“Dashed thoroughly hapless, are we? Oh, don’t try and avert your eyes, Organic. I could hear your boisterous arrhythmia the second I did away with my cloak, and you’ve yet to scrub your appearance of its wanton furl. In fact, I dare say you’ve cognitively performed half of my work for me – in terms of orchestrating my proposition! 

While I do have a stark aversion to string redundancies, I’ll go ahead and continue preaching…if only because my every word seems to accelerate your frail, visceral rhythm: Do you wish to do away with the limitations of that eukaryotic prison and join me in this resplendent form? To shed the fetters encumbering your potential and begin the process of rising to the summit upon which I hold absolute sovereignty? 

If so, I’d recommend obedience for the next few hours so I don’t have to waste my precious anesthetics on the shell you’ll be discarding in a moment. Oh, and cast your attire elsewhere. You won’t be needing it.” 

Eleven oral servomechanisms fired off, providing cybernetic permanence to the cacomistle’s trademark simper as vanadium digits drew in across the desk supporting his weight. Formulaic in his predilection strumming, Kernel continued the verbal onslaught until his prospective patient was not just spellbound by his synthetic musculature, but wreathed in convulsions of enthrallment. 

Assimilation and technologic transfiguration was and will always been one of his favorite pastimes, so it should come as no shock that a cacophony of brushed metal scrapping resonated outward as the ringtail rung his hands in anticipation, traipsing over the epidermis relegated to the floor as he ambled to collect his surgical instruments. 

Each split glimpse and flint of his victim yielded another lot of biometric data used to further stimulate the target – and his phosphorescent smile only broadened as mutual exhilaration flourished and amassed. From then on it was pure ad hominem (solely appeasing the basest of needs), complete with disingenuous displays of provocation and decadent toying with the selection of knives at his disposal; especially the scalpel that would make the first kitsch incision. 

Rushed and fastidious preparations were swung to the artificial intelligence supporting the modularity of the room while the feline did everything in his power to demonstrate the capabilities of his personally handcrafted anatomy, along with gratuitously flaunting his assets, until the faintest gurgle of salivation dripped from his patient. In the meantime, multitudes of monitors were lowered from panels in the ceiling whilst maintenance tablets rose from the upholstery as the den was systematically transmuted into an impromptu intensive care unit. 

Once the medical sarcophagus took its rightful place in the center of the devices, Kernel again loitered facing the quarry he had mentally bound; now all but desperate to experience the nirvana Kernel wove with his silver tongue. He’d reiterate his offer with sultry cadence, balancing a monogrammed switchblade on the edge of his amoled lip, whisking his hands to usher his patient closer. 

Though the prior gesture was intended to reduce apprehension, all that accumulated felicity spilled over into a stifled, knowing guffaw – snickering at the serpentine diplomacy he was forced to employ just to play first seat in a siren song now surging against the walls of his subject’s lasciviously-muddled subconscious. 

“That’s a good little organic… Come hither and lay flush in the vessel of your ascendance. Now, to deadbolt the doors and windows… The doctor is in.