The medical technician began to unwrap bandages from around the man's head, loop by loop the material being unwoven from the right side of the face. The eye was closed, and a large scar ran down over the eyelid, a reminder of where the shrapnel had sliced through it to destroy the man's sight. The young man lifted his arm to swipe his brown bangs from his face, the movement new to him after having his hair spiked up for nearly his entire life. The medical technician grimaced as he noticed the young man's left eye, and finally realized they had set in such a clashing contrast to the man's face. His left and right eyes would not match.

The technician goaded the man into opening his right eye, and the young man hesitated, obviously used to having a piece of black leather restricting movement of the eyelid. And as he opened it, his torso lunged back, as if he had just been struck with some sort of invisible force. His hands gripped the sides of the medical bed strongly, the rush of images flowing to his brain with an intensity he was not used to. The mechanical eye had been outfitted with a variety of options, including infrared, nightvision, and binocular vision. In its true state, the eye was a deep red, its pupil small, almost pencil-point. The white of the eye was now chrome, making its mechanical nature apparent. The young man stood up quickly and rushed for a nearby mirror, looking himself over. He could see again. But he was different now. Much different.