The Many Regrets of a Cyborg Werewolf

Unspoken Rules - XII

Mercer reclined in his seat, uncomfortably idle with nothing to do. The Assembler had been repaired as far as it could without replacement components. It needed a new injector cap, primary fuse socket, gears for the retractable band, and pump housing. The receptacle where the Lycan Shot inserted was also bent, and though he was able to use his tools to deform it into a usable condition, it didn't look very nice and he'd rather replace it for longevity's sake. However long it was still needed. The moon stone had worried him the most, yet it was thankfully undamaged. The small, aqua-marine stone was set behind a protective polymer window that both held it in place and allowed the stone's illumination to be visible. It was also the newest component of the device, and the most unknown, which was a scientist's greatest yet most tempting fear. Mercer had long wanted to study the small gem in greater detail, but Luke refused. The doctor of course respected his wishes, but it didn't stop him from being fascinated. Moments of inaction made Mercer's mind run rampant with theories and speculation, which would lead to bouts of frustration as he'd quickly reach his theoretical endpoint with nothing tangible to explore.

Mercer flinched as he felt a crick in his back. The not-uncommon side effect from his hours spent hunched over a work table. He stretched his arms up and back, hoping to undo the knot, and felt the lump on the back of his neck shift. The small bump was not uncomfortable, and Mercer often forgot it was there, but he ran his fingers gently over the foreign object beneath his skin. The implant at the base of his neck was a small computer chip built into an interface, a holdover from his brief tenure of using the Assembler. While not strictly necessary, the implants allowed for easier use and a faster, streamline transformation. Caressing the bump reminded Mercer of the heated debate with his co-conspirators over the need of an implanted interface. Back when they all thought they were creating something for the good of humanity, a counter-agent against the growing attacks by strange, otherworldly creatures. An incredible feat of science that turned ordinary men and women into powerful warriors, a monster to fight monsters. Mercer secretly wished it could have stayed that simple.

The doctor stretched once more before standing from his chair, his patience for inactivity having reached its limit, and tabled his memories for the moment as he walked out of his room. He sauntered into the empty apartment, only to be assailed by the sudden stench of blood. The visceral display in the living room remained, and so Mercer let out a sigh.

"Business as usual, then," he uttered to himself. The doctor then went into the kitchen, searching the cupboard and drawers for the necessary products. He retrieved rubber gloves, a plastic container, bleach, soaps, and other common and innocuous household chemicals. He then began mixing, by eye, the correct concoction needed. First a large amount in the plastic container, followed by a smaller division of different products inside an empty spray bottle. Mercer adjusted his glasses in between mixing, careful to keep the measurements exact. Too much and he'd damage the upholstery, too little and it wouldn't be effective. It wasn't impossible to clean up blood using household items, all you needed was patience and a degree in biochemistry. Mercer took the spray bottle and began coating the stains on the couch. He then moved on to the blood on the hardwood, running his fingers across it to see how viscous it still was. Luke's biology was different from a human's, and his blood congealed quicker, which was beneficial as it seeped less than human blood. Mercer took to the floor, bucket in one hand, a dry sponge in the other, and got to his knees. The crick in his back protested the entire trip down, but Mercer didn't care. He soaked the sponge in the mixture and began scrubbing, the chemicals pulling up the dried blood in flaky chunks. It was cathartic to watch it almost peel from the varnish, and Mercer soon applied the same technique to the couch's legs. The coffee table had also been splashed, to say nothing of the trail leading from the balcony, but both the table and door were glass and thus considerably easier to clean. Task by task Mercer removed the blood, but this was merely the first step. Once the physical traces of blood were gone, Mercer moved on to the next step. More chemicals were combined, including alcohol-based antibacterials. This would be the key ingredient for removing the traces, and more importantly odour, from the solid surfaces. With the correct balance it would remove the deeper traces of blood without damaging the varnish of the floor, and by the time that was mixed and applied, the second stage of cleaning the upholstery was ready to commence. Mercer retrieved paper towels and a garbage bag, then began to sop up the spray he had applied, which by now had foamed and pulled the blood to the surface in a bright pink-purple froth. A few additional sprays helped the towels pull up every last drop, applying more spray to target the minimal traces still found. He deposited all this into the garbage bag, wiping his brow of the sweat that had started to form. The couch still had faint outlines, but Mercer knew that they were weak enough to be removed with a simple fabric cleaner, which he applied as per the directions on the bottle. By now it was the floor's final step, similar to the couch, and the trace amounts of blood were summarily sopped up and disposed of, until after nearly forty-five minutes the apartment was free of blood stains.