[Center][IMG]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180623/45cbbb76a88d211056db7a2805e193d3.png [/IMG][/Center] [B]The Weapon X Facility, Canada The Summer of 2018[/B] Patient Ten, like the VIN number on a minivan, was the present designation of the unconscious husk that had previously belonged to a Canadian wild man known as Logan, previously known as James Howlett. A man, a monster, and something of a patriot. Even in this non-living undeath in which he was legally something between a vegetable and a paper shredder, he served his country. Yes, he would serve Weapon X and therefore the Canadian people well. He bobbed a foot beneath the surface of a vaguely chartreuse fluid that tickled the surgeons skin, even as their hands emerged from the solution, swallowed by the best latex that block ops money could buy (which was really good latex). His back was slit open, like a duffel bag full of bones, negligible amounts of fat and an enviable amount of muscle. The bath he was taking had been very carefully crafted with enough gold to prevent Patient Ten from healing during the operation, while not being enough to saturate his body and kill him forever, theoretically at least. Due to the scarcity of Homo Abominus Americana, only five were confirmed to exist, they had little data to work with. So the surgeons essentially kept him inside a fish tank that had a vacuum on one end, sucking the solution out, and a faucet on the other, alternating between dispensing the gold solution and something more akin to saline. "Nice work," Professor Cornelius, the project's primary overseer commented as one of the workers brought over a case resembling the world's first hurricane resistant toolbox. Unlatching it, they pulled out handheld tools that looked like a cross between a pastry chef's pipettes and semi-automatic weaponry, with each operator holding a magazine that contained half a dozen refills, each refill roughly being the size of a nine volt. Cornelius recalled that while it was no small feat to acquire this much adamantium in the first place, it had been a true pain in the ass to engineer a method of storing it so that it could be dispensed with the same convenience and accuracy as a 3D pen. Ironically, it actually was more cost efficient to hire and train starving artists to produce the various special features than it would have been to design an actual 3D printer that could dispense adamantium. The operaters practically had to rip every muscle and nerve off of the patient's bones in order to access each nook and cranny of his skeleton. Even so, the process was not flawless. Only the outside of his bones could consistently be coated with adamantium, given that accessing the totality of the crevices would require breaking them before repairing them, sewing the nerves back into place and painting the exterior with more metal. They had a dozen highly coordinated men physically touching the body, each overlapping uncomfortably closely with the others. Accidents happened. Once exposed to the gold/wash solution, the adamantium would solidify within seconds. One of the dispenser triggers got stuck adding a needle-like spike onto the back of the patient's right elbow. Foolishly, the responsible surgeon attempted to amend the error by batting it back and forth. Rather than smoothing the process away, he curled into the shape of a coiling snake. At that, the man was told that he was going home. It was hard for the others to maintain their focus as the sudden bellowing of twin gunshots shook the operating room. The remaining eleven were all too aware what would happen should they falter or make some kind of flamboyant error of their own. So they didn't. It was simply outside the scope of the project to properly clean up all of the little things in the remaining hours, so many of their many indiscretions were covered over. It was a mad dash, trying to stitch the body back together after candy coating his bones with vibranium, implanting a couple doo-hickeys here and there while still finishing in time to feel relatively confident that the gold hadn't bleached the colony of vampiric symbiotic microorganisms in his flesh. Seeing the progress, Doctor Abraham Cornelius licked his teeth and jumped for joy. After all, no one was watching him. After a moment of excitement, keeping his balled fists at shoulder level like he was holding a pair of dumbbells, he pursed his lips and dug his cell phone out of his pocket. Carol looked at him bemused. She remembered what it was like when Cornelius had taken her cell phone. Just about everybody in the facility had lost theirs once they'd begun work at Weapon X. In fact, Cornelius was the only one that Carol knew to have a cell phone. The company was reasonably concerned about security leaks on social media and wikileaks, or any number of other communication channels available through the interwebs. They lived in the compound. None of them were paid at the moment--not in dollars, anyhow. Weapon X had an internal currency that could be used at the commissary. But they'd all been lured in by the lucrative promises available once they were released to go back to their homes. 'Til then, she wouldn't know what her little sister's prom dress would look like, or if Season Two of Netflix's X-O Manowar stood up to the hype. "Professor," Cornelius squealed. "We're almost done. They're winding it up, right now. We'll fish the patient out of the bath in a matter of minutes and we can begin the Boss Rush at the top of the hour." "The top of the hour," Carol crooned. "Shouldn't we let him heal up, first?" "My dear, that's the point of having a donor with an advanced healing rate. We just need to let him dry off long enough for his motor to heat back up and he won't need any time to be back in top shape. Slitting this guy's throat is like slapping a cube of Jell-O © with the backside of a spoon," the doctor giggled. "The best part is that his consciousness is actually stored within that colony of vampiric microorganisms. He's basically braindead, the colony just keeps rebuilding that part of his body for kicks, I guess," he said puffing up his chest and trying to sound confident. "Look at that, Carol: They're yanking him out now." Carol trotted forward to see the job they'd done on Patient Ten. Cornelius observed as well, at a distance. His attention was not entirely devoted to the Patient's form. He was looking at something equally gelatinous that he'd very much enjoy slapping with the back of a spoon.