In an old operating room, placed on a small square table in a corner, a gramophone played a waltz. The musical device looked like an antique, but it was also clearly carefully maintained, with a radiant shine that made it look brand new. The carefree and joyful music it played as the disc spun was in sharp contrast to what was happening just a few steps away.

There were two tables in the center of the room, with enough space between them to give anyone room to work. On one was a pile of bloody raw meat, still pulsing, an array of various bones and barely fleshy limbs placed in neat rows, and an assortment of various organs, they too somewhat ordered though the logic behind their disposition was a mystery. On the other table was today's subject of the madman running the place, closer to a dissected frog or a hide in the process of curing than a human patient, the wide eyes looking all around in panic the only sign the poor entity of stretched skin and muscles was in fact still alive.

Between these tables, dancing to the tune of the music with a heart in one gloved hand and a floating threadless needle spinning around him, was the Patcher. A tall person, though somewhat short by eleven standards. Under different circumstances he might have been called handsome, his pepper hair styled like the spikes of a durian fruit combined with his long face offering a strange charm despite the greyness of the pale blue eyes his round glasses framed, though any such thought was banished by the sight of the leather apron and gloves he wore, the color of the pieces of patchwork that composed leaving little doubt as to the sapient source of this hide.

Beneath the gruesome work attire were surprisingly luxurious and stylish clothes, his black pants and white silk button-up shirt more at home on noble or bourgeois of older times than a psychopathic twister of flesh. The most noteworthy piece of fashion on his person other than his apron and gloves had to be the silver chime earrings dangling from his long pointed ears, every little movement of his head leading to light musical notes ringing out, accompanying the tune of the gramophone. His face was graced with a smile, a pleased yet serene look at odds with his bloody work.

He hummed along with the tune as he placed the heart in his hand in his subject, adjusting its emplacement a few times before nodding satisfied when it was placed perfectly in the center of where the torso roughly was, wiggling his fingers to order his needle to sew the organ into place, prompting the so far inert muscle to beat once more, spraying a few droplets of blood with every pump.

The Patcher smiled, anatomy and logic wept.

"I am still undecided as to what to make of you. The Blood Angels have been looking for more muscle to remind everyone of their strength following that little counterfeit money incident, but you don't strike me as someone powerful. No. Giving you strength would be a waste, you would not be able to use it properly."

He let a finger run over a femur.

"The Empress did inquire as to whether or not I had hunting hounds to offer. Again, I feel you lack the necessary qualities to use these gifts. Besides, knowing her, she'd prefer something with a better pedigree. Mercury expressed dissatisfaction with the quality of the homunculi their ilk produced lately, but they would want to be present through the entire process. They prefer perfectly tailored commissions to buying existing projects."

He hummed as he stared into his victim's eyes. They sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity before the Patcher's smile widened.

"I have it now. You, my friend, are a runner. A coward. A survivor. Yes, my friend, your place is not on the frontline, at least not as a warrior. You are a messenger. You will fulfill your task, for delivering items will send you toward the safety of greater warriors, and disobeying will bring punishment. Yes, my friend, that is your role."

He turned to pick a handful of ribs from one of the tables, holding them up to the medical light above to better compare them.

"Powerful limbs focused on running and climbing, body large enough to carry bigger items while remaining small enough to comfortably fit inside - roughly human-sized, then - a cavity to store packages and letters to leave the limbs free, and finally keeping in mind to preserve a lightweight base to ensure speed and agility. It wouldn't do for you to be so heavy as to make deliveries late now, would it?"

He chuckled as he picked four of the bones and brought them to the other table, placing them around the heart like closed jaws.

"Two ribcages, one for the heart, one for the lungs. That way, each organ may inflate and deflate to the extreme in case of emergency. It also helps avoid easy lethal damage, I'll just need to place a few secondary ones in the head and pelvis. That way, even if torn to shreds, you will still be able to do your duty. Beautiful, isn't it?"

A nervous knock at the door interrupted the rest of the tirade, the Patcher's smile briefly faltering before returning in full bloom as he turned towards the entrance.

"Yes, what is it?"

A pale bald human head appeared as it opened one of the doors, the entity keeping the rest of its body hidden behind the old wood as it addressed its master.

"Phooone...."

"Yes, I know it's the phone. It's always the phone. Just bring it in."

The head nodded before retreating, replaced by a gigantic chubby hand, easily as big as a man's torso. The grotesque appendage was attached to a limb composed of multiple arms put together, and on its palm was an old black telephone, a rotatory dial on its pyramidal base. The creature made sure to stay stable as it brought its maker the device, and he quickly picked up the phone and began playing with its curly cable, twirling the line absent-mindedly, his floating needle copying the gesture.

"Ahoy?"

"Patcher."

The madman froze and his smile vanished as he heard the pleasant masculine voice of his interlocutor. Instead, for the first time that day, it was replaced by an angry scowl with a click of the tongue. Even with its head and eyes away, the creature could feel the man's rage, its grotesque limb lightly shaking despite its best efforts.

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"Biflora. And here I thought today was a good day."

"Now is not the time for pettiness, Patcher."

"I was under the impression you wanted nothing to do with me. Quite the contradictory choice, given your habit of copying me."

"I do not copy your monstrous work, you abominable little pest. I let nature run its course whereas you- Sigh. Now isn't the time for this. We need to talk about Silhouette."

"Oh? Could it be that the high and mighty Biflora poked the bear and now doesn't know what to do?"

"Patcher, this is serious."

"Yes, yes. Like me, you saw the potential in him. Unlike me, you rushed in, blind to his abilities. You have his attention, and let me tell you, this path didn't end well for Runar."

"Yes, I am aware of Abrakaboom's friend and his disappearance. But Patcher, this goes beyond this. If left unchecked, he could grow far beyond what he is now. Already some among our ranks whisper that he may soon equal the Angels if they didn't have their lantern."

"So says you. I wouldn't put a lot of faith in the words of a brainwashed crowd. Surely you should know that those who fall for a cult's propaganda are easily influenced, no?"

"You know it isn't this simple."

"Perhaps. Regardless, he is far from reaching that point. Even if he did, he wouldn't have something to equal Sunburn. No one does."

"Patcher, surely you see the signs. Abrakaboom has vanished. The Empress and I are growing our influence, removing the taint of Wicked Witchcraft, but when there are no more heretical mages to cull, who do you think will be next?"

"Her machines always do need fuel, don't they? But that's your problem. And you're not part of my clientele."

"Do you truly think she'll still need you once she has no equal left to keep her in check? Even Sunburn could be permanently taken down if she has the time and resources to work as she pleases."

"You underestimate the Angels. They are not the most educated lot, and the brunt of them are weak muscles only there to fill the ranks and perform menial tasks, but their leaders are far more competent than most of you give them credit for. Sunburn may be their greatest weapon, but the greatest sword held by a poor swordsman is useless."

"If you are done praising the entourage of your friend, listen to me. I know you know things about Silhouette. I know you were involved in Runar's attempts. I want to know what you learned."

"For free? I'm not one of your ignorant servants. I despise you, you hypocritical copycat."

"He subverted a pair of Siblings."

"How impressive, he overcame the mental conditioning of a single entity forcefully split into two that constantly requires to repeat this initial operation to keep their somewhat independent minds. Truly, a shocking turn of events. Shapeshifting flesh or not, you cannot divide a mind like that without consequences. It is far too fragile. Even when combining already existing ones, you need to ensure there is a dominating force to avoid complete chaos. Trust the words of a man used to combine unwilling participants."

"I do not need your insights, Patcher. What I need is what you know about Silhouette."

"You can guess as to my price."

"I could spare some followers..."

"No. No, no, no. You know what I want."

"I will not part with any of my bees."

"Then you will know nothing."

The two stayed silent for a long minute before the cult leader spoke once more.

"Some of the hives decided to have an early reproductive flight. I could hand you some of the dead drones, I suppose."

"Dead drones? Is that all you have to offer?"

"Don't you try. You know I won't give you anything more."

"... How many, then?"

"Two or three."

"You insult me. I want a hundred, at the very least. I know how many of these insects you have."

"That's out of the question. I won't part with such a large number, let alone when the queens still have a use for them. Half a dozen."

"Make it a full dozen, then."

"You are very lucky you are my only option and I cannot touch you. A dozen it is. Now speak."

"Tut tut tut, I'll need a guarantee. Unlike some, I don't believe your every honeyed word."

"I don't have the time for this, Patcher, I need information now. And I don't know about you, but I cannot trust the Black Bank any longer. Blake Black has shown too much favor for Silhouette for him to be truly neutral on these matters."

"Unlike you, I have all the time I need."

"Fine. I swear it on the name of nature itself. Satisfied?"

"Biflora, Biflora. We both know better."

"Sigh. I solemnly make an oath to the bees, you will have your dozen dead drones if you give me new information in turn."

"Hm... Very well, I accept these terms."

"Finally. Now. Silhouette."

"I am as unaware of his origins as you are. What I do know is what I learned from Runar's attempts on him. He's paranoid, but not to a debilitating point. If anything, his fear served him well. Dare I say, it's what drives him. Fear. Survival instincts."

"Fear? Silhouette? The man who is a living shadow who makes a point of scaring or unsettling anyone he interacts with?"

"Exactly. You're a showman as well, you should know how it is. You said it yourself, Silhouette is a shadow, his domain is the darkness, not the light. You found him in the Sunken City, you should already know there is more to him than the public persona."

"How do you know about our scouting?"

"Because I know you, and because I have my own creatures to do my bidding. That's why you should realize that, much like a shadow, Silhouette always reacts, he never initiates, he copies. Runar instigated a war with his attacks, Silhouette attacked in turn."

"I am no mere rune scribe left to fend for scraps."

"Yes, you have more power than Runar did at the time. Silhouette likely won't try anything for a long time. However, you should keep in mind that he let Runar's thugs act for a long time before answering in kind. The difference is that when it was his turn to attack, he wiped Runar's group out in a single assault."

"He's free to try."

"Weren't you the one saying his growth was worrying? That should be cause for concern."

"If all you have are threats and reminders of what I already know, it does not count as new information."

"I can confirm he has the Transformation Aspect, though I suppose you had your suspicions. I can also tell you his affinity for shadows goes beyond mortal ken."

"Elaborate."

"He cannot stop it, at least not as Silhouette. Perhaps he can un-power and take on a fully human form, but so far, he is always using darkness. Runar inscribed some runes on one of my creations, and Silhouette couldn't harm it, no matter how hard he tried."

"How was it defeated, then? And Runar, for that matter?"

"Runar failed to apply those runes to all of his men, and Silhouette circumvented the problem by borrowing their weapons to harm my Glapissant. It survived the counter though, I knew better than to use a design that could be killed by mere blades. As for Runar himself, the exact circumstances are still a mystery for me, but I would guess Silhouette used the same tactic."

"So if I were to create anti-shadow defenses..."

"They should protect you from his direct attacks and contact, but not stop him from using his surroundings or your undefended forces against you. Still advisable, considering his ability to infest others. Would that count as new information, then?"

"It does. I will send you the drones by the end of the week."

"If the corpses are damaged or decomposed, know that this conversation will leak."

"As if I expected anything less from you, Patcher. I hope this will be our last encounter."

"So would I, were it not for your bees."

The madman hung up the phone, ready to continue his gruesome work with the poor soul on the table next to him.

A shadow fell over him.

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