As a surgeon, I've seen some pretty terrible sights come into my operating theatre. That poor man and his skydiving accident. His poorer fiancée shortly thereafter. In my line of work, I get them broken, and I put them back together, and sometimes they make it and sometimes I call my lawyer so she's ready for the malpractice suit when it comes.

When that concert pianist, you know the one, lost his hands in a car wreck, I was the one who found the donor hands, and never mind where they'd been. Sad business about that later, but I always say, it's not the parts, it's what you do with them. If all you do is giggle in a corner pointing and whispering, "Evil hand!" you're not really living up to your full post-operative potential, now are you?

But I try not to judge.

I'm the best. I'm not bragging. Everyone in the business knows it. Need to rebuild someone from a handful of squishy leftovers? I'm the one called in, and proud to do it. Want a German Shepherd's head on a puma's body? That'll cost you, but it wouldn't be the first time I've performed that little bit of reupholstering. I even worked on sharks, just the once. Bionic lasers on top, very retro, but the kid paid.

I'm not telling you this because I want you telling anyone else, by the way. This is between, you, me, the wall, and those slightly enhanced rhinoceros man-beasts holding the MP5s. How are they enhanced? I'll let you find out.

Anyway. I'm telling you this because I need you to understand where I'm coming from here. I have professional pride in my work. I've done work no one else (outside of those labs in China we're not supposed to know about) has done. So I don't want to see my name up there with good ol' Doc Frankenstein's, okay? I don't want to see pictures of bolts on necks attached to this story.

That's not my style. I'm not a monster. I don't build monsters. I help people. Sometimes I help them for money. Okay? I do cutting edge bionics work, I've managed neurosurgery across species. Hell, I've even developed my own skin adhesive that heals without scars. I'm an asset to scientific advancement, and do not think otherwise.

So I got this call, and I'm not saying who. It's just that a certain person thinks he's a cowboy, despite being born and raised in New England, and he likes photo opportunities where he's wearing a hat too big for his head, boots that don't fit, and sometimes he's riding a horse. And that's all I'm saying.

Last month, he fell off the horse. It wasn't even dramatic, no galloping ride ending in tragedy. He fell, and one accident led to another and so the leader of the free … way. Yes. Freeway. Was sort of decapitated. And by sort of, I mean totally.

They called me. I was on the scene less than half an hour later, because jets are faster than you think. It wasn't pretty, but I got the surgery done quickly and neatly, and I even tested the latest version of my adhesive. The skin was flawless, and if he'd suffered a little brain damage, it isn't as if his political foes hadn't been claiming the same thing for years anyway.

Yeah. New formula. Tested. But not long-term tested.

He was fine. The photo-ops not two days later took place without a hitch. Only his closest advisers had any idea. I don't think they even told his wife. I was paid, and he shook my hand and thanked me while I gave him the short version of what I'd done. Brain damage, as I said.

Then came yesterday. Everyone knows about yesterday. Kids saw it on the television. You damn reporters keep replaying it over and over. He went to nod his head, and kept nodding. Nasty stuff. And he mouthed something there on the floor, right before the end.

You idiots have been speculating, and everyone's got a stupid "rosebud" theory. They're wrong. He wasn't talking about warhead codes. He wasn't confessing an affair (though they did inform his mistress during the surgery). You're not going to believe me, but I'm going to tell someone before the guys in the dark suits and darker glasses decide I'm more trouble alive than dead. My reputation is going to be shot after this anyway.

He was explaining his head. It was pasted on. That's all. But I don't think I'll ever understand why he said, "Yay."