Chapter 2: Chapter 1: An eye for an eye, an ear for an.. well I don’t exactly know that is.

Now... I'm sure you're wondering, as am I. How you can remain entirely conscious for a surgery. But apparently alien anesthesia doesn't exactly work all that well on humans.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I certainly can't feel much of anything, but that whole, still being conscious thing, while a mechanical crab arm is playing with your eyeball a few feet away, isn't exactly what I'd call good for my mental well-being. 

Now, surely you may also be wondering, why the ever loving hell this highly advanced, almost magical device, can learn the entirety of the English language in an instant, but for some gods forgotten reason can't simply look up, or hack into, our stores of medical knowledge to properly patch up a few bullet wounds and perhaps synthesize a replacement organ, or at the very least, idk, just bring me to the nearest hospital. 

Personally. I think it's just messing with me.

No, seriously. The first thing it did after injecting me with anesthesia was to start playing a tune. Some oldy from the 60s if I'm not mistaken, Sugar-pie honey-bunch. 

Makes for a rather jarring scene, a mechanical crab like thing, dancing to a 60s hit song, while running your eyeball through some sort of scanner repeatedly. Did I forget to mention it's still attached to my optical nerve. 

Oh seems it found something interesting. Wait! what are you doing with those scissors!

Welp, I've always wondered what I'd look like as a pirate. Call me Captain-Scatter-pants, Don't mind the mess, I'll pick myself up eventually. 

Of course, the mechanical crab doesn't get my humor, or well, you know, can't read my mind. But it does seem like it's interest has moved to some capsule looking thing that just popped out of the wall. Looks like some sort of blinking golf-ball. 

New name, Captain-High-beams. Sporting a new, swaggy, L-E-D blinking, Infer-red and Ultru-violet sensing cyborg eye! 

Rather impressive how it managed the whole operation within the span of a single 60s jaming montage.

I think I'll call the mechanical medical crab "Montage" as it seems to finish most of its best work in time span of individual jam-fests. It... they... she... he? lets say he, it doesn't exactly exude a feminine air.

Anyways. Montage seems to have moved from remodeling my face to putting back a few things even I've long since forgotten about. Oh hey, my Liver! Well, my "New-Liver."

Oh and My new shins, I was wondering where those went. Looking good chrome-bones!