, was a physical marvel, possibly as much as Marta herself, and her figure was definitely either the result of the Monroe woman’s pheromones or a skilled surgeon’s hands. Possibly both. Dr Rothschild called out to her:

“Amelia - it’s Amelia, right?” She reached to take hold of the blonde’s nametag for a brief second. “Yes, Amelia. Come here for a moment.”

The blonde stopped in her tracks, looked into the camera for a moment, nonplussed, and then at Dr. Rothschild. 

“Yeah?”

“YOU feel like you can make a difference in the world, don’t you?”

“Sure,” the blonde answered, and continued on her way, attention back on her manicure.

“See??” the doctor continued, her tone growing more enthusiastic as she warmed to her own philosophy, “What we’re going to do here isn’t just cosmetic. It’s transformational. A woman walks in one way, and she can walk out rewired. More confident. More commanding. More aware of her own presence, her own power.”

Her gaze drifted to the camera, as if addressing the people watching at home directly.

“This clinic is going to be about giving women the tools to be seen the way they deserve to be seen,” she said, her voice dropping just a touch, her smirk deepening. “And trust me, once they step into the world with their new selves, people notice.”

She glanced back at Marta, her expression saying you, of all people, understand exactly what I mean. Then, smoothly, she lifted a brow and leaned in towards Marta, ever so slightly.

“So. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, thank you Doctor,” Marta beamed, speaking into her mic, “Now, our viewers want to know a little more about you. This is your first day at Far Horizons Evolution Center, but your reputation in the field of aesthetic medicine is already well-established.” Marta was proudly surprised at how she kept her voice warm and polished, her delivery flawless. “You’ve been called a pioneer, a disruptor, even a radical. How would you describe your approach to aesthetic enhancement, and how you're bringing it to Far Horizons?”

Celeste exhaled, crossing her arms loosely as if considering how much she actually cared about answering that question in a way the morning news audience would understand. Just call, make your appointment already, she seemed to muse, let me make you more.

“I would say…” she drawled, tapping a manicured nail against her elbow, “that we don’t believe in limits when it comes to beauty.”

Marta nodded smoothly. “And what do you mean by that?”

Celeste tilted her head slightly, her eyes flickering toward the camera for the briefest moment before settling back on Marta. “For too long, cosmetic surgery has been about restraint. About small tweaks. A little filler here, a subtle lift there. The whole ‘natural look’ nonsense. I say, we say - why stop at subtlety? Why stop at normal?”

Marta let the doctor’s words hang in the air for a second before tilting her head, her expression one of intrigued engagement. “So you believe enhancement should be…bold?”

Celeste’s lips curled into a slow smirk. “We believe beauty should be unapologetic.”

Marta glanced at Derek out of the corner of her eye. He was locked in, adjusting the shot, making sure to frame Celeste Rothschild’s face perfectly as she spoke. Good.

The doctor leaned back slightly against a wall, her body language both relaxed and commanding. “Women come to me because they want to be seen. They want to walk into a room and change the temperature just by existing. They want power, and I help them wear it.”

Marta felt her pulse quicken slightly. The energy in the hallway was shifting. Still, she kept her expression measured, slipping into her next question with ease. “Your methods have sparked debate. Some say your approach verges on what’s been called ‘weaponized aesthetics.’” A small, practiced smile. “What would you say to people who claim that what you’re going to be doing here at Far Horizons is more than just beauty enhancement - that it’s strategic?”

Celeste’s grin widened - sharp, knowing. Oh, we’re going here? On the morning news? Fun. 

“Oh, that’s cute. You think beauty isn’t strategic already? Marta, beauty has always been a weapon. Women throughout history have known this, even if they weren’t allowed to say it out loud. We’re just doing that, finally - saying it out loud.”

Marta didn’t blink.

Celeste stood up straighter, her voice taking on a new edge - more animated, more alive. The doctor gestured around them. “This isn’t just about looking good.” She turned her attention fully back to Marta now, her gaze burning with something electric. “This is about making women undeniable, an undeniable force.”

Marta inhaled slowly, sensing the weight of the statement, the underlying truth in it. This is so much more fun than the foot-ball. Still, she kept her voice smooth, professional. “And where do you see the future of aesthetics going under your leadership here?”

Celeste exhaled sharply, pacing slightly and making the camera follow her, as if her thoughts were moving too quickly to be contained in stillness. “Forward. Always forward. Bigger, better, more.” She turned back to Marta, her expression utterly confident. “Because why should women settle for just enough when we can have everything?”

Marta met her gaze, holding it steady as the camera rolled. That was exactly the soundbite she needed. And somehow, she had the distinct feeling that Celeste Rothschild had wanted to give it to her.

Celeste’s sharp, foxlike grin didn’t waver as she leaned onto one hip, her gaze sweeping Marta’s frame once again like an artist considering a sculpture that was almost perfect.

“You know, Marta,” she mused, tilting her head and motioning to the reporter’s unforgiving torso, “you’re already a prime example of what I’d call superior aesthetics.”

Marta arched a perfectly sculpted brow, keeping her expression smooth. “Wow, thank you Doctor. Coming from you I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Celeste smirked. “Oh, it is. But,” she continued, her eyes flickering - pointedly - to Marta’s frankly spectacular bustline, “can you imagine being even more? Being even more busty?”

Marta let out a bright, polished laugh - one designed for the camera, but with just a hint of genuine surprise. “Well, that’s a first for me on live television!” she quipped, placing a manicured hand over her chest with mock modesty.

Celeste chuckled. “Oh, come on, Marta. Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like to be just a little…” She trailed off, holding up her hands in front of her own chest, then spreading them apart slightly, her grin widening.

Marta, to her credit, held her composure. Barely. “Even more?” she repeated, feigning shock.

Celeste’s gaze was practically sly now. “You’d be surprised how many women, even ones who already have what most would call exceptional proportions, come to me because they realize they can still push things further.”

Marta could feel Derek shift behind her, adjusting his stance. Oh, she realized with delight, he’s dying right now.

Dr. Rothschild, picking up on his discomfort like a bloodhound catching a scent, suddenly turned her sharp gaze on the cameraman. They can edit this out later, she figured, or not. 

“What do you think, cameraman?” she asked casually, as if discussing the weather. “Should Marta go even bigger?”

Derek, to his credit, did not drop the camera. But he did freeze, his entire body locking up like a man who had just stepped onto a minefield.

“I - uh - I mean-” He let out a strangled cough, visibly sweating. “She - uh, I mean Ms. Walker - she already looks - uh-”

Marta, watching her cameraman and erstwhile plaything crumble, grinned and decided to play along and twist the knife just a little.

“Go on, Derek,” she teased, glancing at him over her shoulder with a playful smirk. “You heard the doctor. Should I push things further?” Slowly, she pushed her chest further - into his frame.

Derek made a noise that was definitely not human.

Celeste chuckled, clearly enjoying his torment. She’d been in similar conversations, behind closed doors or otherwise, talking with prospective patients and their husbands. “Come now, be honest,” she encouraged, tilting her head, “You work with her every day. You film her. You see her. Surely you’ve formed an opinion.”

Derek’s face was so red it looked like he might burst into flames. He kept his eyes, though, behind the camera. “I - uh - I just - uh-”

Marta couldn’t help herself. She stepped closer, angling her body just slightly so that the profile of her frankly enormous chest would take up likely a third of the camera frame. Then, in a move that made the moment even more full of portent, Dr. Rothschild did the same: she stepped closer to slowly turn her torso, pulled back on her clinic jacket, and pressed her own huge chest forward to fill up another third of the view with her hourglass side profile. Both women’s faces would be mostly off-screen.

“Are you afraid to say it, little man?” The doctor murmured, her voice a velvety purr.

He squeaked. Actually squeaked.

Celeste Rothschild laughed - a bright, genuine burst of amusement. “Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed, shaking her head. “It’s okay, little man. You don’t have to say anything. It’s what all men are thinking anyway.” She winked at Marta. “We already know the answer.”

Marta turned back to the camera, beaming, as Derek stepped back in retreat, to get both her and the doctor’s faces again in the shot.  “Well, there you have it, folks,” she said smoothly, seamlessly transitioning back to her professional mode, “Doctor Rothschild and my cameraman agree - bigger is always better.” There was a moment, a flicker of ‘what if?’ curiosity, where Marta’s mind went back to the implants on the doctor’s desk and actually considered the offer. 

Celeste Rothschild smirked. “It’s a thought,” she said,  her demeanor once again shifting like a sudden tide, “Now, let’s move this way. I want to show you the med-spa. We call it ‘The Sanctuary’…”

Marta laughed, shaking her head, but even as she‘d played along, she felt something electric pass between them. She was here to show that Celeste Rothschild and the Aesthetics Center at Far Horizons wasn’t just here to perform procedures, they were here to push boundaries. And Marta couldn’t shake the feeling that Channel 5’s audience was already well in the clinic’s hands.

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thanks oodles to Zharatos for his patience with we here at theBasic and getting the image of Marta just right; check him out at  his civit.ai . Also big thanks to WIL for the base image of Dr. Rothschild. Here’s his Linktree