Dr. Emmitt Walden walked away from the counter of his medical lab, picking up the textbook as he walked toward a set of chemical tests that were finally being finished.

He set the textbook down and put both feminine hands on the counter as he looked at the reaction, smiling as it turned blue. That was it. It was supposed to turn that color if it worked. Good. He picked up a pen and jotted down a few notes, then marked down the approximate time it took (this reaction's time had been well-documented, this was just a additional confirmation of it). The important thing was it worked right.

He smiled, then picked up the textbook, turned it to the chapter on nerve damage, and looked it over. As he did, he decided to walk to the computer in the back corner of the lab. Holding the book, he walked over, looking up at the clock on the wall and he smiled. He'd have plenty of time to write the report and submit it.

He sat down, smoothing out his dress as he did, and then crossed his legs as he thought about what to write. Just two months ago this would have been an extraordinarily strange sight, but now he felt that most people had to be used to how he looked after the head transplant surgery.

This, though, this experiment would allow what was done to him, a careful and very delicate surgery under very tight conditions, and turn into into almost a routine thing. As his mind came up with how he was going to go about this, he had an errant thought. That textbook, he knew now why he was so entranced with it, why he was reading it so much. He knew that what he was doing right now, both this research and the experiment done on him would rewrite that whole chapter he seemed fixated on. He couldn't wait.