— PROLOGUE —

"This would all go much quicker, and be far more comfortable, if you would stop squirming."

Once again the tell tale clicks of straps tightening could be heard throughout the room, bouncing off of bleached white walls. Dark eyes glared up at the Orderly, looking for the world like a coiled up snake. Rather fitting, considering the inkings running up his right forearm. Every time he flexed and strained his arms in the restraints, muscles rippling, it looked like the snake was actually moving. Clever artistry. Mordecai found it impressive, it was always nice to see when one poured themselves into their work, striving for and attaining excellence... The inking had survived the blast, the fire, and the surgery… It was the only identifying mark the man had.

Mordecai looked down again, watching the struggling man's eyes for a few seconds. Perhaps there was still some lingering pain. The work that'd been done on him already was certainly not easy… But it was almost over. And again, it'd be over sooner if he would quit thrashing.

"...burns,"

Brows raised in surprise, the Orderly leaned in a little closer. This might have been the first time he'd heard the man speak, aside from groans and hisses. He was conscious then, aware. Interesting. Nearly all who'd undergone the process had died before, or after the first installation. Stronger ones made it to the integration processes.… But these final adjustments? It'd never been done. There were a few reasons for this, the first being that the bodies were too far gone to start out with. A second, the new installments were immediately rejected by bodies too weak to adapt. This man had survived those first few hours, then the next two days. Weakened by the efforts, but alive. Conscious even, a sure sign of impending success. One no other had accomplished. Interesting indeed.

"What was that?" Mordecai asked, reaching to the cart next to him and grabbing a new tool. A tiny pair of needle nose pliers.

"It… burns." The words were ground out painfully, hissed through a tightly clenched jaw.

"What does?" The Orderly asked coily as he tapped the pliers lightly against his palm.

Looking over his work he was really quite pleased. The integrations had been going smoothly, the faux flesh over the right portion of his face was a natural hue. Though, he noted with a minuscule frown, that seam could use a little touch up. The pliers were swapped out quickly for a small thin tool, a little metal hose poking out in an arc from the top. A tiny torch.

Oblivious, the man on the table would continue to pant and swallow harshly, the actions clearly expending more energy than he could afford. He eventually attempted to speak again. The sound of his labored inhale pausing the Orderly before he ignited the tool in his hand.

"Every… thing. Everything… burns."

At this the Orderly huffed, sounding rather amused.

"I imagine it does…" He cracked into a tight grin, one that lifted the corner of his mouth as though it were a smirk. If the patient was alert enough to speak, perhaps he could try to glean a little more information from him, it could prove helpful in the future. "This burning… would you say it's sharp? As though your nerves are burning, or is it just an overall heat?"

There was no reply from the man this time. Instead his lips parted in a sort of howl, his arms straining hard against the straps as his torso twisted, his legs were rigid and tense. With a sigh the Orderly would extend a hand to pat the man's chest, humming in a cruel mockery of sympathy.

"Now, now, it's almost over. And you've done so well so far. Just, try to relax…" With that he'd light the torch once more, adjusting the nozzle till the flame was longer and more narrow. Satisfied, he would set it over the faint line from right temple over his brow, down the side of his nose -at this point he placed a small piece of gauze over his eye to shield it from the bright light- then continued over the upper lip and over his jaw. Lastly, back up in front of his ear to his temple. Through it all he never once faltered, even with the initial thrashing of the patient, nor did he slow down at the anguished screams… The man succumbed to the pain sometime between his nose and lip anyway.

A gloved finger ran over the now partially melted fixture to smooth out the seam lines, taking care not to leave any grooves either. When the synthetic skin melted, it could be flattened out, which helped hide the grooves where it met actual skin. Purley a cosmetic fix, but it was worth it. The last thing Mordecai wanted was for all his work to be undermined by a frankenstein-esque face.

Much better, he thought with a smuggish grin. Taking a small step back, Mordecai would examine his work. The man's right arm had been reattached at the shoulder, that would be much, much harder to smooth out. But right now they weren't even certain the fellow would live long enough to require a flesh cover there. So, though it bothered him, it wasn't top priority. Then there were the portions of his lower body. Hip and thigh. The fractured femur had been replaced completely, so had the hip joint. He'd supervised that procedure. The joint mechanisms were a new design, they rotated and moved smoothly, no hitches or clicks, and very little likelihood of ever dislocating. Of course, they had him do the suturing and aesthetic work on that as well. Fine work, but not nearly as impressive as what he'd done to the face.

When the soldier had been brought in, the whole right side of his face had been in shambles. It looked as though he'd tried to cover the grenade's blast with only his face. Even MOrdecai had believed the task of fixing him to be a fool's errand. But then, who could turn down such a challenge? He'd had to replace much of the bone structure, careful to replicate the other side and keep things symmetrical. Then, to restructure bits of the nose and ear… He'd been supplied with a new eye piece as well, hopefully restoring vision to the man's right side. Lastly, to cover all of this with Faux flesh in perfect hue and dexterity, not too thick or too thin, complete with functioning musculature. No easy task, but if the pained expressions and rageful glares were anything to go by, he'd been successful once again.

Monitors droned on in the background as he took time to circle the table, roving over every detail, comparing each work to the state it'd been in upon arrival. Once a torn up husk of a soldier, standing in the threshold of death's door. Now, a new creature, a masterpiece of biomechanical engineering. Still standing on death's door mat though…

With a long sigh the Orderly would roll his stiffening shoulders, glancing down to his watch. His work today took nearly six hours. Not his fastest time, but certainly not his longest either. There wasn't any reason to stay longer. There was nothing else he could do. The experiment would be left in the care of the corporation's surgeons, doctors and nurses. Speaking of… One should be on their way now. He'd leave them with his documentations and any other notes he could spare. Whether or not their experiment survived now was not his concern, he had plenty of other jobs to oversee.