Kynos had rolled down the FBA to the waist and removed the shirt, revealing the developing green and blue contusions across his emaciated body. The bandages on his arms had bled through. After removing them, Simone was confronted with a tightly woven net of crisscrossing scars, likely self inflicted. The current wounds were only the latest addition.
The artificial muscle enhancements showed prominently under the tightly stretched, hard, leathery skin, making it possible to identify the stenciled serial numbers. SImone recognized them as being more than a decade old and pretty outdated, although still functional.
The readout warned her that the amount of cybernetic and biologic enhancements in this body should by rights have killed it's owner.
Belated Kynos replied: "Don't bother. It's been a long time since I had trouble sleeping. Surgical removed conscience and all that. I heal up quickly. I just need something to prevent inflammation."
Kynos sighed and let his head fall back on the gurney. With closed eyes and a sudden weariness in his voice he added: "Forget about Amy and Sovereign. Seeing you making puppy eyes at him is almost worse than getting hit by a dose of pepperpunch.
This is a business venture. Any feelings that go beyond loyalty to the team are counterproductive. Sovereign is on the road to perdition and he likely won't travel alone. Which is a pity. He is - if you discount his flair for the melodramatic - very competent at what he does.
There will be no happily ever after for anyone staying close. With any luck we'll manage a draw where we eradicate Grail and all other vampires in the city... and while we are at it, all the other damned spell slingers around here. There's only hell fire waiting for us..."
Kynos' voice became softer, less monotone as drowsiness overcame him. Almost unconsciously he muttered the lyrics to an old song before he went to sleep:
"Lebt wohl, schöne Witwen, in Gent und Brabant,/Ich habe geträumt, mich geirrt, mich verrannt.
Es gibt keinen Frieden für einen wie mich,/Ich packe das Schwert und das halte ich.
Viel zu verkrampft, meine Hände sind heiß,/Längst ist der Griff schon nass von Schweiß.
Mein Traum macht mir das Töten so schwer,/Aber das Sterben, das Sterben noch mehr."
Farewell, beautiful widow in Gent and Brabant, I've dreamed, I've erred, got carried away
There is no peace for someone like me, I grip the sword and I bear it
much to cramped, my hands they burn. Already the grip is wet of sweat
My dream made killing quite hard, but the dying, the dying so much more.