Jack's insides roiled, fists balling as he passed through the short and spare hallway into the equally unadorned surgery room. He stood aside as Jack made for the door, his hands shaking. The surgeon grimaced, the pencil mustache on his face wiggling like a caterpillar caught in a bird's beak.
#DISHONORED 2 MISSION 7 FLESH AND STEEL SKIN#
"But, uh, I'm more used to sawing off legs than performing skin grafts. "Well, he's not dead." Jack caught the faint slur in the man's voice, the whiff of spirits on his breath. The ship's surgeon blinked in slight surprise as he opened the door to find Jack already standing. Jack stood as the door opened, hands joining together in front of him despite himself. Jack swept the two fingers before his eyes again, and the world returned to normalcy, the whispers fading. Now through the white door, the surgeon approached. Nevertheless, Jack remained still, waiting.
They belong to me, more than anyone else on this vessel. Part of Jack shrank away in revulsion at what he saw … but their songs gnawed at his ears, called him forward. Through his enhanced vision, the bone charms emitted twisting green smoke, beckoning Jack to relieve the whalers of their most prized possessions when they least expected it. Swinging from leather thongs tied around whaler's necks, hanging from belts hidden under the thick coveralls, scattered and secured under and within desks and cabinets … the entire vessel stank of desperate superstition. And, of course, there were the bone charms. Two whalers hacked away at the remnants of the mass of meat still clinging to the ship, the whirring saws held tight in gloved hands. Two whalers coupled roughly in a bed directly above Jack, prompting another bloom of embarrassment and shame as he turned away, trying to dismiss the urge to look on. The boatswain gesticulated before a grim-faced captain, words unheard through three thick walls.
Even the humblest of sailors scrubbing the decks above, backs aching, prospects unexciting, shone with heat. Their beings blazed a fierce yellow, burning intensely within the cold by simply existing. And of course, there were the people.Įveryone on the ship glowed with an inner fire, their gaze casting forth a cone of vision that Jack could not help but marvel at. The hidden wires and tubing buried beneath the wood and metal veneer of the ship ran with a cold azure heat, blooming forth from the now transparent walls and floors. Faint whispers gnawed at Jack's ears, Void-forsaken echoes whose origin Jack did not care to guess. Jack's vision turned a faint blue, like how an artist might paint a scene from underwater everything visible, but the colors subdued. With a dull bloom of embarrassment and shame rising in his chest, Jack swept two fingers before his eyes. He lifted his gloved left hand to his face, the mark burning. With a quick flick of the eyes to the door, Jack looked pointedly away. Restrict thine wandering gaze … but the words felt dead to his mind. Jack sought distraction where he could, trying not to look upon the looming white door. With the ship's every motion it creaked, encouraging calm nerves.
With Jack's every motion it creaked, encouraging stillness. The chair felt flimsy under Jack's weight, the wood too thin and weak at places to bear a full-grown man.