“We all have scars.” Seth’s hand on Dex’s wrist persuaded him. Dex had not, since he’d made the prosthetic, let another human being look upon his ruined features. In fact, he had seldom looked upon them himself; only to keep the skin clean and to check for infections or other rejections of his body from the machine. He slowly lowered the machinery, twisting his neck in relief. Several vertebrae in his back popped and crackled.
Dex’s face was hardly the roadmap of deformity Seth might have expected. Three long, shiny white scars ran from the apex of his hairline down to his left ear. The eye was not completely missing, nor a sunken socket, but instead white and obviously sightless. There were three bloodless holes around the eye, the size of a nail where the clockwork connections to his br
