It had been four years since Lutèce Nehalem had tried to kill herself.

That had been tragic, if it weren't just a statement of fact. It wasn't uncommon, either. In the moment, suicide always made perfect sense. Some suicide attempts were impulsive acts, but some were planned and took a lot of deliberation. The textbooks had always made a clear delineation between the two, and the latter was a lot harder to treat. The goal of therapy was always to improve the patient's life, brighten their outlook and motivate them to improve themselves. Those who had attempted to end their life and failed were usually less receptive to these methods, but the principle was still the same. Despite everything, life was still worth living. Even if it wasn't, that hardly mattered. If one looked hard enough, one found. Suicide was not permissible under any of the schools that authored the psychology textbooks. It was the one thing they agreed on: Suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

In a way, death was an equaliser. The circumstances of one's death hardly mattered in the moment. At the end, everyone would die. Was it not the most basic freedom to take control of this universal constant for one's self? No being should be made to suffer unnecessarily, after all.

Wherever Glenn had landed, it was a desolate and hopeless wasteland. In the distance, two moons gently flew under the horizon and disappeared. Namaka and Hi'iaka, if the maps were accurate. They had no reason not to be. He was confident he had the right place. Piles of scrap metal and discarded starships dotted the landscape, accruing around the three metal towers that provided an atmospheric tent. He wasn't planning on leaving his ship.

Glenn went to the counselling office and made sure everything was still in its right place. The traditional Orci mask was still on the wood-clad wall, the books were all in order, the two seats were placed where they belonged. That pleased Glenn.

He took one of the tapes from his music collection and slid it into the player by the bookshelf, and turned it up to a comfortable level. One would still be able to have a conversation over the gentle swinging of the piano.

Steps were coming from the airlock below. Glenn straightened out his jacket, readjusted his glasses and stepped down the staircase. Below, in the airlock staging room, his patient waited for him to lead him up.

"Welcome, Ms. Nehalem. Please, come upstairs."

She followed him. She was nervous, maybe even a little worried, maybe even anxious. Glenn had seen it many times before. As he stepped over to the table where his tea set was placed, Lutèce looked around the room, studying the ceremonial mask and the diploma on the wall. Glenn poured boiling hot water over the little pile of powder in each of the ceramic mugs. The tea smelled excellent. He took the tablet and placed it on the wooden cube between the two identical reclining chairs.

"Please," he said. "Take a seat."

She took a seat. He had learned not to let appearances sway his thoughts, but that didn't mean he wasn't observant. Like she had told him in her message, she was a child. Fourteen years old, according to the letter. She didn't mention the metal, though. The right side of her face was completely void of any skin, instead having a round piece of metal - most likely titanium - welded to her head. Instead of a right eye, there was the black mirror of an oscilloscope display, and above it, an array of sensors. A singular green dot was displayed on the screen that masqueraded as an eye.

Her left arm was also metal, as were her legs. The parts were a little oversized for her adolescent frame. She didn't seem to mind. Her legs still dangled in the recycled air above the ground. The chair was too big for her.

"I assume this is your first session of this type?" Glenn opened his ledger and readied his pencil. He took pride in the fact that he used real paper and pencil for his session notes and didn't distract his patients with the pale glow of a tablet computer.

"Yes" his patient answered. "I was told you can help me."

Her voice sounded normal. Maybe a bit low for her age, but other than that, perfectly normal.

"Well, I certainly hope so." He handed her the cup of tea. She took it with her mechanical hand. "Tell me. What's on your mind?"

"I don't want to live."

"Why come to me, then?"

"I... want to live. I mean, I want to want."

Glenn scribbled a note on his ledger.