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[B]There Weren't Really Any Clocks Around
The Weapon X Facility, Canada[/B]

The air is every bit as wet as Michael Phelp's favorite towel and, even worse, the mists smell like what would rise out of that towel if you pissed on it, doused it with expired milk and left it under your laziest siblings bed. Awful, right? Yeah. Now imagine that you can have the nasal-cognitive coordination to tell whether the individual who'd soiled that towel was pregnant or not, how much they weighed and how many times they'd shaken more salt onto their most recent meal. The man Cornelius was waiting on could practically differentiate how many grains had landed on your plate.

Now, Doctor Abraham Cornelius had walked into the room. The man wasn't necessarily the most classically masculine of people to have ever existed nor was he the pregnantest, but his muffintop easily could've concealed a gestating scientist that would one day take the world by storm. Or maybe his generous physique held a crew of little people that was piloting his frame like an old FORD whose power steering had gone out. It would certainly explain the clumsiness.

"Goddammit," Cornelius barked, calling upon a being who almost certainly wasn't listening. "Hines, get over here."

"Yes, Doctor Cornelius!" a being marginally more invested in Cornelius's dealings chirped before springing to his side.

"Where is Patient Ten?"

"Mr. Logan, doctor?"

"Yes, Logan. Who did you think I meant? Bernie Sanders?" he snarled, grumpily.

"Ten is in the den, sir."

"Fantastic. Go get him. Be sure to let him know that he's late," Abraham bitched before driving the young lady out of his sight. After watching his assistant's great [I]personality[/I] exit the room, he angrily bashed his papers together like action figures, pretending to sort them. In his left hand, he held the Cobain Doctrine, in which Mr. Logan had signed away his personhood in exchange for Weapon X to take extinguish the flames of his suffering. In his right hand, he had an excerpt from William Bunting's brilliant new short story as it was scratched out in the spiral notebook that it had entered this world through. Sitting in front of him, like a dungeon master's screen, was a collage of x-rays, blueprints, essays and news clippings that he had to reference often.

Even minutes before the first step of the operation was scheduled to take place, he was still tinkering with his designs. A masterfully inked sketch of Logan's skeleton was on a regular piece of printer paper, sitting with a sweet suite of translucent wax paper print-outs staggered on top of it, each one sporting a slightly different build of possible augmentations. Attempt Number 10 for Weapon X: A man whose healing factor made surgical options so versatile that he could become anything. Abraham postures the venom glands on X's arm, he licks his teeth and spreads the gyro-ribcage corset over the model's core, and he giddily slides the retractable grapnel-claw attachment before reaching for his favorite bit--

"Doctor," Carol interrupts him, "Patient Ten is here.". His expression is as flat as a board. His blood runs cold. In his embarrassment he gashes his finger with one of the laminated weapon sketches before squeezing that finger. The patient's eyes flash open and he crouches ever so slightly, like a tiger getting ready to pounce on a piglet. Dr. Cornelius face flushes rosy red. He may as well have been masturbating for all the embarrassment he felt when they walked in.

"Um, hello Mr. Logan. Glad you could make it."

Logan nods his head, keeping his mouth shut. His throat crushes itself, like a wet sponge, demanding he lubricate it with some blood to keep the motor running. He resists. The place smells like death to him, but not in the sense that he smells shit and wants to get away. The death in the air hits Logan's nostrils like sizzling bacon grease hits just about any American nose.

Like a tour guide, Miss Carol Hines breaks the air and says, "Alright, we got all your paperwork squared away. We got your medical documents and we got everything we need to get started today. We'll just run some preliminary tests, get'cha a dose of the good stuff and we'll have you invincible in no time."