The story of patches is nothing terribly new, but more of a modern spin on the old classic penned by the magnificent Mary Shelley.

Man(kind) think's he's greater then god.
Man(kind) creates a being.
Man(kind) neglects that being.

However, while in the classic tale, the Modern Promethean gets angry, and goes on a killing spree that results in the death of many people, and perhaps even its own creator...

Patches does not get angry, she instead fell into a quiet depression all alone.

Below you'll be given as complete picture of what happened as anyone knows (or, is willing to disclose) about the life of Patches.
The first part is more reports and data.
The later parts are more autobiographical, and you can see her mental state at the time.

Name: Test Sample Array #8 AKA Patches (no last name)
Species [Ignoring component parts]: Chimera
Age: (as a complete being) 3 years old. Her varied parts vary in age ranging from 18 (brain) to 56 (left leg).
Developmental Age: (mental) Early/Late Teens

Years ago, a very large biochemical company hired a young and bright, brilliant biochemist to help them solve one of the worlds problems: Organ Rejection for those whom get organ transplantation. They paid her very well, and she worked very hard and came up with a couple ideas. While she had morals and scruples, this very large and very powerful organization did not. She asked for test samples- she assumed they'd get base genetic material and try to make grafts from that - when in fact they secured "volunteers" for the organ donation (nobody that would be missed, much - or in a couple cases people that would cause problems for this corporation.)

And after years of research and testing, they finally came up with the solution. Test Sample Array #8 showed spectacular results - this substance (a blue viscous substance) not only prevented organ rejection it helped prevent some of the narcotizing effects of such procedures. However, this substance was tremendously expensive to produce, but also did not need subsequent doses. So the corporation didn't find it to be profitable enough to peruse - so it was simply "Spiked"

The biochemist, or Dr. Fontano was given a large check and thanked for her time- while the rest of the project was simply thrown away. They assumed that was where the story ends.

It didn't end there.

A year of crazy, incomprehensible hell was endured. Limbs grafted on, taken away, stitched into again and again, torn apart - killed, born again, remade, reconfigured, touched, examined, ravaged, and then taken apart again and again... all endured, because there was not knowing better.

But then came the day it all ended...it all changed.

The day when that great ball in the sky was seen. It burned the eyes a bit, but also had a warmth to it never felt before. Gone was the straps, the tubes, the devices and the wires...what was there, was freedom, and fresh air. Like a new born animal, she worked herself onto her wobbly and dismatched legs and would find herself in her new home. Heaps of detritus and unwanted debris - just like her - all around.

In time, she would learn to move things to create shelter - dig in the filth to find what would make the weakness and emptiness inside go away - and to enjoy the silence and the solemnity that came from her freedom.

There were awake-dreams, faded and distant like sleep-dreams, but always more...cohesive. There was a story to the awake dreams, of a time before the hell, before the darkness... there was emotions there, things that made her warm inside - or cold and icy - or to make the eyes sting without looking at the traveling ball in the sky. And there were those awake-dreams that made her face pull open, and those were the best.

But then, there came a day when it all changed, again.

That was when Quinella came. Dr. Quinella said she found me out here, when doing research. (apparently she had searched before, and in searching again she found me). She says she feels responsible for me. She comes by every couple of dark times (she calls Nights) and brings things that are better for me, she calls it food and pills. She helps my hurt things feel better and she taught me how to check my stitches for breaks and to fix them.

She's very nice to me. It makes my face pull open when I see her, because I know it will make the cold, icy feelings inside go away while she's here. And the food she brings me, sometimes is warm too.


And since this winter, she's been especially kind. She introduced me to things like eggnog, and presents, and snowmen. I like snowmen, but it makes me sad to see they're not alive - I keep asking Quin to help them come alive like I did, but she says they don't work that way. Still, it makes me sad.
Perhaps they need more, or better organs. I tried to make some out of the snow they're made of, and sew them in, but it still didn't work. Quin was not happy that I did that, but I was only trying to make the snow people alive. Maybe next time I can share my own organs? I know they work.

Quin said that this year, on Hall-o-ween, we can go get hot food outside of the "dump" where I live. I like the food that she brings me that comes in the shiny wrappers. This Wendy person must love making food, cause she gives Quin enough to share. When I eat them, I have 'memories' (as Quin calls them) of some woman I do not remember, but seeing her face always makes my heart warm and makes me smile - standing at a large white metal box that has heat inside, and she's cooking up Tortellini's for me (why I can remember tortellini but not the other stuff, I don't know).