Dimitri sat in the back of the medic’s APC, and watched as three white-armored field medics worked like mad around the body of the man who he had known for most of his life as his father.
“Pass me that suture!”
“Watch that bone!”
“Get me a soaker!”
Dimitri looked at his hands, which were covered in blood. He’d tried to stem the bleeding as best as he could, but… there was too much. He had the plasma blade next to him, deactivated. The flat of that and the handle were also spattered with blood. In short, it looked like he was the one to hack off Jonathan’s arms.
“I think that’s all wee can do here for now. Let’s get this man back to the compound; wee’ll have better equipment there.” Two of the three medics left to get into the seats of the APC, while one remained with the grievously injured Jonathan, checking specific details and making notes on a clipboard.
Dimitri, for his part, saw none of it. He was busy thinking about what had happened; more specifically, what Marcus Fronz said.
“Prototype… that’s what he called me.”
The APC started moving, and the medic looked up. “Agent Sride, are you okay? Do you require any medical assistance?”
“Prototype; what’s he talking about?”
“…Agent Sride…?” The medic inched closer. PTSD was still a prevalent factor in the Agency, and Agents had been known to flip out after combat on occasion.
“BACK OFF!” Dimitri’s head shot up, and glared at the medic, who promptly jumped back and deployed the helmet, a somewhat cylindrical affair that served as both bullet and biological weapon defense. Dimitri calmed down.
“Sorry, got a bit on my mind.” This was an understatement, but it was a step in the right direction.
“It’s okay, Agent; I’ve seen similar post-combat reactions before.” The medic turned back to his clipboard, but kept the helmet up. He’d also seen gullible medics slaughtered from behind by those claiming to be sane.
Dimitri paid the medic no more attention. He had some soul searching to do.


--- Director’s office, 57th floor, SDA building, half an hour later ---

Dimitri sat there, facing the Director. The two were alone, and Dimitri still held the graduation gun and plasma blade. The two sat in silence for several minutes, and then the Director began to speak.
“Dimitri… the medical department says that they’ve managed to stem the bleeding; it seems that your father will beat the medical odds once again.” When this elicited no response, he went on, “I’m sorry. I should have begun easing you into this sooner; what I’m going to allow you to find out will be quite heavy.”
“Al. Please, don’t beat yourself up on this one.” Dimitri waved his hand, “at least, not until I see what you haven’t told me.”
“Of course,” Al pressed a button on his desk, “Sasha, bring in the folder, please?”
Sasha walked in. Dimitri looked at her. Something was a little off in the way she looked at him. Then he considered his clothes; he was still wearing clothes coated in Jonathan’s blood, and carrying a blade flecked with the same.
“It’s not my blood, if you’re wondering, Sasha.”
“Well, I can kind of see that, seeing as you’re still upright and all.” Sasha quickly walked over to the desk, and placed the folder, which was several centimeters thick, on the desk in front of Dimitri; she turned and left, the doors sliding silently to a close behind her.
“I know there’s a lot of stuff there, Dimitri. Please take as long as you need to read all our Intel on you.”


Several hours of silence later, Dimitri finished the last document, put it down, and sat back in his chair.
“Well, Dimitri?”
“I don’t have any problems with what you decided to do; it’s what I would have done.” Dimitri clicked his neck. “It explains a great deal of things that have happened recently, as well as things which have never really made sense.” Dimitri sifted through the pile until he found the document he wanted.
“So, Jonathan was never my real dad, then?” Dimitri looked at the document; formal adoption papers signed by Jonathan.
“Quite true; he made quite an irrational judgment that day he saved your life, and decided to adopt you. It enabled us to keep an eye on him, and give you a semi-normal upbringing.” Al sat forward, and looked at Dimitri. “You know a piece of shrapnel did that to his eye. It did it because he was busy throwing you behind the statue; if he hadn’t, you might not be here today.”
“The statue from today?”
“The very same; he went into that cargo truck expecting to find a weapon or some advanced technology. He found you and a bomb instead.”
“So it would seem.” Dimitri sat silent. “Although, looking at what information you’ve put together here… my designation was “Prototype 2”, correct?”
“Our wiretaps and interceptions would indicate so.”
“Then there is a large chance I am not completely unique.”
“You mean, you think there is another with abilities similar to your own?”
“Well, number two. If I was the only one, why bother with a number? There was at least one predecessor to me, and who knows how many after.”
“I can’t believe wee never picked up on that.” Al seemed genuinely surprised, it was quite a slip up.
“It’s a speculation; I wouldn’t take it too seriously.”
“But it’s a very good speculation; I’ll get some feelers out and listen for any mention of more prototypes in particular.” The Director made a note on a piece of paper. “Now, as to your Agent status… now that wee know what happened in that arena; wee can safely judge that while it was an unusual event, it was not outside the rules of engagement, as it was a personal skill. Nobody can contest that. But, the real question is, do you still want to be an Agent?”
Dimitri considered it, briefly.
“Of course; what else would I do? And, on that note, I would like to apply for a post-graduation specialization.”
“You want to post-spec? Fine by me; what fields?”
“I was thinking Infiltration and Recon. With my unique skill, I should be able to infiltrate like no other.”
“I expected as much. Well, seeing as you now know about your ability and need practice; would you consent to being observed? Wee have precious little data on what you can actually do.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Okay;” Al pulled out a form and quickly scribbled some things over it, “I’ll give you an hour or two to go do what you have to;”
Like visit Jonathan, correct? Dimitri thought silently


--- Medical bay 4, private ward ---

Dimitri looked at his adoptive father, lying on the bed. The doctors had done their thing, and capped his amputated stumps with… Dimitri turned to the attending nurse.
“What are the metal things?”
“The stump-caps?” The nurse tilted a head, thinking. “They’re bio-metallic translators. Wee’ve hooked them up to his nervous system, and other exposed internal elements and now they’re ready to attach mechanical limbs to.”
“Translators… I can’t say I’ve heard of the things before.”
“You shouldn’t have, Doctor B just cranked out these prototypes a couple of hours ago.”
“Bio-metallic… wait, do these use BioSteel?”
“Apparently so, the doc’s been waiting for a good use for our limited stock of biosteel."
"Isn't this what BioLogic have been trying to do for a while now? Fusing human flesh and BioSteel?"
"In a sense; but the methodology behind it varies," the nurse made a comparative gesture, "Biologic Metals try and mould the flesh to accept the BioSteel, which, as far as I know, has resulted in a zero percent success rate, and one hundred percent fatality rate."
Dimitri shifted uneasily; this nurse was not aware of the biological marvel standing in front of her, it seemed. She continued her explanation.
"The doctor has gone the other way and applied Occam's Razor; rather than struggle like Biologic's scientists, he chose to change the steel to match the body. While it means that each transplant needs to be tailored to the patient, it means a much greater chance of the graft taking."
Dimitri cocked an eyebrow. "Much greater chance? What kind of odds are wee looking at here?"
"Well..." the nurse coughed and lowered her glance, "This is the first actual trial..."
"Say no more. He fit to talk?"
"He should be able to talk. However, Agent Sride has been on painkillers for the better part of the last 5 hours, so he may be a tad unresponsive."
"Thank you for your assistance, nurse. Could you leave us be for a while?"
"Certainly. Just press the red call button if anything goes pear shaped; not that anything will, of course."
The nurse hung up a clipboard, grabbed a metal trolley, and left, wheeling the trolley away.

Jonathan, for the ninth time, and easily the worst one; woke up from being knocked unconscious by something. Not only was it like trying to sit up through almost-set concrete (which he'd done before, long story) his arms were both off balance and burned as if they were on hot embers.
Once he was done creating a metaphor for his intense, semi-dulled pain (which the painkillers he'd presumably been given had done little to dull; much like wrapping a sharp rock in thin blanket); he got around to sitting up.  Jonathan opened his eyes to see a still bloodstained Dimitri sitting on a chair looking at him. "Nice to see you're alive, Dimitri." Jonathan’s jovial tone belied the pain; it would have taken a great analyst of micro-expressions to have picked the nanosecond-long flinch of pain.
"I could say the same about you, Jonathan. You lost more than a few liters this time, I’m afraid." "Jonathan?" The man in question quickly worked out what was going on. "I see; Al told you all about the adoption, then?”
“Yeah… I suppose you were about to tell me the truth when that Captain jumped us, right?”
“I was getting there. If he’d been a few minutes later, wee wouldn’t be here having this conversation.” Jonathan waved his stumps for emphasis, and looked at them, more specifically, the metal caps on the ends. “Hey, Dimitri; got any idea what these things are? They itch and burn like a really bad rash.”
“They’re like stump caps for your prosthetic limbs to attach to. Ask Doctor B about it.”
“Ah. Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to sleep; this pain is starting to pick up.”
“Sure thing…” Dimitri hesitated, the habit of 12-odd years weighing on him; “…Dad. I’ll come back and visit later, alright?”
“Don’t hurry; I need my beauty sleep.” Jonathan grimaced and rolled over. Dimitri looked at the back of the double-amputee lying in the bed, and left.