The threadbare blue sheet and rose and fell with his breath; she lifted it from his chest and folded it to his waist. A constellation of bright red circular weals ran across his torso and arms. The surgeons had cored out tubes of his body from each bullet wound and replaced the damaged tissue with new plugs of artificial flesh. Each insert was tagged with a tiny barcode labeling the date, location, and type of injury. She knew without looking there would be similar marks across the patchwork of her new skin.