. . . . .
He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them. The sunlight is too bright...
Sunlight?
He opens his eyes again. To his left, the sunlight streams through broken windowpanes. It rests its heat on him. He feels it… fleetingly. Had sunlight always felt like this? He can't… remember. He lifts his head up. He is still in the lab where they took his life. Not in the tank or connected to machines. Shafts of light drape across his chest, slopes down his torso and he sees the rise and fall of his own breaths. There are marks on his skin. Tiny dents where holes had housed tubes and wires. Shiny lines where open wounds had closed into scars. There is a white patch taped down over his chest where his heart is. He looks lower still and… he sees them, his legs. They glint with the sunlight, reflect white into his face.
"Good morning," someone greets him. He faces the source of the voice and he sees pale eyes and a wide smile. He doesn't know how to smile back. He glances at the sunlight. Looks at the rest of the lab behind Pale Eyes. He raises his body up to sit. He is trembling with effort. His legs don't move. They're heavy on the mattress. Pale Eyes hands him a glass of water from nowhere. He stares at it, at Pale Eyes' fingers around it. He lifts his hand and sees that he is wearing a glove. "You were stabbing yourself in your sleep. You tried to stab me too," Pale Eyes explains. It sounds like an apology and it shouldn't be one. He doesn't miss the blades they replaced his fingers with. He takes the glass with the gloved hand. It shakes in his grip. He puts the glass up to his lips. He sips...
He can't swallow. There is a lump in his throat. His eyes are burning. He had forgotten what water is.
"So," Pale Eyes starts and leans close. "Got a name that isn't HP-17?"
There is a sudden sharp jab in his head. Images fly behind his eyes. He sees a sunset. Sand at his feet. A plate of food. A pistol. He doesn't know why he has those images. He's never seen them before. He clutches his head until the pain passes. When he looks up again, Pale Eyes is still standing close like he hasn't moved. But the glass is no longer in his hand and his lap is wet.
"Can't...remember," he answers. His own voice is rough. He doesn't recognise it.
"I shot you here, you know," Pale Eyes says, reaching over and pointing at his chest. Over the white patch. His heart is ticking. "It's not the first time I shot someone dead only to have them walking again." Pale Eyes moves away but the warmth stays. He pulls out a box from his pocket. Takes a cigarette from the box. "But that's not the point." Pale Eyes lights the cigarette with the lighter around his neck. He smiles. "They're your legs now. It's about time you walked with them."
Pale Eyes keeps smiling at him like he isn't an experiment. A hybrid person.
"Are you... an angel?" he blurts out. Pale Eyes chuckles.
"I'm a Saint," he says, the smoke curling out of his mouth. "And your name...Well, Bigtown will give you a new one." Bigtown? "They'll give you one if you ever get out of bed."
Turning away from the saint, he sees his metal toes curl. Something in his chest squeezes at the sight. It's an acute feeling: being in control of his body. He turns and puts his feet on the floor. They make light clomps as they touch the tiles. He stands up. Takes one step forward with his metal legs. It doesn't hurt to breathe. When he lifts his gaze, Saint is grinning. The sunlight washes golden over him.
"You ready?" Saint asks.
"Ready," he says.
end.