A dark caption.

He looked at the table, laying a hand on the seemingly dirty and dusty table, looking over all of the old tools.

They were all here, forceps to moved and hold. Small clamps to hold things tight. Scalpels to cut. Needle to stitch.

He took his hand off of the table, looking at the palm of his feminine hand, looking at the flecks of dirt and dust He rubbed it off, then turned and leaned on the cleanest part of the table, right in the center, and turned to the doctor.

It was simple tools like those that done the first most surgeries up to this point, and while he was impressed at what seemingly simple things could do, he had to admit to himself he was glad that the tools they used on him were a bit more sophisticated. They had to be. Removing two human heads and grafting the one head onto the other body was too delicate an operation to risk anything less.

Still, he thought as he turned to the smiling doctor, who undoubtedly was admiring his handiwork, the joining of a plain male head to a very pretty woman's body, he could not help but be impressed at all these had accomplished. However, he knew, they could not do this. Only that machine the doctor made could do that. He knew. He was the first true success.