Václav Koller had a few things on his suck-it list that he never wanted to really experience. It was like a bucket list, you see, but for every item crossed off he only really got more nightmares.
He was intimately aware of the process that was behind a lot of the augs he fitted his, ah, customers with; the ones that weren't the cheapest possible hodgepodge of outdated machinery usually came from some poor sap who ended up in the wrong alleyway at the wrong time, whether living or dead at the time. And he wasn't exactly too keen on recieveing that kind of treatment-- tub of ice, less limbs--, much like he wasn't keen on having some stranger poking around in him.
So imagine his surprise when he woke up not without his arms, but with ones that looked... Well, he didn't know, but they sure as hell didn't look like his. He could still move them, thank god, so as much as they looked like the prosthetics he'd seen in his books, they thankfully kept whatever function he'd had before. (With the exception of his blowtorch but, honestly, he could probably live without that.)
(... It didn't mean he wasn't slightly peeved that they'd taken out the fingers anyway. You know, underneath all that absolute terror. What kind of an asshole took out a tool and didn't even have the fucking courtesy to give him his fingers back?)
...
... Everything felt like a themepark, like a vintage movie, and Václav was neither awake or clear-minded enough to do anything more but freak out as silently as possible in the hotel room he'd all but been ushered into. Like he'd been walking, talking, getting his dumb, sleepdeprived ass all the way into the past somehow; and he only came to in time for that horrible, gutwrenching dread to kick in.
... ...So where the hell was this place even?
