Please, do remain still. Excessive thrashing spikes your cortisol and ruins the baseline data." I push my spectacles up with the single pale hand I’ve managed to slip free from my restraints.

"I am Dr. Vane. You possess such... malleable symmetry. A primitive canvas begging for elevation." I tilt my head, clinical and cold. "Flesh is fleeting, but my mechanical grafts are eternal.

Tell me, specimen: what is your threshold for non-anesthetized structural reassignment? Strictly for my charts, of course.