People hoisted him onto a pedestal, and William felt he had lost something. He looked at his own titanium steel hands, perfectly remodeled, and the excitement was gone, the excitement that used to accompany the unveiling of a perfect masterpiece.
William considered himself an artist; he should strive for higher realms.
He also grew tired of just modifying parts according to others' requests, even if he made that part beautiful, stitching it onto someone else, like fixing a state-of-the-art engine onto a pig.
William Wyran wanted to create the most perfect form in the world with these eyes that sought beauty, with these hands that sculpted beauty.
Soon, a group appeared before him, a group he had never encountered.
