Tr!ck: A Cerberus Side Track

I

When they found him he was barely breathing, his detached arms still feel like they're there, even though the bomb had already blown it clean off of him, shrapnels peppered around his face and chest, his consciousness trapped in a black void of pain, and nothing but the pain, for his eardrums were busted out, his eyeballs drained after being punctured, and all he could feel was rage. Rage at being betrayed. Rage at being set up for something he did not expect.
And it all went down spiral from there.
They would tell him later on that his own survival was a miracle on its own, that nobody should have even come close to living after all the damage the bomb had done to his entire body.
When he awoke, he was strapped to the hospital bed with thick white leather belts, each holding whatever was left of his body tightly in place on the bed.
He screamed, but he couldn't even hear his own scream, couldn't even feel his words surging through his throat.
The nurses would tell him later on that he had nightmares, screaming and tossing so violently that he would often fall of his bed, reason why they had to strap him down.
Even without arms and legs, he was still stronger than half of the patients there.
They connected his optical nerves with organic eyes harvested from stem cell labs in Shinjuku, Japan (Because the United States were still against stem cell researches, even though it was setting their medical researches decades behind the Japanese), organic eyes that were lined up with biochips and nanomachines, assisting his eyes to be ten times more sharp and precise than his real eyes, and the iris would never wear out and stretch like the real ones.
His eardrums were replaced with mechanical ones, biochips so small that they are practically invisible to the human naked eyes, yet still connected to the nerves in order to shape how far they would hear, or which direction to focus, or even just layer out the sounds one by one.
His arms and legs were still missing though, and his face was still a mess under the bands of bandages wrapped around his head.
They said that the eyes and ears were as far as they were paid to do.
And when he asked them who it was that paid for it all, they remained quiet.
But he didn't really had to wonder long before HE showed up.
The man in a spotless blue suit, his body straight from top to bottom, as if possessing no joints whatsoever. He wore a short thin cut of hair and his cheeks sank into his face as if he were sucking on them the entire time. His perfectly straight tie was the same color as the suit, blue enough to jump out on its own.
And with a smile that seemed to belong to the devil, he spoke in his deep voice with a tint of British accent. "Welcome back, Mister Jox, we've been awaiting you for quite a long time."