Chapter Seven

Now, if they ever make a movie about my life, this is where the training montage would come in. I would stoically remain calm as they attached my new eyes, learn to walk slowly, but surely, and be shown in a close-up, as the doctors applied their various skills and technology to remove my scars.

Did all of it happen? Yes.
Was it all as painless as movies would have us believe?

Hell no.

---

On the first day, I was woken up by my bed jostling. Before I could say anything, though, I realised something. Something pretty important, actually. You see, someone…probably Doctor Wilks, who, if I was right, was now number two on my revenge list…had decided, in their infinite wisdom, to take me off painkillers. On a scale of one to ten, where one was 'feeling fine' and ten was 'Why is my body screaming at me to commit suicide', I was probably at a 17.
I screamed. Well, what else could I do?
"Take it easy, Mr Tucker, we're nearly there."
"What….the fuck…are you doing?"
"We're just….nearly….THERE!"
My head exploded in pain. Not literally, you understand, but it felt like it was about to. I went from 17, on the scale, to approximately a 32. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me, and I looked around, grabbing the first receptacle I could see, and…
Through the pain, through the vomit, and most of all, through that horrible, horrible smell, a sudden thought occurred to me.

I could see.

When I had finished my oral expulsion, I looked up, and saw an elderly man, with thick glasses, smiling down at me.
"Doctor Wilks?"
He smiled even more. "Hello there, Mr Tucker."
I reached out to him. It was touching, I suppose. The invalid patient who suddenly had his sight restored. He leaned closer, and raised his hand…
Perfect.
I grabbed his tie, and yanked his face close to mine.
"Who…the hell….took me off painkillers?"
"Uhm…well…that is…"
I let go of his tie. Torturing medical staff for doing their jobs really wasn't my sort of thing.
"Don't do it again without telling me first."
I leaned back, and got my first real look around…my first look at anything…in two months.

My vision, sadly, wasn't great. It wasn't even good. Whilst I could see, everything was vaguely blurry, static-y, and in greyscale…I'm sure philosophers out there would read something into that. I make a decision to become a superhero, and suddenly everything's in black and white. As for me, I was wondering just how they managed this little feat of sight.
"Mirror."
"What?"
"I would like a mirror. I haven't seen myself in a long time."
Wilks reached to my bedside, and handed a small mirror to me. I gazed into my reflection for nothing more than a handful of seconds, before I handed it back in disgust.
"That isn't me."
"Give it time, Mr Tucker", Wilks responded soothingly. "It's only the first day."

What Wilks didn't know…what he couldn't know…was that I felt I would never look the same way again. My skin, once blemish free, was a mass of what I assume were red and pink scars. I had no ears to speak of, and my nose was practically gone. My eyelids, from what I tell, had been burned off by the flamethrower. At least, I wasn't too sure about that. They may have still been there, but I couldn't tell, with the ocular implants I had received.
They were flat, and recessed into my skull. Although I couldn't see in any colour, I doubted they had any to speak of. Perfectly round, they had small cylindrical circles raised on the outer edges, with a larger version slap bang in the middle.
Granted, I had only seen myself in the mirror for scant moments. It had been more than enough.

"Only the first day?" A familiar voice crowed. "Shit, if he looks this bad on the first day, he'll look even worse in a week." I looked over. There, through the white noise of my supposedly 'enhanced' vision, was a figure I instantly recognised as Sammy Edwards. He turned to look at me, a huge grin on his face.

"What's up, Wankenstein?"

---

Sammy had, or so he said, stayed at the hotel, more than happy to burn a hole in my (alright, limitless) supply of funding. Whilst I had entertained notions throughout my convalescence that he was worried sick, and stayed in close proximity to me, Sammy, instead, was dating Superheroines.
"Fit ones too, man. In tight spandex!"
Sammy had gone to that nightclub every night since then, pouring his heart out that his 'bestest friend in the world was near death', and getting comforted. And now I was alert, awake, and sadly, able to see his irritating grin, Sammy was relaying some of the more…detailed facts to me.
"And one night, there was this one girl…oh, man, she was so FINE! Tight little yellow two piece, which hugged her figure…and so did I." His grin, which many have called 'shit-eating', got bigger. "And then, after she bought me a few drinks, we were on the dance floor, griiiiinding away," When, as he said it, Sammy felt the need to roll his hips in an obscene chair dance, as if he were humping the chair, instead of doing the respectful thing and sitting on it. "And then we went back to her place."
I wasn't going to ask.
I couldn't.
I mustn't.
"So…" Damn you, mouth! "Did you do the deed?"
"Huh?" Sammy played innocent with me.
"Did you two get…physical?"
"Oh!" Sammy practically yelled. "You want to know if I screwed her brains out?"
Doctor Wilks, and the two or three doctors in the room, stopped reviewing notes, and turned to look at us.
"Nah," he continued, leaning back in his chair, and putting his feet up on my bed. "I make it a rule to never sleep with a girl with a more impressive six-pack than me."
"Oh", was my only reply.
"I mean, things were fine until she wanted to bench-press me. I mean, what's up with that?"
The thought of a nubile, skinny girl bench-pressing a naked Sammy had me, once again, reaching for a bin to throw up in. Well, it wasn't the thought of the bench-pressing. It was more the thought of Sammy. Naked.
"Exactly, Jay. Exactly." He patted my back, which only made me throw up more.

Mercifully, Doctor Wilks approached us. "Mr Edwards, it's time to let Jason rest. We need to make a few adjustments to his optic sensors."
"Whussat?" Sammy blinked. "You mean he doesn't have eyes anymore?" He looked down at me, and tried to maintain a straight face. "Well, bugger me, I never noticed." He got up to go, and got as far as opening the door before turning back, and tossing me a cheerful salute.
"See ya later, Wankenstein!"

As he left, Doctor Wilks watched him go very closely, before turning back to me. "Your friend is certainly a…colourful individual."
"He is, at that. So, what're these adjustments?"
"Oh! Well, we're going to…"

I let my mind wander as Dr Wilks rambled on. No matter what 'improvements' he and his team were going to make, I'd still look like a freak. Noticing he had finished, and was looking down at me, excitement in his beady little eyes, I nodded. "Okay, whatever."

As I was put under, there in the room (why not an operating room? Had these people no sense?) I caught myself wondering what, exactly, Wilks wanted to do to my eyes. Just as blackness slipped in, I realised I should have paid more attention.

---

"Mr Tucker…"
"Hmph."
"Mr Tucker…we need you to open your eyes."
"Meh."
"Yo, Wankenstein!" A horrifically loud voice startled me into full consciousness. "Open your fucking eyes, you shitnugget, so I can show you some photos of me fucking your mother! And I mean, damn, that bitch is wild in the sack. Speaking of sacks, here's my nuts in your face. BOMBS AWAY, BABY!"
My eyes shot open, and only Sammy's quick reflexes saved him from my hand around his neck. Or any of his other appendages.
Just as quickly, though, my eyes closed.
"Oh, jeez, it's too bright!"
"What?" Dr Wilks' voice sang out. "Oh, right. Sorry." I heard some beeping. "Try now."
Very slowly, I opened my eyes, and looked out. Everything was…in…beautiful…colour!
"Damn, dude," I looked at Sammy. "You look hungover as all hell."
Sammy scowled at me. "Late night in Pocket D."
"That superheroine again?"
"What? No. Another one."
"Damn, Sammy. If you end up with a group of super strong females coming after you, all angry, don't look to me for protection."
"Nah, it's cool. They're so busy saving the world, they don't mind." Sammy shrugged.
Doctor Wilks felt the need to interrupt. Thankfully.
"Mr Tucker, would you like a mirror?"
I shook my head. "No offence, Doc, but I know what I look like. I look like the Frankenstein monster."
"The 'Wank'enstein Monster," Sammy corrected. "Wankenstein. And he's right. If anything, he's even worse than before."
Oh, Christ, what did they do to me this time?
I held out my hand. "Mirror. Now."
Shakily, Dr Wilks handed me a mirror. "Now, Mr Tucker, remember that adjustments will constantly have to be made."
"Whatever, Wilks." I tilted the mirror, and gazed into my reflection.

The first thing I noticed, before anything else, were my eyes.
My honest-to-god, no dumb metal circle, big, warm, brown eyes!
Doctor Wilks could obviously sense my shock. "We used photographs and details provided by Mr Edwards here, to fabricate exact duplicates of your old eyes, down to the golden flecks in the irises. From an outside look, they're virtually indistinguishable from your old ones."
I turned to look at Sammy. "Golden flecks?"
He shrugged. "I may have mentioned your eyes had the same colour as dog shit after it's eaten the Christmas tree."
Ahh. That explained things.

I turned back to the mirror, to study my face more.

It's funny how these things turn out, at times. What I'd like each of you to do, right now, is find a mirror. Got one? Now, look at your face. I mean really and truly, look at your face. Notice every feature, every pore, every imperfection.
Now take the mirror away, and do something else for a few minutes. Then, think about your face. I'll bet you anything you like that you don't remember every single detail. There'll be something you forget, until you look back in a mirror.

That's what it felt like I was doing. My face was, once again, my face. I had a nose. I had ears. I had no scars. And, most important, I had eyes!
Which, surprisingly for fakes, were welling up with tears. Doctor Wilks noticed, and turned to Sammy. "Would you leave us for a few moments, Mr Edwards?"
"Yeah, sure. I need to take a leak, anyway." He shrugged, and made himself scarce.
Wilks turned back to me. "I realise you weren't expecting this much back this quickly, but…you've done a lot for some of the people in this city. More than you can possibly realise."
I stared up at him, trying to blink away tears. "What do you mean?"
Wilks said nothing for a moment, then reached up, as if to take his glasses off. What he did, instead of removing his eyeglasses, was remove an eyeball.
One of his.

Behind it was one of the same devices I had seen embedded in my skull.

"During the Rikti War, I was a field medic, with my wife. The Superheroes have teleporters, so they come straight to the nearest hospital. The soldiers, however, needed more mundane help."
I tried to interject, to let him know this wasn't necessary. However, he had other plans. "A mortar shell…one of ours…got re-directed, and blew up next to where my wife and I were working on a young man…he couldn't have been more than 17. Just a child. When I woke up, I was told that the war was over, I had been in a coma for years, and that alongside my vision, my wife had been taken from me, alongside that young soldier.
"I knew nothing but pain, and hurt, and anguish for so long, I couldn't even think about anything else. I couldn't remember anything but the pain, and the blackness. These ocular implants were experimental, at best, and prohibitively expensive. Then, one day, I was told about a Foundation. Your Foundation, as it turns out. One that was set up to help victims of the war, that would willingly pay for my implants, should I want them, no questions asked, no strings attached.
"Mr Tucker, you owe your eyesight to nobody but yourself. Just as you owe your good health and return to society to nobody else. It's I who owe you an incredible debt…this whole city does, in one way or another."
Wilks popped his eye back into place, and blinked a few more times.
"Now, I should let you get some rest, in a moment, before Mr Edwards comes back in. But first, I'd like to show you something quite remarkable." He held out a long, thin keyboard. "This is tuned specifically for your eyesight. It's an interface which allows you…"

This time, although Wilks kept rambling on, I gave him my total attention.

---

"So, you have X-Ray vision?"
"Yup!" I grinned at Sammy, and tried to ignore my itchy face. Dr Wilks told me that it would itch at times, until the skin grafts took complete hold. I was willing to trust him.
"Okay." He scribbled something I couldn't see on a piece of paper, and held it up away from me. "What did I just write?"
Pressing a few buttons on my keyboard, I glanced at him. "I have no idea."
"Aw, what?"
"Sammy, it's X-Ray vision, not 'see through one layer' vision. Although you seem to have a crayon in your stomach."
"Ugh, gross, man!" Sammy laughed, and put down the paper. "So, when do you get new legs?"
I shrugged. "I have no idea. I have to wait until the skin grafts take a more complete hold on my body."
"Skin grafts…what, everywhere?"
The door opened, and Emily walked in. "What's this about skin grafts? Oh, hi Sammy."
Sammy stared. Dammit, I knew I had forgotten to tell him something.
"Hey Jason. You're looking much better. It's good to see you have a nose, at least." I didn't answer. Well, not verbally. I did, however, take a look at her through my X-Ray vision.

Interesting. Since when do Mayoral aides carry guns?

"What's with the piece?" I asked.
"Hmm? Oh, it's standard issue for…my other job." The other job, I took to mean the Brotherhood. "It's actually that I wanted to speak to you about. Sammy, would you give us a few minutes?"
"Hang on!" Sammy stood. "I want to hear about these skin grafts!"
"Okay, fine." Emily moved closer to me, and lifted up the bedsheet, giving herself a long look at my naked body.
"Yup, 100 skin grafts. Although, it's good to see they didn't touch his…"
"WOAH!" Sammy squeaked. "Way too much information. I'm outta here."
As Sammy quickly left, I grinned at her. "I thought you didn't want to see me naked anymore."
"Well, it's fun to mess with Sammy's head. Always was." She lowered the sheet. "Anyway, as a duly appointed member of The Brotherhood, I need to ask you about your legs."
"Uhm…Em? My legs are…nonexistent."
She snorted. "No, you idiot. The new ones. I'm here to find out if you want to fly."
"Fly?"
She grinned. "If you're up for it. You can fly, run at superspeed, or jump pretty high. I'm told the jumping is quite a sight to see, although, knowing you, you'll want to go for the classic approach."
I frowned, not entirely enjoying the itching that spread across my forehead as I did so. "Why not all three?"
Emily shrugged. "Power conservation. Although you'll have semi-organic batteries built into your legs…they'll recharge from the kinetic energy of the blood flowing through your body, by the way, you can only do one of them. Otherwise, you'll find yourself exhausted."
"You mean exhausted as in that weekend we spent in…"
"Yes, well, I'm not here to rehash the past. You'll feel pretty drained, though."
"Oh." What was with this girl? Checking out my naked body one minute, then refusing to talk about our relationship…weird.
"Well, you're right. I guess I'll stick with flying."
"Cool, I'll let the doctors know. They'll be fitting your new legs tomorrow." Emily got up to leave. Just before she reached the door, though, she turned back. "Oh, one more thing…I'd imagine that it is like that weekend. Only less fun."
"What can be more fun than flying?"
"Well…" She winked, and left.
Sammy came back in a moment later. "Dude…what's Emily doing here?"
I thought about it, and gave him the only honest response I could.
"I have absolutely no idea what she's doing."