He resists the urge to kick his feet out of impatience, trepidation driving him to fidgeting. March is smug that he’s here, that he’s owed enough for this first upgrade, but there’s no doubt the wrong move (or a request for sedation) will lead to him waking up without a liver. Or one too many.
It’s a doctors office by virtue of the fact that it has one: a back alley medic in a shabby coat with multiple arms and a harlequin grin. The proof of his talents lies visible in the fact he has no skin, only a thin layer of clear material over muscle and veins. Nothing odd, really.
March tilts his head back when the ‘doctor’ (alt description: creepy body modification fetishist) grabs him, although it takes a lot of frantic control not to lash out when his eyelid is pinned back with a thumb. His eyes are green, reflected in the scalpel.
The strangest thing is at first he doesn’t feel anything but pressure and curiosity in the grotesque corner-of-the-eye vision of his cornea sliced away, the vitreous fluid dripping down the blade...
And then the pain kicks in, but even through the screaming there’s bitter victory.
Status: MY EYES MY FUCKING EYES.
But hey, at least you have spares in your pockets now despite the agonizing pain.
There's enough to make two people, copies of organs on both side.]
[ -- a sudden, sharp cry because oh my god, and while one hand shoots to lean on the table the other goes to reach up and cover his own eyes, almost protectively]
[He's a bunch of neurosis really, a thought pattern scattered and abnormal, all his hopes and dreams and terrors and paranoia wrapped up in an organ that has everything Alice didn't overwhelm.]
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Re: [Trauma Central]
He resists the urge to kick his feet out of impatience, trepidation driving him to fidgeting. March is smug that he’s here, that he’s owed enough for this first upgrade, but there’s no doubt the wrong move (or a request for sedation) will lead to him waking up without a liver. Or one too many.
It’s a doctors office by virtue of the fact that it has one: a back alley medic in a shabby coat with multiple arms and a harlequin grin. The proof of his talents lies visible in the fact he has no skin, only a thin layer of clear material over muscle and veins. Nothing odd, really.
March tilts his head back when the ‘doctor’ (alt description: creepy body modification fetishist) grabs him, although it takes a lot of frantic control not to lash out when his eyelid is pinned back with a thumb. His eyes are green, reflected in the scalpel.
The strangest thing is at first he doesn’t feel anything but pressure and curiosity in the grotesque corner-of-the-eye vision of his cornea sliced away, the vitreous fluid dripping down the blade...
And then the pain kicks in, but even through the screaming there’s bitter victory.
Status: MY EYES MY FUCKING EYES.
But hey, at least you have spares in your pockets now despite the agonizing pain.
There's enough to make two people, copies of organs on both side.]
Re: [Trauma Central]
What --
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[
WAIT]
Touch one machine parts.
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[ but complying, reaching into the bucket and touching the metal heart ]
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It’s completely empty, and it drains you a little of your own emotions.]
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Mission complete. Was there a point to that exercise?
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what :((]
Touch something else.
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AliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAliceAlice...]
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We're rebuilding him, March! Flesh one is fucking obsessive, machine one is emotionally dead. We use the latter one.
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You are doing the work.
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gross
BUT I GUESS. heading to check the mechanical one]
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Because if we drained your intelligence we'd have nothing left.]
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FINISHES HEART AND OKAY I'M GOING TO CHECK THE FLESH ONE WHILE GIL DOES THAT ]
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or give him no brain at all.
Or maybe that won't make a difference, maybe that is status quo. :|a
PONDERING ]
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. . . hey, Dor, what happens if we leave a part out?
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letting go of the mechanical brain]
We're not using this one.
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[ FLESH BRAIN FOR MARCH TO GO WITH THE MACHINE HEART ]
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