To say he was not himself would be a hideous understatement, about as hideous as he had become. I found myself staring in absolute disgust and sympathy at the messy remains of his face. I'd never seen anyone so disfigured, but not just in flesh. Fused to his still inflamed and weeping skin were patches of metal. But not the shining gold that enveloped Jack or crawled over my own skin. This metal looked dull, almost dead, as though the life within it had been corrupted and left to ...