[center][h2][color=a11212]Dr. Coyle[/color][/h2][/center]

Elsewhere in building, students, teachers, and parents gathered together to begin the school year. Their eyes bright and hopeful, they looked to a glorious new dawn of peace, togetherness, and magical learning. By all rights, this is where Edgar Coyle should have been. This was the first opportunity the children had to meet their new professors, after all.

But of course, there was work to be done.

There was [i]always[/i] work to be done.

He stood in his private lab, a bit of space in his rooms carved out for the express purpose. The walls were lined in runes, of warding, silencing, containing, repelling. They crossed over and over each other in eye straining patterns, liable to give one a migraine if they attempted to follow his convuluted paths. He preferred to work where he knew there would be no interruption. 

The centerpiece of the room was a simple operating table, also fastidiously scratched over with wards. On the table, laying on a plastic sheet, was a young pig. Or, perhaps, something that might have once been a pig. A casual observer might have at first taken it to be a particularly gruesome piece of taxidermy, except for the steady rise and fall of the poor creature's breath.

Dr. Coyle absently wiped a bloody hand on his apron and hit a switch on his hand held tape recorder.

"[color=a11212]Doctor's log.[/color]" He said, in a crisp voice.

"[color=a11212]Presiding over subject 009-b, nicknamed "Patches 3". Subject is, as always, a male [i]sus domesticus[/i], age nine weeks. Today marks day 43 since acquiring subject. Subject has thus far endured... eighty-seven individual organ replacements, skin grafts, and limb transplants. A full fifteen more procedures than his predecessor! Realignment of runic formula on line n has proven most effective in delaying host rejection. I fear, however, that the shock of moving the subject to these new facilities may limit further experimentation. Today, I will be attempting to replace subject's lower jaw, marking the sixth such transplant. Beginning incision...[/color]"

A rapid rise in it's heartbeat fluttered against his senses like a panicked bird. Frustrated, he pulled back at the creature's essence... But it was all too much. A body can only go so far.

"[color=a11212]Vitals dropping... come now, Patches, just a bit further... Damn.[/color]" He sighed. Another soul lost too soon. There was so much more to be done. "[color=a11212]Subject expired. Cause of death assumed to be acute shock, pending autopsy results. Time of death... 11:15 AM.[/color]"

Coyle removed his gloves, made a cursory effort to rinse his hands. They always seemed to be a little red stained around the nails anyway. He sat heavily at his desk and a removed a bottle of brandy along with a tumbler from a lower drawer. He poured himself a few fingers in the glass. He took a long, slow swallow before continuing his litany to the recorder.

"[color=a11212] Unfortunate. 009-b appeared to be the most tenacious yet. But! One must break a few eggs, as they say. I believe I have learned vital lessons for Patches 4, whenever I am able to acquire another pig... Oh! Perhaps I should save the dissection for class. Subject's internal anatomy should make for a thought provoking lecture. The children will be ever so excited to see the sorts of thing a true master of the Healing arts can accomplish.[/color]"

He finished his glass and smiled broadly. There was something odd in that smile, as though it were a trick he'd had to teach himself over the years. 

"[color=a11212] On a personal note, I will confess my excitement to meet our crop of young, fresh minds. As my late grandfather often said, "To shape a child in it's bloom is a wondrous thing". I feel I cannot overstate my elation in having such an opportunity laid before me. To teach... and to do some learning of my own...[/color]"