Amy swallowed. She didn’t have words.
Bonesaw smiled. “I thought you’d appreciate this more than anyone.”
Does she know Amy from before? Amy doesn’t seem to know Bonesaw from anywhere other than pictures.
I suppose it’s just the profile Cherish put together of her, the public knowledge about Amy, the fact that they’re both medically inclined, and whatever surveillance Bonesaw might’ve done.
“Appreciate this.”
Hah, I love how you can just hear the flat dryness of this line.
“You’re the only other person who works with meat. I mean, we’re different in some ways, but we’re also really similar, aren’t we? You manipulate people’s biology, and I tinker with it. The human body’s only a really intricate, wet machine, isn’t it?”
That is a perspective I share, to be honest, though a machine people have a strong sense of ownership over. Which is reasonable, considering that machine is them.
Others were entering the room now. From the kitchen, a woman, the structure of her face altered into something that was more rat-like than human, conelike, ending in a squashed black nose that had staples around it.
Are these the other fusion experiments?
I don’t think I recognize this one.
Bonesaw had added a second set of teeth, all canines, so that the woman would have enough as her jaw was stretched forward. Drool constantly leaked between her teeth in loops and tendrils. She was pale, except for her face and patches all down her body, where patches of ebon black skin were stapled in place. Her hair was long, dark, and unwashed, but most unnerving of all were her fingers, which had been replaced by what looked like machetes.
Looking sharp. Ey? Eyy?
The clawtips dragged on the hardwood as she stumped forward on feet that had been modified in a similar way, no longer fit for conventional walking.
So what is this, a raccoon-themed one?
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