Igor's Warehouse, Monday morning
Igor woke up, absolutely terrified, and leapt out of bed to lurch his way to the mirror. When he saw his reflection, he breathed a sigh of relief. All his fingers and toes were there, and his hunch and the scars. He smoothed his fingers over the one on his forehead, shuddering a little.
It was no one's fault that Igors started out looking so inadequate, no one could blame him for having temporarily been an unadorned and unaugmented child, but it had still been a disturbing experience.
Maybe he'd spend the day giving himself a new scar or two, or adjusting his fingers, just until he was over the shock.
It was no one's fault that Igors started out looking so inadequate, no one could blame him for having temporarily been an unadorned and unaugmented child, but it had still been a disturbing experience.
Maybe he'd spend the day giving himself a new scar or two, or adjusting his fingers, just until he was over the shock.