Fleshed Out
Written by TwistedSnakes
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS HIGHLY-GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF FLAYING, DISSECTION, AND BODILY MUTILATION (INCLUDING THE GENITALS), ALL WHILE THE VICTIM IS STILL ALIVE.
Ah, a new visitor to my exhibition. I see you're intrigued by my displays. Feral animals, cut away to show their internal body parts. Touch and see. Stroke your fingers across their exposed flesh and bone. Feel their heart, lungs, and intestines; if you dare, of course.
Realistic? Of course they are. These animals were once the real thing, preserved through the process of resin infusion. I recognise that look in your eyes. It's filled with repulsion, but yet a tiny bit of you wants to know more. Morbid curiosity, that's the phrase. Allow me to indulge the both of us as I tell you more.
Resin infusion is the process of preserving a body, in parts or in its entirety. It's been done for thousands of years. 3100 BC, Egyptians discovered mummification. Drain the body of fluids, separate the organs, and wrap the body in linen. Crude, but still more effective than their previous method of dehydrating the body in the desert.
1896. The glass jars with floating body parts in them? People discovered you could preserve body parts by submerging them in formaldehyde. They preserved the cells, yes. But the colour, the form. Lost. Only the bones keep the body intact.
1925. Paraffin impregnation. 1960. Plastic embedding. But the results are terrible. You keep the physical form, but you lose the intangible soul. People see the specimens as objects of scientific study, locked behind a wall of glass.
Ah, but we live in a great time. A mere forty years ago, a man by the name of Anton von Körver discovered resin infusion. First, you fix the body with formaldehyde to preserve the cells and harden the muscles. Gives you a body that can be posed and dissected however you like. I like to open my subjects up, show them their inner beauty. See this horse? How I cut away its side to expose its rib cage, how the muscles are peeled apart to show its vital organs.
But I digress. Next, you put the body in an ice-cold bath of acetone for two months. A long time, but what is two months in a span of an eternity of preservation? This process gets rid of the water and fills the cells with acetone. After that, you submerge the body in liquid resin and suck the air out of the chamber. This vacuum makes the acetone boil without heat, allowing the resin to enter the cells instead.
We're almost done. Now, you pose the body, then cure it with epoxy hardeners in gaseous form. The result is a specimen that can be touched and felt, yet withstands the passage of time without deteriorating. It preserves the body, yes. But it also preserves life! Well, not life itself, because the creature is already dead. But the "life". The essence. The soul. You know what I mean?
In the hands of a biologist, a body is something to be studied. But in the hands of an artist, a body is a canvas. A block of stone waiting to be carved. See how I bring life back to the corpses of these feral beasts? The way their forms twist and turn in dynamic poses, the way their bodies are dissected to show off their muscles, skeletons, organs. Truly a work of art.
What do you think? Lovely, isn't it? Well, I see from your face that you clearly disagree, but thank you for indulging me in my prattle nonetheless.
And...there you go, out the door, without even taking a second look at the exhibits I have painstakingly put together. What would an uncultured swine like you know about art anyway?
Decro wasn't sure why there was the sound of muffled screaming from inside Furx's studio as he swept the dusty floor of the gallery's workshop. Nor was he sure why there was a grey otter in a waist-high steel cage when he peeked into the room. The otter's wrists and ankles were bound together with thick ropes, and a huge wad of cloth functioned as a gag in his maw.
"What the heck is going on here?" Decro gingerly entered the studio. The workshop was where they cleaned and processed bodies, preparing them for the exhibition; but the studio was where Furx performed the dissection himself. The fire lizard had forbidden him from entering the studio, which was fine by Decro. He was only an assistant here, anyway.
The otter let out another panicked groan, squirming frantically in his bonds.
"Here, let me get you out," Decro hastily knelt beside the cage.
Half-prepared corpses hung around him as if guarding the room with their menacing presence. Limbs and organs laid on sterile steel shelves. A few bodies were sliced down the middle into cross-sectional plates no thicker than the wolf's finger. He shook off the uncanny feeling; he was squeamish when it came to dealing with dissected bodies, but he needed the money, and it was only for a few months until his school break ended.
He unlatched the cage, opened the door, and took the gag out of the otter's mouth. "What are you doing here?"
"Some red lizard kidnapped and put me here! Now quick, get me out of the bonds before he comes back!"
"Wait, Furx? Why would he--"
"Just get me out of here," the otter pleaded desperately, "please!"
Decro nodded. Taking a switchblade out from his pocket, he sliced the ropes binding the otter.
"You should get out of here," the otter jumped to his feet and bolted out the door.
"Wait--" the wolf shouted after him, but the otter was already gone. He stood up and pocketed his knife.
What was that all about anyway?
There wasn't much time to ponder upon the events as a familiar but stern voice called for him.
"Decro? Where are you? And why is my studio door open?" A fire lizard poked his head around the door and his eyes fell upon the wolf.
"What are you doing here?" Furx scowled.
"I uhh--I heard someone's voice from inside, so I went to investigate. There was this otter and--" Decro stammered.
"Otter?" His eyes fell upon the empty cage. "You let him out?"
"He said he was kidnapped by--wait, why did you--" Decro took a step back.
"I needed a body for my exhibit, but now, because of you, I have none." Furx's voice suddenly turned cold and emotionless.
"You can't just do that!" The wolf took another step back. The base of his spine bumped against the edge of a steel table, leaving him nowhere to go. "That's wrong!"
"Whatever shall we do with you then," Furx stepped in front of the wolf and leaned in too close for Decro's comfort.
The wolf leaned back, propping himself up by his elbows on the metal table. His forearms bumped against a bone saw and a scalpel, making them clatter against the table.
"D--do with me?"
"Exactly," the lizard pulled a needle-tipped syringe out from his pocket.
"What are you doing?" Decro squirmed anxiously. "I'm sorry. Please let me go, I won't say anything."
Furx ignored him, taking the cap off the needle. "Since the otter is gone, this will be for you instead." He stabbed Decro's neck with the syringe and injected him with the green liquid within.
"Ngnn!" the wolf whined softly. He swung his arm in defence, but it was too late; the syringe was already empty. His eyes closed and his body went limp, slumping on the metal table.
A new body ready to be prepared for display.
The wolf groaned as he came to. The glare of a bare light bulb was hurting his eyes, and cold metal was pressed against his back. Thoughts swirled about in his head as he tried to make sense of the situation.
He was working as an assistant at the "In Carne" exhibition. They were closing up for the day and he was cleaning up the workshop. There was the otter. Then Furx.
Danger.
Decro instinctively jerked forward, only to find that his neck and arms restrained to the steel table by leather straps. Trying to move his hips, he found that his ankles and tail were bound too. He was naked, strapped to the surgical table in Furx's private studio. His skin felt raw and tender as if someone had scrubbed him clean while he was unconscious.
To add insult to injury, his cock was fully erect. Furx had earlier injected him with an overdose of aphrodisiacs, forcing the erection. A latex ring was tightened around the base of his knot to keep it from retracting into its sheath.
"Hey," he called out. There was no response. "Hey!" he called again, louder this time, "Anyone out there? Please help me!"
Nobody responded. It was probably nighttime and all the gallery staff, including Furx, would have gone home. He looked around for things that he could use to escape, but his limited range of motion only allowed him to turn to either side of him. There was a tray of surgical tools to the left, but nothing was within reach.
He tugged and strained for a few minutes, but the straps didn't yield. He let out a soft whimper and tried again. Nothing worked. Furx was going to do extremely bad things to him; he didn't know what, but he didn't want to know either.
Fighting fatigue with his will to live, he struggled against his bindings. His wrists and ankles tugged against the cuffs; his breath was cut short as he strained his neck against the leather. Tears streamed down his face, turning the hanging ceiling light into shimmering sparkles before him.
"Please? Can anyone help me?" he pleaded, softer now.
Exhaustion took over and he gave up. He slumped on the table and whimpered.
"Anyone?"
Sleep took over, and he was out cold.
The sound of clinking metal woke the arctic wolf up. Furx was in the studio, busy making preparations for his newest project.
"Furx?" the wolf said nervously. His body instinctively clenched as the lizard turned to him.
"Ah, you're awake," he smirked.
"Please, let me go."
"And why would I do that?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come into your studio. I'm sorry I let the otter out. I didn't know he was for your exhibition," he was sniffling, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears in his eyes.
"Shhh, shhh, don't worry now, boy," the lizard stroked the side of his face tenderly. "All is well. The otter may be gone, but now I have you to take his place."
"Please, don't turn me into one of your displays."
"Why? Don't you want to be a part of my marvellous exhibition?" Furx cooed, stroking Decro's bare chest.
The wolf shivered. "Don't kill me, please. I don't want to die."
"I work on corpses for my art. You need to be dead. I could kill you painlessly if you want. An injection of thiopental will do that for you. Just like falling asleep, or so I'm told."
"Let me go. You can fire me, I can try to find another job. Please, I got to take care of my mum. I don't want to die."
"My condolences to your mother, but she will just have to make do without you. But if you do want to be alive, I can arrange for that. It'll be a bit of an experiment, so no guarantees," Furx pondered out loud. He went off to the side and wheeled over a large machine. It had knobs and dials over it, and various tubes stuck out of its side.
"Though I must say, considering my plans for you, you're better off dead. Last chance to wish for a merciful death, and don't say I didn't warn you."
"I don't want to die. Please."
"Very well then," Furx put on a pair of white latex gloves, giving them a snap as he stretched them over his fingers.
He picked up a syringe from the surgical tray beside him. With his other hand, he spread the fur on the crook of the wolf's arm until he found the radial artery. He dug the needle into the blood vessel and emptied the syringe.
"Please, no!"
The paralytic agent began to take effect. His jaw slackened, and his struggles turned into feeble trembling. Furx undid the restraints, but Decro was already paralysed. The wolf's body felt like solid stone, refusing to respond to his attempts to escape. He let out one last whimper as the rest of his body froze up. His diaphragm relaxed, stopping the flow of air to his lungs.
He couldn't breathe.
He was going to suffocate. He needed to tell Furx. He needed help. But his body was no longer his to control. His eyes were stuck staring at the hanging light above him, unable to even signal for help.
Furx took his time as he picked up a scalpel and peered at the side of Decro's neck. With careful and precise movements, he sliced deeply into the flesh. Crimson blood flowed steadily out of the wound, staining the wolf's white fur bright red as it dripped onto the table. Holes on the tabletop drained the blood away.
Decro was screaming internally as the pain seared through his mind. His instincts were driving him to yell in agony and thrash on the table, but his paralysed body wasn't on his side. The lizard cut down his neck, exposing the muscles below. There was the sound of squelching as he dug his fingers into the incision until he found what he was looking for.
"Ah, the carotid artery," Furx smiled as if he had just found buried treasure. He dug a bit more. "And the jugular vein, too."
With the scalpel, he severed the artery and vein. Blood gushed out of the blood vessels and all over the table. The sensations drove Decro crazy. Primal fear filled every fibre of his being. His chest was filled with burning pain, desperately attempting to inhale. The sensation of blood leaving his body only served to worsen his distress. His vision was blurring but he held on to dear life; he didn't want to die.
Furx took two tapered tubes and pushed their narrow ends into the opening of the severed blood vessels. Clamps held the vessels in place, forming a watertight seal around them. He hooked up the other ends to the machine and flicked its switch. The machine began pumping a transparent liquid up to the wolf's head through the artery, clearing out the blood through the vein.
"Perfluorocarbon: localised life support for your brain. Your body will still be trying to breathe. Natural instincts, of course, developed through years of evolution. But don't worry, this machine here will be keeping your brain alive while I prepare your body."
The seizing feeling in Decro's chest persisted, making it hard to focus on Furx's words. However, he caught the gist of it and panicked. Blood was still escaping his wound, draining the life from the rest of his body.
Furx pushed another needle into Decro's arm and connected its other end into a pump. This one pumped another chemical into the wolf's body, stinging his insides as it flowed through his veins.
Formaldehyde.
Decro knew what the chemical was for. It helped stiffen and preserve bodies for months while Furx worked on it. He had been a part of the process before, injecting the corpses of animals with the preservative before the lizard wheeled it into his studio for dissection. It would be weeks before the completed specimen was brought out for the final steps. He had always wondered what went on inside, but now he preferred not to know.
"I'll turn you over and remove the dermal layer," Furx explained. "I'm aware you can't respond, but I know you're still there."
With a heave, the lizard lifted the wolf's side, flipping him over on the metal table. Decro fell stiffly over. Furx picked up the scalpel, pressing its blade against the base of the wolf's neck and into his skin with phenomenal precision. He slid it down the wolf's spine, leaving behind a trail of red as blood escaped the canine's body.
All the wolf could feel was pain. His consciousness was retreating into the back of his mind, but the agony was reaching him even there. Long cuts were made down his arms, across his waist, down his legs, and along his tail. One last cut was made up the back of his head to the top of his scalp. Every incision was made without hesitation; cold efficiency governed his every movement while he handled the wolf's unmoving body as if another corpse.
The lizard lifted a flap of skin and peeled it across the wolf's back. The muscles stuck to the skin, glued together by fats and connective tissues which the lizard sliced with a clean cut. To the lizard, nothing was more interesting than the anthropomorphic body, and he was thrilled to finally be able to uncover its inner beauty for the world to see.
Being flayed alive, unsurprisingly, was not an appealing prospect to the wolf. His mind was in a frenzy, enduring the horror that was happening. His skin was separated from his body like a fur coat, starting at the cuts and stripped outwards as if peeling a banana. Furx exposed the wolf's chest, moving on to his arms and legs.
"I'm going to move you to get the rest of the skin off."
With a heave, Furx lifted the wolf's side, flipping him back up. The lizard carefully pulled the fur out from under the wolf, spreading it on his sides. The steel tabletop pressed painfully against the wolf's exposed muscles, cold and unforgiving in their contact.
The lizard started from the wolf's feet, peeling the fur off his sole, shins, thighs, and waist. His arms and chest were next. Decro could only watch as his face was pulled away. With his facial nerves still sustained by life support, he could feel the full torment of being flayed alive.
Furx's determined fingers were pushing under the skin of his neck, slicing away the connective tissues as he did with the rest of the body. He continued digging, moving beneath Decro's cheeks, around the top of his head and behind his ears. Everything was pulled off easily until it came to the wolf's eyes. Two quick slices robbed the canine of his eyelids, and his fur was removed in one clean sheet off his body. His fur was tossed aside, leaving behind exposed muscles and torn blood vessels.
The cool air was like burning fire against his bare flesh, brushing against his sensitive tissues with careless freedom. A mixture of blood and formaldehyde was seeping out from the lacerations, creating a stinging sensation across his body.
The lizard, in all his twisted psyche, was relishing the experience. Awe was washing over him as he admired his new creation. It was the beginning of a glorious work of art, and he could not wait to start.
"Oh look at the time," Furx sighed wistfully. "It's already eight and I've completely forgotten to eat. I'll be going now, but don't worry, I'll be here for you tomorrow." He stroked his gloved fingers down the individual muscle fibres of Decro's cheeks, savouring the sensation with much fervour.
He removed his gloves and tossed it into the trash. His leather apron was returned to its place on the studio's wall hooks, and he washed his hands of the blood. It was a good day of work. He allowed himself one last look at the immobile wolf on the table before heading out of the studio.
All Decro could do was to stare at the ceiling light, lost in his burning torment.
Decro was in a tank. Furx had used a workshop crane to lift his stiff body off the table and into the steel container.
"I'm going to soak you in benzoic acid to dissolve the residual fat tissues. Those don't get preserved under resin infusion, so we're getting rid of it," Furx explained. "I'll see you in a week's time."
The steel lid was lowered over the tank, leaving Decro in darkness. The sound of gushing liquid replaced the silence, entering the tank from holes in its walls and splashing all over the wolf. The acid was pure torment against his raw flesh, stinging and burning him as it ate away the residual dermal tissues.
Decro was unable to struggle. Powerless to get up, push the lid off the tank and escape to freedom. Incapable of preventing the liquid from rising up his side, up the side of his face and over his exposed eyeballs, where the stinging hurt the most.
He hoped the week passed quickly.
By the end of the month, Decro's mind was reduced to no more than a shambolic mess. He had to endure each and every time the surgical scraper was dragged along his bones. Furx had a plan for his new display: the left half of the wolf would consist of exposed muscles; the right half would be stripped to the bone.
Working on Decro's right side, Furx had started with the fingertips, pulling off the wolf's fingernails and gouging out his flesh. This kept the nerve endings in the rest of his arms, forcing the immobilised wolf to experience the ordeal in full. His muscles were agonisingly sliced open with his tendons and ligaments severed. A metal tool was used to scrape the bone clean, getting between the two bones in his forearm.
That process alone took almost a week, a length that Decro counted by the number of times Furx disappeared for long periods of time, possibly to go home. During those times, he was left to simmer in the immense pain, both through the physical mutilation of his body, as well as the mental distress that came with it.
At what point did this become irreversible? If someone were to stumble into the studio and see him, could he be rescued? He would need a blood transfusion and a skin transplant. Perhaps his arm would have to be amputated. He'd have to somehow find work with only one arm, at least until he could afford a prosthetic. Those were really expensive. And his mother with her ailments: was she coping well? Would worrying about her missing son worsen her condition?
Or was the process permanent the moment his blood was replaced with liquid preservatives, and it was only a matter of time before the cells in his body gave out? Would it be better if he died? Should he have let the red lizard finish him off instead of prolonging his life? There was no way to change his mind now; he couldn't communicate anything with the body of a corpse.
He pushed the negative thoughts aside and held onto the hope of salvation. He could feel his sanity slipping away, being replaced with the mentality of a feral beast, snarling and gnashing in perpetual agony. He held on to his positive thoughts, trying to prevent the decline into madness. The week after, his right leg, too, was turned into bones held together by wires and staples.
He was now staring at the ceiling light. His reality had been reduced to just the bare light bulb and the agonising pain in his mutilated body.
"I'm going to expose the left half of your chest cavity next."
Furx picked up a surgical tool and held it in front of Decro's face. It was an oscillating sternum saw, consisting of a handle on one end, and a semicircular saw blade on the other. The oddly-shaped saw blade consisted of sharp teeth on its curved edge, counterbalanced with a weight on the opposite side.
The red lizard flicked it on, bringing the tool to life with a menacing whir. There were only silent protests as the saw was pressed between Decro's collarbones.
Oh god, please no!
The pain returned as the wolf's sternum was cut down the middle. His torso rattled against the table, resonating with the frequency of the saw's spinning blade. Decro once again retreated into his mind, trying to escape the torture. His mind focused on the hanging bulb as if he could latch his entire consciousness onto it and be released from the pain. The world vibrated around him as he endured the agony.
An eternity passed before Decro's breastbone was cleanly split down the middle, but there was still more to be done. Furx put away the saw and pulled out a costotome. The tool resembled a bolt cutter, except it had rounded graspers at its end and a third handle on its side.
The lizard thrust the graspers under the wolf's obliques, digging in his flesh until they were under his bottom rib. He brought the graspers together around the bone and pressed the handle in. Decro felt a sharp pain in his side: the handle was pushing a steel blade into the immobilised bone.
There was a snapping sound as the rib was cut clean. The lizard didn't give the wolf any time to rest, moving on to the next rib. In the same way, the rest of Decro's ribs were severed. His blank eyes betrayed no emotion, revealing nothing about the pure terror he was experiencing.
Every sensation assaulted his mind and pierced his psyche. He could feel Furx's gloved fingers dig into his chest and sides, prying beneath his broken ribs. He could feel the pulling in his chest as the lizard lifted up the left half of his ribs. He could feel the scalpel separate the connective issues that resisted the lizard's dissection.
The squelching noise was sickening. Furx was pushing his organs about, pressing them down as his ribs were removed. His heart and lungs had stopped working weeks ago, solidified by the preservatives that were pumped into his body.
His eyes caught a glimpse of the underside of his extracted ribs. A strong sense of nausea gripped him, willing his paralysed body to puke but to no avail.
He must've blacked out, for when he came to, Furx had already cleaned up and left. The bulb still hung from the ceiling, a reminder that he was still lying on the surgical table. His chest cavity felt sore and violated; the lizard must've done something to him. Unbeknownst to him, his heart was sliced into two, spread open like a book to reveal its internal chambers. Metal wires were threaded through the flesh, holding the dissected organ in place.
Furx was also halfway through dissecting his left lung; its pleurae had been sliced and pulled away, revealing the lung's bronchial tubes and alveoli. The next day would involve further dissections on the inner parts of Decro's left lung, but for now, he could rest his weak and traumatised mind.
For now.
Please don't do this.
Decro watched as the whirring bone saw was pressed against the front of his lower jaw. Within seconds, the mandible was separated into two equal halves. They hung asymmetrically on his face, held together only by his facial muscles and tendons.
"I hope you're still with me. Just like your body, the right half of your face will show the skeletal structure of your skull. I'll let you keep the muscles on the left."
Furx, meticulous as ever, used the scalpel to separate the two halves of the wolf's jaw bone. The left half was pried to the side, stretching the muscles of Decro's tongue to each side of the jaw. The lizard's gloved hand held the limp tongue as he sliced it cleanly down the middle. Without a second glance, he severed the right half and tossed it into a bin filled with the wolf's other tissues.
A few more hours passed as the lizard cleaned out the muscles, gums, and other tissues still stuck to the jaw. If it were that easy to resign to his fate, Decro would've already done so. But the sensation of metal scraping against his bones was deeply unnerving, forcefully penetrating every mental defence he could set up.
Every remaining fibre of his being held on to his marred sanity. The next day was no better as Furx sliced the flesh down the middle of his face and peeled off the muscles on the right side. His optic nerve was severed as the lizard removed his right eye too, scraping the socket clean.
The final touches were almost done. Taking the wolf's erect penis in his hand, Furx pressed the blade of the scalpel right against its tapered tip. It broke the skin with ease and the lizard proceeded to push the blade through it. The urethral tube was cleanly separated into two down to its base. Furx pushed a metal wire into the flesh, digging through the shaft so that it propped the two halves of the penis open, revealing its cross-sectional anatomy within.
Decro felt as if his entire body was on fire. The pain was immense, searing through his mind and filling his reality. His soul quivered within his dismembered body, drifting between lucid sanity and utter delirium.
Furx looked the body up and down. Some parts still needed to be touched up. He would have to slightly separate the muscle fibres to emphasise their form. Certain areas of the skeleton needed to be scraped clean of residual tissues. But the dissection was mostly done, after which he could preserve the wolf for all eternity.
The wolf's body was--at least to Furx--a work of art. Just as he had envisioned, the canine was half-skeletal, half-muscular flesh. His left ear was reduced to a raw flap of skin and his right ear had been tossed away. One eye remained on the flesh-covered side of his head, surrounded by the muscular fibres that ran across the face. The other side sported a dislocated jaw wrenched to the side, and above it was an empty eye socket. The wolf's brain could be seen through the hole, encased in a layer of clear resin.
The left half of his neck was completely removed, exposing the spinal cord and trachea. His torso consisted of half a rib cage protecting an intact lung within. The other lung was sliced in half, revealing the intricately dissected bronchial tubes and alveoli. The wolf's heart was opened up like a twisted flower in his chest. His stomach and intestines were similarly cross-sectioned, exposing the preserved tissues within.
His left arm and leg retained their muscles; while his right limbs, along with his tail, were reduced to mere bones held together by thin wires. The penis was split down the middle and spread apart. Just like the rest of his body, his left testicle was left hanging in a thin bag of skin, and his right testicle was dissected to show its interior.
The body had been carefully moved from its position on the table and seated on a clear acrylic throne. The transparent tubes that provided life support for the brain were carefully hidden along the edges of the throne. Invisible wires held the body in place, piercing through the flesh and securing it to the acrylic through tiny holes.
Furx wheeled the prepared exhibit out of his studio and into the main workshop.
"Zep, send this through curing," Furx pointed to an assistant to catch his attention.
The black jackal hurriedly got off his chair and came over to the throne.
"Wow," he looked the display up and down, admiring the handiwork. "Yeah, sure, I'll get to it." Getting behind the trolley, he pushed it towards a glass chamber that stood in the middle of the workshop. The chamber was big enough to cure the corpse of a feral elephant, and its glass walls allowed the workshop staff to watch the curing process. The wolf exhibit was wheeled into the middle of the chamber and Zep closed the airtight door. With a flick of a switch, the pipes began pumping a grey gas into the chamber.
"Now we wait," Zep said, watching the translucent gas lap about the wolf's legs and diffuse up the rest of his body. "How long did this one take?"
"About six months, give or take a week or so."
"Whoa, that's long. Bet you can't wait to see this on display soon."
"Oh, you have no idea how excited I am."
Inside the chamber, Decro stared straight ahead as the gas reacted with the resin in his cells, permanently solidifying and preserving their forms. His vision was clouding as the resin in his remaining eye hardened.
But even if he lost his sense of sight, his consciousness would still be kept alive, trapped within the confines of his resin-encased brain. If Furx was merciful, he would cut the supply of perfluorocarbon and end the wolf's miserable excuse of an existence. But the lizard wasn't one to break his word; if he agreed to keep the wolf alive, then he would do just that.
The lizard wasn't too concerned. After all, the life support pump would sustain the wolf for a very long time.
...then his body is posed and cured with epoxy hardeners in gaseous form. The result is a wolf that can be touched and felt, yet withstands the passage of time without deteriorating. See how technology has made the inaccessible accessible? Reach into his chest. Stroke your fingers through his ribs. His lungs. His heart. The anthropomorphic body is beautiful, isn't it?
Resin infusion preserves the body, yes. But it also preserves life! The essence! The soul!
And now, the wolf can transcend death and live forever.
~ End ~