Jameson

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From an isolated warehouse window, a calculating eye observes.

So far, so good. The freshly installed patch of synthetic skin shows no signs of irritation or inflammation, neatly stitched across his chest so seamlessly it's almost like there original scales were never there to begin with. That's sort of the point of the whole process, to be sure. Humming in satisfaction, Jameson pops the protective cap back over one talon, the claw replaced with a suture needle for procedures just like this. It's a little hard to reach his own chest, but that's what Jenna is here for.

"Everything seems to be in order, sir," the ridgeback says, after doing one last cursory check. "Should I move on with the preliminary testing?"

After a moment, Jameson nods, watching Jenna reach for the blowtorch mounted on the side of the wall. She gives it a quick test click, careful to keep the nozzle pointed away from anything flammable, before bringing it to aim straight at Jameson's chest. To anyone else walking in, this might almost appear to be some sort of torture scene - medical implements scattered over a metallic tray, an operating table upon which Jameson now rests, though it's propped up more like a chair now, with Jenna looming ominously over him with the blowtorch in her hands.

"Ready?"

"Go for it."

With a click, the blowtorch spews forth a gout of orange flames, licking at Jameson's exposed chest. He doesn't even flinch. It's warm, but nowhere near as hot as he knows it should feel - which means everything is going according to plan. After several seconds of concentrated heat, Jenna extinguishes the flames and puts the blowtorch away, whistling in amazement.

There's only a few blackish char marks across his chest, and when the ridgeback wipes them away with a clean cloth, nothing remains to suggest he might have just been subjected to fire hot enough to inflict moderately severe burns on any other dragon's scales.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, sir." There's no hiding the clear admiration in Jenna's voice, Jameson getting up from his seat and making his way to his desk so he can take some notes on the state of things.

"Of course I did," he replies almost nonchalantly, puffing himself up with pride. "I always do."

They'd said it was impossible, replacing flesh with metal and skin with synthetic material. Back then, he hadn't had the tools he'd needed to make his dream possible, but now was a different story. Oh, how his peers had laughed at his supposed audacity, mocked him for even wanting to try. It was too risky, unheard of - even if it was possible, he'd never find anyone willing to take the plunge and subject themselves to that sort of drastic change.

So he'd done it himself. He still has his old notes from those early days, countless sketched diagrams and frantically scribbled notes detailing his grand designs for the replacement of draconic parts. Starting from creating a tougher alternative to his scales to designing new, artificial limbs to replace the existing ones, Jameson had worked tirelessly despite the disbelieving jeers of the others, and those efforts had paid off decades later - when technology caught up to his seemingly wild, fantastical dreams. Now he can look back on all those who dared doubt him, and smile knowing he's succeeded well beyond their expectations.

But he can't stop here. Not when there's so much more to be done. He's replaced most of his skin, but there's still the internal organs and the spine to go, not to mention the all-important issue of his brain and whether it can even be replaced at all. That's a concern for tomorrow, though. For today, he'll take what triumphs he can get, and see what else he can modify.

Jenna's bright laugh startles him out of his reverie, Jameson pausing in the middle of writing to turn back to his assistant, eyebrows raised.

"Is something funny, Jenna?"

"Oh, not at all! I'm just happy to get to work under someone so talented and capable, you know?" She coughs, looking a little sheepish. "Not a lot of dragons would be willing to literally cut into their own skin to do these kinds of tests, but how else are we supposed to know if it'll work or not? I just appreciate the opportunity, really."

Well said. No wonder he'd picked her all those years ago. Smiling broadly, Jameson goes back to his notes, jotting his observations down before he can forget them.

"Well, expect to see many more such discoveries from me in the future, dear. I promise, this is the least of what I have in mind to achieve someday."