Perhaps unsurprisingly, the curiosity of both Salem and Light prompted them to follow Graft closely on the way to his laboratory. From what he knew of their natures he could hardly blame them, but it presented a problem for maintaining secrecy when it came to the matter at hand. Of course, the matter at hand itself had the technoorganism screaming on the inside. He maintained a stony, even surly exterior, but Graft's mind was afire with shock, confusion, and inference. At the moment, the director aimed for damage control, but to preserve the wellbeing of his newest employee he needed to operate immediately, and doing that without revealing her to his overeager associates was an impossibility. While he didn't want them to know, that in itself wasn't the true problem; the real issue was that the moment they said anything, the magic of Kath Erine would record their comments, and that meant [i]anyone[/i] could find out.

Even Rodias.

As the small party neared their destination, led by Papillary with Graft and his Guards bringing up the real, the director shot Light an irritated look. “Surely you mean 'eldritch'.” It would take a lot more arms than Light had to make trading for sophisticated new gear a fair exchange. Head, the door to the laboratory recognized Papillary and slid open with a low but audible groan. Graft proceeded to one of the tables, more of a tightly-packed block of biometal parts than real furniture, and used a tendril to sweep the clutter onto the floor. “Right here. Gently.” The Guards complied, setting their cloaked bundle on the block before stepping back to attention, as silent and faceless as ever.

Graft took a position at the head of the table, at some sort of terminal, and looked between Light and Salem. “I've got another special offer. A favor for a favor.” His mouth stopped moving, but his voice reached the others as modulated reverberations. [i]”Don't say anything about her condition.”[/i] Another tentacle snaked up from his back, extending to grasp his coat and pull it away. 

“I present the third creation of Brushen Penn.”

Penn's secret lay open for all to see: a gorgeous woman with demonic features, dressed in unusual garb and in bad shape. Papillary stared, at a complete loss for words. Graft sank his claws into he terminal, linking with the system, and a multitude of biomechanical arms with all sorts of instruments sprang from the sides of the table to curl over its top, like the legs of a dead spider. Many poor souls had met a terrible fate on operating tables like this one, but today Graft would be using it for benevolence. Straightaway he began his diagnostics,  using some of the tools to poke and prod at the barely-conscious girl in order to find out about her. A panel rose from the top of the terminal, its living surface changing texture like an octopus to form letters.

[i]Level 1 Nightgaunt
Blunt trauma and abrasions across body
Substantial internal damage
Permanent debuffs, cleansable
Item discovered[/i]

One grabber pulled away a small bone charm inscribed with magic runes. Graft swapped in a new pair of lenses to his biomask, identifying the item. “Second Chance. Any attack that would one-hit kill the target will instead leave it at 1 HP.” [i]Ugh.[/i] Without delay, he pulled up an syringe arm and began administering nanoflesh. At the injection site there was a momentary discoloration, but the living technology quickly sank in, surging through the woman's system. It made various minor repairs before melding with her bones and organs, strengthening them.

After a few moments the transfusion was complete. The woman had opened her purple eyes, looking around blearily. “Be at ease,” Graft told her. “You are among friends. What is your name?”

Her gaze fell upon him, but she said nothing. He tried again. “I am Vitaphagas Graft. This is Salem,” he said, pointing at the doll. “And Light.” He indicated the vault guardian. One after another his subject glanced at the others, her vision as dull as the look on her face. “Can you understand me?”

She did not. Graft breathed a heavy sigh. “Tabula rasa. A blank slate. No will, no sense, no self. No more than a pretty face.” [i]Why would Penn make something like this?[/i] he asked himself. A dozen answers floated around in his head, the least worrisome of all being 'just because she could'. To create life with so little thought or care seemed so...irresponsible. Surely even [i]he[/i], himself a creation, could do better.

Graft inclined his head. “Say, now that's an idea.”

A confused look reached him Papillary, which was remarkable considering her lack of a face. “Sir?”

He prepared another ministration, this one special. The arms of his operating table whirred to action, and Graft explained as he worked. “Each of us was made who we are by our creators. Yet each of us surely started as something like this in the beginning. Clay, waiting to be formed. While I have been making life like Guards for a while, they stand at a fixed point in terms of ability and sophistication. If I can unlock the secrets of development, and steer it as our creators did, the possibilities are endless.” Technoorganisms, beings made for adaptation, evolution, and utilization, could grow faster than normal creatures. This nanoflesh ministration would hopefully grant that skill. “There exists in her limitless potential. Through instruction and experience she may be able to gain all sorts of stats, skills, and levels. Perhaps one day she could even stand as our equal.” Carried away by his imagination, his voice dropped to a murmur. “Perhaps one day we ourselves can find ways to grow.”

The thought had never occurred to him, somehow: the thought of developing past the point where he stood now. But no, he couldn't get ahead of himself. His current project lay before him, without so much as a name. Graft removed his claws from the terminal, causing the table's arms to collapse back into its sides. Sliding an arm beneath the demon, he helped her into a sitting position. She offered no resistance, and sat looking at the others with wide eyes. “We must get her real clothes,” Graft remarked, his tone clinical. “And a name.” He glanced at the others. “Any ideas? Please be aware that you will not be paid for them.”