Despite minor hiccups, the procedure was successful. At its conclusion Andrea had been sedated – her heart rate monitor had spiked frightfully after the first pass and her blind writhing was nearly beyond the meager capacity of her restraints. A needle into her oxygen line whispered an aerosol trickle of anesthetic. The chemical lacquer painted her naked face – previously contorted with rough, sketched lines of panic and alarm – into a serene mask of artificial slumber. The steady rise and fall of her chest was a calm enough canvas for Oscar to draw her a fresh pair of eye lids with a scalpel. The snap-clap of his gloves coming off announced the completion of another reconstructive marvel and his intention to take a well needed coffee break.


Hayes invited me to inspect the fruits of our labors – but the smoky seared stink of crisped protein that hung in the air ignited my latent hunger. A dozen hours of unattended appetite directed my attention to the untouched bowl of samples on the counter. Our bold attempts to incorporate a kiwi and oranges (to mimic fur and scales respectively) had ended disastrously. Which of course left their disposal to my discretion.


“It came out marvelously, no blemishes or scorch marks. You two did well,” Hayes complimented,


I ‘mhmm’ ‘d an affirmative to him as I mused across a menagerie of fruit stuffs. My jaws ached from a tense multi-hour clench. It was a dull sort of throb that made firm apple flesh unappealing. Hayes meanwhile leered over Andrea’s artificially comatose form inspecting the results with an eerily attentive musing as he allowed his hands to glide over a cheek adorned in synthetic flesh.


“Simply beautiful. Smooth like a foal. Fresh.” He all but muttered as I casually perused the bruised produce. He allowed his thumb to glide over the seamless crest of Andrea’s mouth as if to inspect the alien curiosity of the fused lips. They were soon forsaken, as his hand shifted – tips regarding her forehead and fully restored cheeks. No longer gaunt patchwork ruins of muscle clinging to bones devoid of cartilage and thickness. A pale ivory whose tone softened even now as blood filtered through them for the first time. Here fat would deposit. Here the heat-stripping devastation would be undone. I had to strain to hear the horse’s whickered musings over the fans above – and I wasn’t entirely sure he was addressing me anymore as he continued. “Truly you have done well. It is a shame about the hand, but with this we can correct so many mistakes. No more scars. No more burns. It will be all new. We will repair you. “


I ignored the rest of Hayes half-whispered musings. In the interim I had selected an unscathed orange. A survivor from the battered handling they had received on their passage to the countertop. Even so, it was not ideal; it wasn’t meat. There was no substance here outside of indigestible pith and wanton pulp. But the sweetness of the sugar would sustain me for now. The peel bent and flexed beneath my claw tips – strained and punctured with a citrus oozing that bloomed with sour flavor. I wriggled my thumb into the wound and pulled that rind back. It snapped away, popping as the pebbly flesh withdrew under the duress of my wriggling finger tips. It was not ideal, but it would sate me for now.

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Image done by the ever lovely.  fiberopticfeline

Chapter 1 – Acquisitions
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