Post by Razputin on Oct 6, 2007 22:56:13 GMT -5
Orientation
A blank, luminous light blared through a small structured chamber that was cornered with streamline steel and cleaning fluid. The floor was a solid, unforgiving jester of thick marble, plastered by fabrication, glistening as clean as a diamond. Menacing industrial apparatus' lined the walls, needles and medical incision tools laying askew over an opaque shelf, while multiple screens of onyx black faces did nothing in the slightest to show life. Three figures loomed over one, motionless body, silohuettes of dread plotting forth doom and rot, one a technical surgeon spattered with thick, grey blood.
It was a surgeon's room. A few miles away from Dicework Village, this small room was hidden by a somber grey, a metal coated shack that was to be seen as rubbish or trash. Regardless of this pitiful apparel, the room was nothing short of amazing, copious in the amounts of high level surgical and medical equipment made for the most delicate of procedures. It took in... visitors, and acted as a small base of more illicit activities.
Especially a stolen corpse.
Besides the surgeon, a thin, nervous looking man with short brown hair, balding in the center, there were two more hominids... and both were of smog and decay. Clean cut, velvet black suits that seemed for the attire of business kept their fleshy epidermal layers hidden, buttoned with perfection, hands strapped with shining leather gloves, while their faces remained shaded behind ominious looking gas masks, the son of hazmat suits. The blank, soulless eyes coupled with a gentlemen's top hat made them seem... surreal, and what they had come for was all the more frightening.
The surgeon's head began to mat with sweat as he looked the carcass over once more.
"I'm afraid I've done all I can to repair his tissue. It's hard enough to keep the whole thing preserved, you see! Complicated, you must und-"
"There will be a patrol of Sentinels to retrieve the body in one hour. You will not be expected to be here," interrupted one of the masked figures, a hoarse tone of shredded lungs and fragmented vocal cords. The surgeon seemed to go a very unhealthy shade of white.
"Y-yes... of course. Erm, shall I expect p-payment then?" the man blurted out, instantly placing a hand over his mouth as though poison dripped from his tongue.
"Your kept life is your payment. Remember: one hour."
There was a thick silence that hung in the air. The two hazmat headed men left, leaving the surgeon to wallow in his confusion. He steadily gazed at the colorless body with vague interest. What exactly was so special about this body?
A blank, luminous light blared through a small structured chamber that was cornered with streamline steel and cleaning fluid. The floor was a solid, unforgiving jester of thick marble, plastered by fabrication, glistening as clean as a diamond. Menacing industrial apparatus' lined the walls, needles and medical incision tools laying askew over an opaque shelf, while multiple screens of onyx black faces did nothing in the slightest to show life. Three figures loomed over one, motionless body, silohuettes of dread plotting forth doom and rot, one a technical surgeon spattered with thick, grey blood.
It was a surgeon's room. A few miles away from Dicework Village, this small room was hidden by a somber grey, a metal coated shack that was to be seen as rubbish or trash. Regardless of this pitiful apparel, the room was nothing short of amazing, copious in the amounts of high level surgical and medical equipment made for the most delicate of procedures. It took in... visitors, and acted as a small base of more illicit activities.
Especially a stolen corpse.
Besides the surgeon, a thin, nervous looking man with short brown hair, balding in the center, there were two more hominids... and both were of smog and decay. Clean cut, velvet black suits that seemed for the attire of business kept their fleshy epidermal layers hidden, buttoned with perfection, hands strapped with shining leather gloves, while their faces remained shaded behind ominious looking gas masks, the son of hazmat suits. The blank, soulless eyes coupled with a gentlemen's top hat made them seem... surreal, and what they had come for was all the more frightening.
The surgeon's head began to mat with sweat as he looked the carcass over once more.
"I'm afraid I've done all I can to repair his tissue. It's hard enough to keep the whole thing preserved, you see! Complicated, you must und-"
"There will be a patrol of Sentinels to retrieve the body in one hour. You will not be expected to be here," interrupted one of the masked figures, a hoarse tone of shredded lungs and fragmented vocal cords. The surgeon seemed to go a very unhealthy shade of white.
"Y-yes... of course. Erm, shall I expect p-payment then?" the man blurted out, instantly placing a hand over his mouth as though poison dripped from his tongue.
"Your kept life is your payment. Remember: one hour."
There was a thick silence that hung in the air. The two hazmat headed men left, leaving the surgeon to wallow in his confusion. He steadily gazed at the colorless body with vague interest. What exactly was so special about this body?