"The Circuit needs constant current," muttered Dr. B., eyes straining to focus on the baku eating his feverish nightmares. His head throbbed, long veins poking up across his right temple, circulation restored in long, slow increments. Transfusion, draining of insect blood, return to correct form.
What little was learnt from the experience would have to be satisfactory.
His focus slipping, Dr. B. at last fell into a dreamless slumber.
"We're on the square, yeah?" asked the voice, hollow, almost synthetic.
yes-
"I'm ready."
The apparatus locked weighted fingers and injected needles into the translucent arm offered it, pumping radiant green blood into empty veins. Skin thickened, hardened. Foundation, dawning revelation, creation of new form.