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Morbius felt wrong. It wasn't just from the loss of his third best friend, it was from himself. The way his hair curled down his back. The way his body had changed since he hit twelve. The way his caregivers would smile at him and tell him:
"You're growing up to be a fine young woman, Miss Morbius."
It was all wrong. IT WAS ALL WRONG! But he couldn't put into words how he felt, just nodding along with what the grown ups would say. One day, he would get out of here. Maybe he would cut his hair, change his name, and if all else fails, he could get a PhD so he would never have to hear the words, "Miss Morbius" ever again.
One day, he thought to himself angrily, hiding himself under his covers.
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Years later, post PhD, and Nobel Prize, Dr. Michael Morbius lies strapped topless and binder-less, to an uncomfortably flat table opposite his girlfriend and secretary, Martine Bancroft.
"Are you ready Dr. Morbius?", Martine calls out with a small grin on her face. Michael readjusts himself slightly and gives her a strong thumbs up.
"It's morbing time, Martine," he grins wickedly.
Martine smiles and turns up the dial on her control board, flicking various switches and pulling a lever or two as a giant laser descends from the ceiling. It hums with energy as it points down at Morbius' chest.
"See you on the other side, love," Martine says softly. Michael gives her a quick nod, bracing himself for the fucking lasers that are about to shoot the shit out of him. Martine pushes a giant red button and they're off.
The machines thrum to life, lasers working quickly and efficiently, making quick incisions as little robot hands readjust and stitch his chest back together.
Within five minutes it's done and Michael is shakily sitting up. Well, he is a medical professional, he'll be fine. Probably.
"Don't forget, you have your t-shot next Wednesday at noon, and you still have a report to file," Martine is immediately back into work mode, quickly helping him button on a shirt.
"And remember, Michael, I love you," She presses a short kiss to his cheek, and tucks his hair behind his ears.
"Thanks, Martine," He stands up and gives her a blinding grin, "Now I'm truly morbed up."